CHAPTER 4
Too tired by the arduous trek through the winding mountain trail, most of the aliens, as well as the entire Robinson party had lost the strength to make a dash for the forest bordering the beach. Robinson, by far the strongest of the crew, couldn't have made it even if his arms had been unbound. He suspected the archers among the guards could easily have loosed a shaft into his back before he got half way to the perimeter. And he would never have deserted the rest of his family in either case. John glanced left toward Don and saw weariness deepening the sockets of the Major's dark eyes.
Some of the villagers, as if suspecting the thoughts of some of the prisoners, stood in a straggly line on either side of the trudging column of people. Some of them pointed and gawked at the humans, whispering among themselves in their sibilant speech. Snatches of words were translated through the ear plug style translators each Jupiter 2 crewmember still wore. What they heard was harsh and ugly...cruel words stemming from a cruel lifestyle. The few children, taller than human children of a similar age, and excruciatingly skinny, like their parents, hurled rotten vegetables and pieces of offal at the passersby.
The alien prisoners, fuscia or lime green scalp crests flaring, bared pointed teeth and grunted a feral snarl at the youngsters. However it soon became quite clear that most of the refuse was being hurled at the furless strangers.
John and Don managed to avoid the first few pungent and maggot-ridden pieces that flew their way. From behind them they heard Smith grunt in disgust and spit as something evidently caught him broadside on the head. The girls began to whimper as they lost their last bit of energy trying to dodge the missiles. Before having completed the short gauntlet they were all covered in garbage.
"I shall never survive this!" Smith murmured, trying to spit out the foul taste of some rotten vegetable. "Professor, you simply must do something before we board that vessel. I fear that any further compliance on our part will trap us on board with no recourse but to sail along to whatever God-forsaken destination they have in mind."
"Shut up Smith," Don said, mustering a growl. "You keep this up and they might decide to make fish food out of you."
Smith blanched at the thought, his healthy tan fading to a sickly white. "Oh woe, to never see our blessed Jupiter 2 again! I can't bear this. To think I couldn't wait to land a day ago! And now, how I wish we were back in space!" His voice rose an octave as he finished his tirade. He was rewarded with a kiss from the lash. Rewarding the guard with a howl, Smith tried to jump sideways. The creature next to him shoved the doctor back in line, snapping viciously with those awful teeth to display his displeasure.
As the beings all lined up before the gangplank, Don leaned over to John and whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "You know, I am beginning to wish we could use Smith as a diversion!"
"If he'd gotten us into this I'd have been tempted," John replied very quietly, with a slight gleam of humor in his eyes. Then his voice rose slightly in volume. "But in either case I couldn't bring myself to do it. And at this point it no longer matters. We're getting on that ship whether we like it or not. I just wish I were more of a mariner at heart. No matter what happens we need to figure out some way to return to this general vicinity."
"This planet is obviously pre-industrial in development Major," Smith snapped irritably, then cringed slightly at the sudden burst of metallic clanging resounding somewhere up on the deck. "A return voyage, either by land or sea, could take weeks or months depending on how far they take us."
"The vessel doesn't look big enough for a long voyage," Don sneered back. "I doubt it will take us weeks to get where we are headed."
Smith sighed suddenly. "The ship's inability to carry an abundance of supplies does not necessarily determine the length of the voyage. If I remember earth history correctly, many sailing vessels could make extensive journey's hopping from port to port. If an escape route doesn't present itself immediately, we could wind up hundreds of miles away from this village."
At that, the Major could only grunt in affirmation. It wasn't a pleasant thought to acknowledge Smith might have been right and he mentally chastised himself for letting his anger cloud his judgement of the situation. He knew those same facts that Smith had already stated, now that he gave it more consideration.
Within minutes the loud clanking had stopped. "Get on board," Bellowed a scarred and scruffy guard and he added a string of words that, given local dialects, were presumably foul and vulgar. When no one moved, the lash started cracking on unwilling bodies until finally they surrendered and moved up the gangplank.
