CHAPTER 5

As the sun was reaching it's zenith and the temperatures rose yet higher, all the humans began to suffer. Despite the alien's light furring, they seemed to fare better in the heat. Or perhaps having lived on this world their whole lives, they'd become inured to the discomforts the planet dished out every day. In either case, Smith was seriously flagging. He continued to ease up on every stroke until it finally did become obvious to his partner. Without warning, the alien bared his fangs in a feral grin and elbowed Smith hard enough to send the wind whooshing from his lungs.

Smith glared at the alien. "You hairy homunculus. If that tiny cranium holds anything other than pea soup you'd be better served trying to figure out an escape plan rather than wasting energy assaulting me!"

The beast glared back, not understanding human speech perhaps, but clearly understanding the intent behind the words. Less than a second later, he elbowed the Doctor's ribs, twice as hard. If they hadn't been rowing, Don knew Smith would have already doubled over from that blow but there was no spare moment to fall down on the job. Instead, the Doctor moaned with every pull. And his benchmate, wise to his tricks, sent a few more quick shots whenever he felt Smith wasn't pulling his weight.

After the third water break, Don was beginning to wonder how he was going to survive this himself. Everything in his body was aching. Like Smith his hands had begun to blister from the unusual work and they felt like someone was torching them with each pull of the oar.

Don had one advantage. Unlike the doctor, he had shed his tunic long ago and he was keeping cooler without it, though the sun's blaze was beginning to fry his skin right through the t-shirt.

Now that foolish decision on Smith's part...to maintain decorum at all times...had cost him. Overwhelmed by the heat and lack of fluids, he finally succumbed, collapsing across the oars.

"Smith!" Don and John shouted in unison, fearing that an injured or ill prisoner would likely become fishbait. Their repetition of his name brought forth no results and the alien beside him called out to one warrior. Meanwhile he had raised that oar out of the water to keep it from messing up the cadence of the others. Soon, they had freed the doctor from his shackles and were dragging him up onto the walkway.

Risking the extreme displeasure of their captors, Judy and Maureen nevertheless dashed toward the small group trying to show by their ministrations and protectiveness that they would see to his care. When the leader flung a finger out to sea, Judy got desperate and calmly walked up to the alien, placing her hands upon his narrow chest, giving him an imploring look she prayed would be a recognizable expression for pleading. Apparently it was. The leader, ran one multi-knuckled finger along her cheek. His hideous teeth were exposed in what could have been a smile though she wasn't certain.

Judy had no idea if they would even want a human female though she was already aware, from the unabashed way they relieved themselves over the side of the ship, that they were humanoid enough to successfully rape her if they wanted to. The revolting thought made her stomach knot up, but she swore to keep out of his reach if that were possible. But first, she had more important matters to attend to.

With another guard's help, they dragged Smith's still unconscious form to the canopy and beneath the cooler shade therein. Maureen immediately tried to rouse him enough to take water but the doctor was still unresponsive. Will brought over a wet cloth and they put it over his flushed forehead.

"We need to get this tunic off at the very least," Maureen murmured. She thought of pulling it off until she realized it would never get completely off with the manacles still in place. Attracting the attention of another warrior, this one wearing little more than a thong, a knife scabbard and a gaudy metal medallion, she indicated she needed a cutting tool. He appeared reluctant to give it to her, not that she blamed him for mistrusting her given her prisoner status. Trying another tack, she indicated she wanted the Doctor's shirt cut. Flicking his hands in what appeared to their equivalent of a shrug, he pulled the knife and knelt down beside the prostrate doctor.

"Hope he doesn't misunderstand and kill poor Doctor Smith," Penny whispered to Will.

"Watch his hands. If he does anything threatening...you take his legs and I'll shove him down." supplied Will.

"Oh that's smart," Penny snorted and tossed a derisive stare in Will's direction. "And then what? You'll grab the knife and afterward we'll take on the whole ship?"

Will's retort was cut short but the sound of material ripping as the alien deftly parted the material up Smith's front until the collar parted, then down each sleeve. The remnant was tossed aside until Maureen quickly squirreled it behind her. Underneath, Smith's T-shirt stuck to him like a second skin and it smelled nearly as bad as the rotten garbage hurled at them back on the beach.

She used a bit more of the water from the bucket to douse his skin in the hopes of cooling him down. The alien leader, still watching warily from a distance, barked an order. In less than a minute, someone had fetched a bucket with a handle on it. A stout rope was attached to the handle and then the bucket was tossed into the calm waters. When it was withdrawn, the leader strode over with it and tossed the full contents right upon the Doctor.

The surprising cold spray landed on her legs and she nearly jumped. Better than that, it caused Smith to twitch slightly, which was more response than they'd seen from him since his collapse. With a pathetic moan, he tried to sit up, and then his body was wracked by dry heaves and strong, uncontrollable tremors. In moments he once more sank bonelessly onto the deck.

After walking to a small chest to the right of the canopy, the leader then handed her something white and powdery. "Salt," he told her through the translation device. "You get him to take it when he can keep it down. Can't have my property dying before I can sell you all off." And the alien laughed, a high pitched wailing like that of keening bagpipes.

Better than an hour later, and after much soaking with cool water, Smith finally opened bleary eyes and found his head cradled in Judy's lap, with Mrs. Robinson hovering nearby with a ladle ready. As soon as it touched his dry and cracking lips, he tried to drink it greedily, heedless of the effect that course of action would have on his unsettled stomach. "Slowly, not too quickly or you'll get sick again," Maureen advised as she withdrew the water. Taking a wet cloth, she wiped the dark, dirty strands of lank hair away from his face. "Your color is getting better," she observed aloud. "That's a good sign."

