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Today is Wednesday, 27-Aug-2008 22:03:48 PDT
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The Oodahl
by PROLOGUE The ten Oodahl elders moved into the room in silence. They moved gracefully, almost as if they were riding a slow wind. The youngest locked the door behind them. In the old days, there would have been no need for the lock. In fact, they contacted a human to install it. They were uncomfortable with the idea of meeting behind closed doors, but it was necessary. It was a human crime they needed to meditate upon. The elders moved into a circle. Roolai began, he had been there since the beginning of Contact. He embraced all minds with adahl, warmth of the womb. His beautific face was nearly unlined for he had lived a life of compassion and patience. He closed his sapphire blue eyes to begin. "I am glad to see you all. I had hoped our next meeting would be one of sharing joy at the water festival. We have not needed a spirit healing group for five generations," Roolai thought. "That was for an Oodahl healing. I have doubts this human will accept us in his dreams. He is filled with fear of us. He wants others to fear us," thought Munahl. "We must try. Perhaps we allowed him to mine too much of the sand. But now we must act, the sacred Vessels of Life are at risk of being destroyed," thought Roolai. "You are right. Let us enter his dreams tonight and if we fail," Munahl paused as he felt the others shudder. "We will discuss our other options tomorrow." "I hope we do not have to involve the Galaxy Security Force, but I am not optimistic about healing the dreams of Rod Ottox," replied Roolai. "Until we meet as form but not form." Roolai opened his eyes. The elders filed out with their heads slightly bowed. There would be no joy in entering the dream of one who had not given permission. Roolai expected great resistance.
* * * *
Rod Ottox eased back in the reclining chair and turned on its massage beads. He closed his eyes and ran his hand through his thick black hair. He was tired. Ottox had never adapted to the long days on this planet. At least, the long days meant bigger profits from the mining operations. He opened his eyes and swiveled around to look out MinderCorp's twenty-eighth story window. The light of the second sun was barely visible over the horizon. No wonder the Oodahl are so damned pink, he thought. Ottox avoided being in the same room with the Oodahl. It was exhausting to keep their probing thoughts out of his mind. He had always hated dealing with telepaths, especially when he needed to lie to them. Ottox couldn't understand why they were so concerned if the mining operations went out of specified areas. It's not as if they were growing anything on this godforsaken planet. Except for the colored munta, the Oodahl version of cotton. He hadn't gone near those. Ottox closed his eyes again. He let the beads relax him. He didn't feel like getting up for his nightly session in the fluorohex. His tan wouldn't fade overnight, he thought. He let his thoughts drift. He slept. Ottox stood surveying the colored sand. He felt a bit nervous, he hardly ever went on site. He found he was alone. As he walked, his legs sank into the sand. But he didn't feel slowed, he felt as if he were floating right through it. He was then in a cave filled with rows of glass jars. He turned and saw the Oodahl elders watching him. Their eyes reminded him of colored glass and he felt very afraid. He turned around and around, looking for a place to run out of the cavern. But the Oodahl blocked the entrance. The elders opened their mouths as if to speak and reached for him with their long, pink fingers. The fingers looked like claws. Ottox ran to the back of the cave and saw the elders advancing on him, their mouths open. He could feel their fingers try to reach into his mind. Ottox opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. He felt his heart pounding in his chest and he continued to scream silently. Rod Ottox jerked awake. He was sweating profusely and his arms were shaking. Goddamn those Oodahl, he thought. He stood up and looked around his apartment. He checked the lock on the door. "It was just a dream," he said aloud. "We've failed," thought Roolai from his hut. "Yes," replied Munahl. "But we still have the other alternative, the Galaxy Security may be able to help." "Our people will be lost to the sands if they cannot," Roolai thought with sadness.
Chapter One
Ellie dreamed of the little black horse, it was a genetic cross at the zoo. Two adults were on either side of her, holding her small hands. Their faces were hard to see, but the woman had long red hair and Ellie realized they were her parents. A grating sound was invading the quiet, a mechanical harsh voice. "Elizabeth Weaver, the sleep is over." Ellie opened her eyes with difficulty. She turned her head and looked at the glass head of a robot. "The sleep is over." The three foot tall robot had a small speaker for a mouth. Ellie stared at the thing without comprehending. Suddenly, it rolled to the other side of the cabin room and began to push buttons on a console. "Where am I?" Ellie asked and looked around the room with only her eyes, her neck felt extremely stiff. The robot rolled back over and raised its arm. Ellie felt a sharp sting in her right upper arm. The robot pushed another button and the bed began to fold into a sitting position. "Elizabeth Weaver, you are on the Wartonia vessel and in twenty-four terran hours we will dock at Roonda station. Presently, you have some memory loss from the suspended animation. Do not worry, your memory will return before docking. I have given you an analgesic muscle relaxant, so you will be able to move with greater ease." Ellie raised her arms slightly, then swung her legs over the side of the bed. She felt somewhat nauseated. She took a few deep breaths and shifted her position. "How long have I been out?" The robot rolled to a set of drawers and came back with a portable computer log. "Here is your bio. Please tell me when you are hungry or wish to communicate with crew members." The robot handed her the log and rolled to the door. Ellie shakily raised her arm and ran her hand through chin-length curly hair. She turned her head and saw herself in a mirror. The movement made her more nauseated. She barely recognized the pale face blinking back at her. Ellie set the computer log aside and attempted to stand at the side of the bed. Her knees buckled slightly and she sat back on the bed. “I am Elizabeth Weaver,” she said slowly. Her mouth felt gummy inside. The robot did not respond. “Could I