On either side of the oar banks, a fairly narrow walkway divided the ship in half. All the now subdued aliens were marched along this walkway until yet another guard/warrior gestured with his whip toward one empty bench. Two of the beings took up their position with furtive fearful glances and cringing backs. The process was repeated toward the right of the walkway. Then back a row and so on until they came to the Robinson party. This warrior glared mightily at them. John alone was the only person capable of meeting the creature eye to eye. John glared back in spite of himself. These aliens, he figured, may have been a bit taller than humans but they were spare of flesh. John figured he had the weight advantage but thoughts concerning the protection of his family curtailed any notions of rebellion...for the moment.
Using the butt of his whip, the guard smashed John in the jaw with it. The professor staggered back, more from surprise than from real physical damage, and allowed Don to upright him. He heard Smith shriek with fear as multi-jointed alien fingers locked on the doctor's wrists and dragged him to a bench. John saw him seated beside one of the green-crested, speckle furred prisoners, trying his best to keep his distance in that limited space.
When the guard pointed at the bench behind the doctor, John decided it was pointless to resist any further and took his seat. Don compliantly took the seat beside him, before the aliens could entertain thoughts of separating them. Apparently the beings assumed humans to be of little consequence because they let the event go by without changing seating arrangements.
When all the rows had been filled, the lead guard shoved the remainder of the Robinson party toward the bow of the ship. The three ladies as well as Will gave concerned glances toward John and Don. Robinson gave them a jaunty smile and a nod of reassurance. Maureen's worried expression didn't soften and he knew the effort had failed. But she was strong and far tougher than she looked. He knew she'd protect the rest of the family and somehow or other, manage to keep them from harm if it was humanly within her power to do so.
A stocky guard, who would have been considered fat compared to the physiques of every other alien on the ship, raised a large mallet and whacked it against something resembling a kettle drum. The loud booming reverberated up and down the length of the ship. Once assured he had their attention, he spoke loudly.
"Arms up overhead," he commanded. And every pair of hands rose skyward, except Smith's. He looked around as if he didn't understand the command or had no desire to comply. Seeing an unfurled lash twitching in one furry paw, John shoved Smith from behind. The blow, light as it was, proved sufficient and the Doctor's trembling fingers spiked upward.
Slowly, guards moved up and down the length of the ship, hacking off the bonds with long knives and replacing them with metal manacles, the obvious source of the clanging they'd heard earlier. Once those were secured, chains, attached to the hull were pulled through loops toward the center of the ship and those were also linked by a single thick chain running from front to back. In that way the prisoners were not only chained side by side but with one long chain linking the rows of benches.
Throughout most of the proceedings, John had eyes for little else beside his family, seated, albeit uncomfortably, beneath a large semi-enclosed canopy not far from the bow of the ship. Maureen was consoling Penny, who tried to be brave though the trembling of her lower lip spoke of her fear. Within easy arm reach, Judy was seated on a large crate, throwing concerned glances back at her father and Don interspersed with worried looks at her mother and sister. Despite it all, she was already showing her mother's strength of will, appearing reasonably calm given the difficult circumstance. At his mother's feet, Will was absorbing every sight like a sponge. He was too young to keep focused but too old to be oblivious to their precarious situation. He frowned as Penny whispered something to her mother but made no comment. All in all, John was satisfied. Their years of space travel and working as a team throughout all manner of trials had hardened the family into a single purposeful unit whenever danger struck. They knew their roles under such circumstances and could finally be counted on to 'follow the plan' regardless of whatever adversities they faced in the future.
In front of them Smith was looking all over the place, especially at the alien on his right, who occasionally snarled when he caught Smith's eyes on him. Uncomfortable in general, Smith regarded his chained wrists. The cuffs were heavily rusted but still sturdy. They were broad, thick and definitely too tight around his human wrists. In frustration, he raised his manacles, shaking the chains in the process.
"Not exactly my color," he grumbled, regarding the dried-blood color bands.
"Better get used to it Smith," Don suggested, not hiding a wry note in his tone. "And consider yourself fortunate...because with your track record you could have been wearing these years ago!"
Smith clutched his breast in mock pain. "UH! Slain by your rapier-keen wit!" And he slumped for emphasis until the flick of a whip snapped by his ear. At that moment, he jumped but a sharp pull on the chain by his benchmate rudely dragged him back down.