"My dear lady, why bother with all this?" he spoke listlessly. "They'll put me back out there until the abuse does me in." She noted that, regardless of his words, he didn't refuse the water or the salt powder when she offered them over to him. That was Smith to the core, she thought to herself, a true survivor no matter how much he whined about his own weaknesses. Gently, she gave his shoulder a few consoling pats and passed along a few tiny morsels to eat. Once assured he could keep them down, she retrieved the torn tunic and shredded it further, into long black strips. Then she mixed some of the seawater left in a nearby pail and added a bit more salt to it. Using one bit of cloth she dabbed the mixture onto his open wounds.

Despite his weakened condition, Smith was not stupid. He didn't want to draw unnecessary attention to himself. Therefore, as the fire in his hands spiraled clear up to his armpits, he bit his lip, and moaned as softly as he could manage.

"Madam," he finally grunted through clenched teeth, " I suspect that with only a tad more practice, you could put the Marquis de Sade out of business."

"Come now Doctor Smith," she said with a half smile. "Let's not be so melodramatic. Salt is the only thing I have to cleanse the wound to prevent infection. Surely you know that."

"Indeed..." Smith grimaced, too tired to argue any farther. Moments later, he had already faded back into a deep sleep.

Taking more of the strips, Maureen rinsed them as thoroughly as she could in seawater, wrung them out and set them above the canopy to dry. Then, she and the rest of her children were given the task of feeding the prisoners. While this was done, others were released in groups to relieve themselves as best they could given the lack of proper waste disposal equipment. The humans, far more uncomfortable with such openness, kept their backs turned as much as possible.

John and Don were both exhausted and she managed to slip them an extra helping of food and water as well as a bit of the salt powder. Too tired to talk, they both nodded gratefully. She also gave them strips of Smith's shirt, not caring if anyone saw that or not. "Use this to wrap around your hands. Maybe it will cut out some of the pain." And then she was gone, moving onto the next 'person'.

Later that afternoon, they picked up a steadily increasing breeze and unfurled the large rectangular sail. Aliens and humans alike cried out in jubilation at the prospect of a rest. Not that the Robinson party could appreciate it as much as they anticipated.

John and Don remained chained to the oars. Maureen and Penny brought back water and hard salted meat that was barely edible for the natives let alone the humans. Don, feeling more adventurous than his companion, tried a piece, chewed it for the next 20 minutes and decided it would be better as bait than as food.

"Unfit for human consumption as Smith would say," Don observed, managing a tight smile.

"Better than nothing," John supplied, ever the pragmatist. He took a tentative bite and began the long arduous task of trying to soften the meat. He never did quite get it juicy enough to swallow and it too found it's way overboard. "Tasty," he muttered as he sent the next well chewed bit hurtling as far as he could manage.

"Not like the food?" A guard scowled petulantly at them. "Good, more for us!"

Realizing they were in trouble, John pointed at his teeth and went through an absurd pantomime to demonstrate that his teeth were insufficient to tear up the food. At first the guard just stared then made that same flicking motion with his hand. He casually strolled down the walkway and disappeared behind the canopy. When he returned, he tossed two large pink knobby balls at them. Deftly catching them, the two men peeled off the outer skin and found juicy, soft, pulpy flesh beneath. Tentatively John touched the tip of his tongue to what was presumably a fruit, and was greeted with that high pitched laughter he'd heard previously from these beings.

"Mmmm, sweet, something like a mango."

Don gave him a worried glance. "I know it's a bit late to point this out, but this is the hard way to find out if something will make us sick or not. I've been okay with the gruel they served earlier but every time we eat something we increase the odds that we'll cross something that doesn't agree with us."

John shrugged fatalistically. "It's either that or starve before we get to the next port. Even with fresh water, we'll never be able to keep up this pace without solid food of some sort." He paused to take another bite, ignoring the thin line of pink juice that ran down his strong jaw. "I think they'll at least see to it that we are fed one way or the other. We must be of some value to them...otherwise they would have killed Smith when he passed out."

"Speaking of which, look at him. In the lap of luxury," Don added through gritted teeth. "Figures! "

John followed his gaze and saw that, figuratively speaking, that was probably a fairly accurate statement for Smith was laying on the deck with his head pillowed in Judy's lap and she was gently stroking his face with a cool cloth. He had a lazy smile on his thin lips and his eyelids were drooping lazily.

"He's gonna pay for this," Don muttered, almost too softly for Robinson to hear. Not that it mattered. John wasn't too happy with the sight either, even if it was innocent enough. Judy had the heart of a saint and would aid anyone in need, even the frequently cantankerous adopted crewmember and troublemaker par excellence named Zachary Smith.

Especially Smith, he was forced to amend his assessment. She'd admitted often enough she felt sorry for him, being the only one unwilling to go on the space voyage. Clearly he wasn't cut out to be an explorer despite his chameleon-like ability to adapt in a heartbeat. And he certainly wasn't above manipulating her feelings either.

"Later," John finally acquiesced. "We've got more important things to worry about. Survival. Escape. Fleeing through a hostile land."

Not bothering to hide the smirk, Don simply stated, "Right." His tone indicated 'later' might arrive sooner than expected.

"I mean it, Don!" John admonished. Don raised his hands in submission but said nothing else.