have some water?” The robot rolled to the drawers and pulled out a thermos. After unscrewing the top, the robot handed the container to Ellie. Ellie took a cautious sip, then another. She then tipped her head and took several long gulps. I’ve been through this before, she thought. She picked up the computer log. “ELIZABETH WEAVER,” it read. “Transportation: Ghost. Departure: Spacedock Centaur. Destination: Roonda (see also MinderCorp).” The only thing she recognized was her name. She typed in MinderCorp. “MinderCorp Assignment. To: Ms. Weaver. Thank you for responding so quickly. The position is essentially one of diplomacy, much like your position on the Centaur station. Your experience in dealing with a wide spectrum of aliens will be of great help. But I must warn you again, you must guard your thoughts. Not only are the Oodahl strange, they are limitedly telepathic and may attempt mind manipulation. After you have settled in your residence, I will brief you personally. Sincerely, Rod Ottox, President of MinderCorp.” Memories of her last assignment were coming back to her. Sentient beings, in a variety of forms, coming to cajole, argue and plead their cases regarding anything from docking permits and merchant rights to interspecies mating against parental or group family wishes. Elli sighed. She had been on the space relations team on Centaur for almost three years. She smiled to herself and thought, my longest assignment. The job had seemed challenging at first, a rarity for a nonmilitary position. There were so many different beings, so many customs and differing types of emotions it was like walking on a thin Malta ice bridge, one slip and she would plunge into a chasm of Chas. But after she had been on Centaur for a while, the interspecie disagreements took on the fractious tone of childish squabbles. She no longer felt truly needed. Ellie had always been restless and knew when it was time to move on. MinderCorp’s offer had come at just the right time. She had only a few close friends to say goodbye to. Ellie shifted uncomfortably on the bed and again attempted to stand. Her knees still felt weak, but this time she leaned against the bed instead of sitting down. She typed Bio into the log. “Elizabeth Weaver. Born--Draxyl Colony. Age--32, Terran years. Parents--Deceased. Next of kin--Linda Noble, maternal aunt.” Ellie stopped reading and stared straight ahead. For a few blessed moments, she had no memory of the accident. Her parents were on a transfer shuttle from ship to planet, they had just returned from a vacation on Maulta visiting the weather shaped ice ‘cities.’ Her father was returning to a promotion in a biotechnology corporation. Ellie had watched the shuttle begin its lower orbit descent when suddenly a plume of black smoke billowed out of its side. The shuttle then exploded in a fiery ball. Her relatives tried to comfort her with, “They didn’t suffer.” But she was the one suffering, she missed them terribly. The horror increased when there were whispers of sabotage. The water Ellie drank now felt like icy stones in her stomach. The robot rolled up and Ellie vomited on its plastic head.
While Ellie expelled what little was left in her stomach, Peter Muldoon was just finishing off his breakfast of reconstituted eggs and coffee. Muldoon had opted for paying four times the standard passage fare in order to avoid cold sleep. Or suspended animation as the brochure preferred to call it. Most people felt ‘cold sleep’ sounded too much like death, and Muldoon agreed. He didn’t like the side effects of suspended animation. The last time his memory didn’t fully return for three days. But most of all he hated the cold, clammy feeling of his skin when he wole up. Muldoon would do almost anything to avoid being cold, he feared the cold intensely. Not that he let it interfere with his job with the ISF, InterStellar Security Force. In fact, he often told himself, cold sleep was detrimental for any decent investigation. When he had the three day memory lapse he wound up on planet without any idea of who he was supposed to work for. The nature of the mission was too sensitive to be contained in the ship’s wake-up bio log. After the investigation of a pirate mining operation was over, Muldoon was able to convince his boss, Captain Danton, to allocate the funds necessary to travel awake. Unfortunately, for this trip, foregoing cold sleep meant six weeks ship time with no one to talk to but robots, a taciturn captain, and a few crewmates. The only person he could relate to was the doctor in the med unit. Muldoon thought of the woman with a grin. Dr. Claire Kavitz was something of a fixture aboard the Ghost. She could have gone planetside anywhere twenty years ago either in retirement or in a high level administrative position. Kavitz didn’t want either. She preferred her ship, her baby she liked to call it. She had already outlasted five captains. The present Captain Steen was a harshly disciplined man, and expected others to follow his path. But he deferred to the doctor and respected Kavitz’s judgment. Muldoon cleared his table and headed for the med unit. It was close to docking into Roonda’s orbital station and other passengers would be awakened about now and more than a few would need some assistance. He told Claire he would assist her with the cold sleep casualties. The halls were clear except for two robots rolling in the opposite direction. When he arrived at the med unit, there were no less than five passengers in various stages of vomiting and/or hysteria related to amnesia. Dr. Kavitz caught Muldoon’s look and waved him over. She was tending a woman who was moaning about her lost baby. “She only has partial reconstruction, she thinks she’s only twenty-five years old,” Claire murmured to Peter. The woman, about fifty, grabbed Peter’s arm tightly. “Please help me,” she whispered urgently. “This woman won’t let me find my baby. Please, he’s so helpless, so small. He’s only six months old. I’ve got to find him.” Peter held the woman’s hand gently. “It’s going to be all right,” he said soothingly. “Your baby is going to be okay, he’s safe.” The woman began shaking her head vigorously. Dr. Kavitz quickly injected a sedative into her arm and eased her onto the bed. The woman’s skin was pale grey. Peter touched her hand again and immediately withdrew from its icy feel. “She’s so cold.” “She’s in shock,” Claire said abruptly, tapping through a bio log of the patient. “She lost her baby. The infant was kidnapped and killed. This psych eval says this woman is well-adjusted. Jesus,” Claire muttered angrily.
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