Don nudged Robinson and gestured with his chin toward the mallet wielding alien. The creature was once more in position in front of his drum.
Don's frustrated murmur couldn't be missed. "Looks like it's show time."
"And the trained gorilla is about to perform. Better brush up on your repertoire major..." Smith's voice oozed with sarcasm and it earned him a quick kick in the calf. Stifling a yelp, because he wouldn't give the West the satisfaction of submission, Smith surreptitiously tried to massage the sting by rubbing his leg against the bottom of the bench. Unfortunately he wasn't THAT flexible and he soon gave up. However, unresigned to maintaining silence, he said through gritted teeth, "Goodness, that was pleasant. I owe you a favor in return!"
"Will the both of you just knock it off for once," muttered John in exasperation. "We are in the middle of God knows where, trapped on this ship, chained like animals, almost too tired to move and even now you can't let up!"
Don said nothing. Smith turned and bestowed a glance of blue-eyed innocence upon Robinson. But John didn't miss the wry glint in those eyes. Robinson wearily shook his head. Where work was concerned, Smith had no strength to do more than lift a fork. Yet, when it came to hurling taunts, his energy proved to be boundless. For once, John wished he could harness that energy and put it to good use. Fueled by Smith's mocking and derisive attitude, he could have powered this entire vessel by himself.
His reveries were broken by the sudden boom of the drum. "Oars ready", the drummer shouted. At least thirty sets of hands reached out for the oars, gripping them tightly.
"Cast off," the leader of the expedition called. And he signaled again. The stocky being hit the drum a second time and instructed, "pull together now!" in a loud voice. They were quick to obey the command, especially when it was punctuated by the staccato crack of whips against flesh. As soon as they were away from the pier. further instructions had only one side pulling while the other group of oars rested. In that way the ship was soon pivoted out of the cove and toward the more open waters.
Once again, he signaled and as a group everyone pulled. Ship and bodies groaned under the initial exertion.
To John and Don's amazement they saw Smith pulling in rhythm with his partner. They glanced at each other and John shrugged.
"Now I hate to say it but watching Smith work is almost worth all this!"
Robinson gave an characteristically Smith-like hike of one eyebrow. He knew West didn't genuinely mean it was worth it. He also recognized that the occasional joke kept them from a state of despair, so he declined to dispute the statement.
And then they saw it. The string-bean thin alien gave Smith what was undoubtedly a nasty look. On the next pull he did the same thing, adding a slight baring of fangs, his muzzle-like nose wrinkling in the process. His lips twitched as if he wanted to restrain himself from an attack. Wispy whiskers twitched in agitation. On the next pull he made a lightening quick flash of his clawed hands toward Smith face. Shrieking in surprise, Smith hurled himself sideways. The Alien's growl grew audible as he gestured to the oar.
"Pull or I swear I will tear your heart out and feed it to you!" He was rewarded with Smith's mixed expression of terror and disgust.
A guard patrolling the walkway heard the exchange and immediately sent the leather whip snaking toward Smith's shoulder. The blow was delivered with more force than usual, just as they were beginning to draw back the oars. A surge of adrenaline, fueled by fear and pain, caused Smith to yank back fiercely on the oar. Both human and alien were caught unawares by the sudden display of strength, and the creature was almost pitched back into Robinson's lap. Then the retreat of the oars jerked him forward, half off his seat. By the time the alien had reseated himself every hair on his body was bristling. Had the next boom of the drum not sounded he would have surely carried out his threat upon the hapless doctor.
Quickly assessing the situation, a guard let the tip of his whip strip some fur and flesh from the creatures arm, reminding him who was in charge. Subdued for the moment, both human and alien began to pull in tandem. As they got farther from land they picked up a weak current . The drummer was settling into a slightly slower cadence. Not enough to relax but at least they were able to catch their breaths.
Suddenly Smith moaned, "My back is a disaster area! I must have rest, I tell you. Rest!"
The nearest guard, not understanding a word of it, rewarded the comment with another lick of the lash. Smith remained silent for a few minutes before starting in again, though his voice didn't travel far enough to catch unwanted attention. "I'm getting blisters upon blisters," and in the brief respite between rows, he was able to open his hands palm up long enough to show Robinson and West the large, red, fluid filled welts already forming on his hands. He moaned as he pondered the condition of his hands in a few hours. "My hands simply aren't conditioned for this type of strenuous activity!"
