Steph Bennion - Paw-Prints of the Gods

Several hours later, a thump on the wall of the cabin woke Quirinus from his slumber. It turned out to be from Momus’ head, who had fallen over outside whilst trying to remove his boots. Quirinus found his hired pilot swaying unsteadily in the doorway of the cabin, suspiciously wobbly on his feet, though that particular mystery was solved by the sight of the bar steward busily tidying away a stack of empty tumblers from the bar.

“Nothing to report,” slurred Momus. He burped and gave a lopsided grin. “All quiet on the Falsafah front, Captain Quirinus, sir.”

“Go to bed,” Quirinus hissed irritably. “And do it quietly! Zotz is still asleep.”

Leaving Momus to stumble into the cabin, Quirinus made his way across the dome and up the short tunnel to the transit lounge. The dull pink light of dawn was breaking and he went to a window to get his first proper view of the alien world outside. Beyond the Platypus on the apron at the side of the runway, the wind-pump tower and the fresh wheel tracks leading to the hangar, there was nothing to show that humans had ever trespassed upon the bleak monotony of the endless red dunes.

Quirinus paused, crossed to the window nearest the hangar and gave the tracks a puzzled stare. The twin gouges in the sand looked fresh and were still full of water where they ran near the leaking wind pump. The stiff breeze that had greeted them upon leaving the Platypus continued to bluster hard against the walls of the depot, yet that same wind had barely begun to obliterate tracks that at first he had assumed were several days old. Quirinus craned his neck to follow their trail to the bottom of the wind-pump tower and gave a low whistle of surprise. Parked almost out of sight, at the side of the depot’s dome, was a green six-wheeled personnel carrier that had definitely not been there before.

“Nothing to report!” he muttered. “Too drunk to notice a transport visiting in the dead of night, more like.”

The vehicle’s running lights were off. A tense minute of scrutiny revealed no sign of movement inside. His mind made up, Quirinus hurried to retrieve his survival suit from the rack next to the hangar door, left there after disembarking from the Platypus . He pulled on the suit and helmet, opened the door and was halfway across the hangar when an unexpected movement brought him to a surprised halt.

The mysterious transport was forgotten as he hastened towards the two wriggling and hooded human shapes lying upon the floor. Removing his helmet, he knelt by the first, pulled away the hood and gasped in shock at the furious and scowling features of a dark-haired young woman. Lifting the hood from the second, he gave a cry of disbelief, recognising the face beneath. The girl’s eyes, wild with fear, melted into relief at the sight of her rescuer. Both captives were gagged with tape and lay with their wrists and ankles bound by cords.

“Philyra!” Quirinus exclaimed. Putting down his helmet, he ripped the tape from the girl’s face. He did not remember her having purple hair. “It is you, isn’t it?”

“Yes!” shrieked Philyra. “I nearly suffocated under there!”

“Who’s your friend?” asked Quirinus. He pulled the tape from the other captive’s mouth and got to work untying their bonds, his mind whirling.

“Felicity Fornax!” the woman snapped. “Where the hell are we?”

“She’s a reporter,” added Philyra. “She got us into this mess.”

“You’re on Falsafah,” he told them, his hands busy with the knotted cables. “Arallu Depot, to be precise. Otherwise known as the middle of nowhere.”

He pulled free the last of Philyra’s bindings and moved to help Fornax. Philyra gave a whimper and began to massage her limbs to get the blood flowing again. By the time Quirinus had unfastened the cords securing the reporter’s ankles and wrists, Philyra had regained the use of her legs and was pacing nervously around the hangar.

“Do you know this man?” remarked Fornax.

“This is Captain Quirinus,” Philyra said proudly. “He took us to the Epsilon Eridani peace conference last year. His daughter Ravana is one of the students at the dig.”

“Enough about me,” Quirinus said impatiently. “Why are you here?”

“It’s all her fault,” Philyra said and glared at Fornax, still sat wearily on the floor. “She thought it would be a good idea to pretend to be Dhusarians so we could get on that ship. We were barely out of Ascension orbit when they realised we were fakes. They trussed us up to stop us escaping, then when we landed dumped us here.”

“Stop us escaping?” scoffed Fornax. “From a moving spaceship?”

“Dhusarians?” asked Quirinus, confused. “What ship?”

“Can we go somewhere a little more comfortable?” asked Fornax, climbing to her feet. “This place makes my hotel room look luxurious.”

“Of course,” said Quirinus. “Though the rest of the depot is not much better.”

He led them into the transit lounge, where Fornax promptly crashed into the nearest chair with a groan. Philyra continued to pace restlessly back and forth while Quirinus tried to persuade the food molecularisor to produce something comforting.

“Hot chocolate?” he said at last. He handed them each a plastic cup emanating sweet-smelling steam. “I couldn’t get it to serve tea.”

Fornax gave a grunt of thanks, tasted the bitter drink and scowled. Philyra looked equally unimpressed by the offering but was a little more gracious.

“Thanks,” she said. She turned to the window and looked across the concrete apron to the berthed Platypus . “Is that your ship? It looks different, somehow.”

“It’s a long story,” admitted Quirinus. “But you still haven’t told me yours.”

“I was in Newbrum doing a piece on the dig and chasing rumours of alien artefacts on the black market,” Fornax said wearily. “The trail led us to a ship owned by the Dhusarian Church, which we boarded and ended up here.”

“I’m her personal assistant,” Philyra added.

“That’s your freighter out there?” asked Fornax, eyeing Quirinus suspiciously. “It has smuggler written all over it. Doing a bit of black-market trading yourself?”

“I am looking for my daughter,” Quirinus replied frostily. “She went missing from the dig over two weeks ago.”

“Ravana’s gone missing?” Philyra’s face fell. “I’m so sorry. Can we help?”

“You can tell me if there’s anyone in that transport parked outside,” said Quirinus impatiently. “It’s a delight to meet you again, my dear Philyra, but you may have noticed that we’re nowhere near wherever the action is. If I am to steal someone else’s wheels, it would be nice to know if there’s anyone inside ready to object.”

“We had hoods over our heads,” Philyra reminded him. “I’ve no idea what happened between us landing here and you finding us. On the spaceship there was just the pilot and co-pilot, plus a couple of nasty-looking robots in crates. Didn’t you see anything? Surely you must have heard a spacecraft landing right next to the dome.”

“I was asleep,” Quirinus said irritably. “And I left an idiot on watch.”

“There are others here?” asked Fornax, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

“My co-pilot Momus,” he told them. “And Ravana’s friend Zotz.”

“Zotz is here?” remarked Philyra. “That’s cool.”

She sipped upon the sickly chocolate drink and gazed thoughtfully through the window. Fornax climbed to her feet and hobbled to the door through which they had come. Quirinus followed and saw that whoever had abandoned the reporter and Philyra in the hangar had also left behind what he assumed was their luggage. His mind whirled with unanswered questions and he was unwilling to let the subject drop.