"You know Smith," Don whispered loudly from behind him. "For once in your life, you've said something that's the truth."
"Bah!" Smith called loudly, then cowered as if expecting a blow. Fortunately for him the nearest guard was preoccupied with another recalcitrant prisoner.
"Major, if they don't give me something to protect them, I'll have nothing left but the metacarpals! I assure you, if they leave me with nothing but stumps on the end of my arms I will be useless to you once we get back to the ship."
"So what else is new!" retorted Don with a slight smile. "Quit complaining Smith, we are all going to be blistered by the end of the day. Be a man for once and shut up about it."
Smith shot him an odd look as soon as the opportunity presented itself. "You realize that if the infection doesn't get us, the heat surely will."
"We're aware of that doctor," Robinson assured him.
"Fit or otherwise, this kind of activity is terribly hard on a man my age. I am really not up to this." Smith added for emphasis. Or perhaps he was doing it for the sympathy factor. John couldn't exactly tell which. Don, however, took it at face value.
"Be still my heart," muttered Don loud enough for Smith and John to hear it, "Two truthful comments in one day. Anymore of this and the shock will give me a coronary right now.
"At least you'd be free of this odious burden," Smith murmured morosely. "And liberated from the perpetual stench of these bipedal hairballs," he added, once again displaying his penchant for hurling insults in even the most inappropriate of circumstances.
A black band flashed toward him, eliciting a shriek.
When the guard had passed, Don sputtered, "Smith, if there's one unwavering fact that I can say about you, it's that you don't know when to shut up!"
Giving a squirrelly look at the back of the whip wielding warrior, he hissed back, "Just you wait, Major..." and left the comment hanging as he grunted and pulled at the oar yet another time.
An hour passed, then two. Though the drummer had giving them periodic breaks in speed, he never completely let up. Smith moaned piteously when his blisters began to break. Sweat poured down his face in obvious streams. He tried to swipe at it every time his eyes renewed their stinging but the constant motion and the manacles made it difficult.
Consciously, he tried to let up on every other pass of the oars, just enough to give him some respite but not enough to alert his benchmate. Through out, he interspersed inane comments with whining complaints.
His parched throat felt like razors shredding their way clear down to his chest. When Judy and Maureen brought respite in the form of a pitcher of water, he was nearly ready to pass out from dehydration. He gulped the ladle full in desperation, not caring one whit that the beast beside him had already sipped from the same implement.
"Bless you child," he said hoarsely. "Can I have another?" His pitiful tone had nearly coerced Judy into giving him seconds but then she caught the leader staring at them and knew his 'one drink per prisoner' command was not to be disobeyed if she valued her skin. Somehow she knew that the beasts would not hesitate to use the lash on her if he thought she deserved it.
With a sad shake of her head, she replied, "Sorry, Doctor Smith. I can't do it or we'll all suffer. I know it doesn't mean much but they'll send me around in another hour or so." With one last worried glance, she continued on to her father and Don.
"Dad, I've heard them talking. They are doing what Doctor Smith suggested. Apparently they are going to go from town to town. All of you will stay on with them until their final destination where you'll be sold to the plesenium mines. I have no idea what that is but it sure doesn't sound pleasant."
Suddenly a loud crack resounded around them and Judy's large blue eyes grew round with shock. She flinched, and pivoted with hands raised to ward off another blow. "Back to work. No talking!" the guard growled as he threatened to use the whip again. Judy didn't need to be told twice and she hurried on with her tasks.
The only thing holding Don in his seat was Joh's downward pressure on the chains. "Not now Don," Robinson advised. "Anger won't get you anywhere and we both know it. "
Slowly, the crimson color of rage faded from Don's handsome face and he nodded in acquiescence. "You're right of course, but I'm gonna take him down for it later!"
"Do that Major, with my blessings," Smith quipped. "In fact, I'm sorely tempted to help you."
"Right Smith. That'll be that day..." but he didn't finish his sentence preferring to save his strength.