Tony Chandler - Qarzaak

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2024-11-23 0 0 33.15KB 17 页 5.9玖币

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QARZAAK

by Tony Chandler

"It is written: 'We, Humans, are made in the image of God.'" Enon's body tensed as he

finished speaking.

The Qarzaak's horny mandibles began to open and close. Dancing reflections from the

artificial lights of the cavern ceiling played across the ridged scales of the Qarzaak's

abdomen as its breathing increased sharply. The misshapen head swiveled lower and

closer until Enon felt the hot breath sweep his face with an intense, musky stench.

"You have an ugly god," The Qarzaak hissed into Enon's ear.

Enon clenched his fists and bit back the curses that would mean his certain death. He

breathed deeply, quickly -- trying to regain his composure.

The Qarzaak had insulted him in the Human language -- the only way Qarzaak

condescended to speak to Humans. Even that was rare enough, though Enon was one of

the few Humans that the Qarzaak bothered wasting words on.

Once again, Enon mentally reminded himself that he was more than the nothing-slave the

Qarzaak believed him to be. He was more than a sub-species. He ... was a Human.

And he was a Healer.

"You want a breeding license. That's it. That's why you have said this bizarre thing." The

Qarzaak's mighty laughter echoed in the large cavern.

Enon's thoughts dissolved instantly with the Qarzaak's harsh words, and now his frustration

vectored in a single heartbeat to white-hot lust. Or was it love? The images in his mind were

unclear -- for Enon had never actually seen a woman.

The Qarzaak controlled Humans better that way.

But rumors were whispered feverishly around the fires before exhaustion forced the aching

bodies to sleep. The time when men, with a few moments to themselves, thought of things

that were not, but they wished them to be.

Dreams.

Enon remembered the oft-told tales, and that the Qarzaak kept women separate on mother

Earth. But his dreams of Earth had long since died.

"What I have said is true," Enon said, pushing away the unattainable dreams with a single

mental blow.

The Qarzaak's laughter echoed louder.

"You are a self-centered race, little Human. To think the "Giver" would fashion himself into

the image of a single race. And that of a 'sub-species'!" The Qarzaak emphasized the last

word as the basest of obscenities.

Enon held his anger at bay.

"You are nothing but savages." The Qarzaak stood to its full height, twice that of the man

before it. The huge mandibles opened wide.

"I would take your head for that gross lie. But, my mandibles are held. Still ..." The blue

phlegm shot from the Qarzaak like a superheated geyser.

Enon clenched his eyes shut with the wet impact that enveloped his body. His body began to

shake with an equal mixture of rage and utter revulsion. His skin crawled and screamed

under the slime that covered him in its wet, filthy embrace. The horrible stench filled his

clogged nostrils and he dared not open his eyes for fear the burning syrup would blind him

as well.

"The CairE wants you." Enon barely made out the words through the thick fluid that filled his

ears. "Do not forget, sub-species! That is the only reason I have wasted my breath with you."

And there was silence.

Enon waited a few moments more, to make sure the Qarzaak left, and then he wiped with

urgent, rapid motions across his mouth and nose -- like a man drowning.

And he was.

Finally, mercifully, his frantic efforts cleared one nostril enough so he could fill his burning

lungs with air. Still, it was mixed with the gut-wrenching stench of the blue saliva. Enon

choked and gagged, bending over as his lungs again screamed with this new, blinding pain.

His hands wiped faster.

With each pass, more of the syrupy saliva clung to his hands and not his face. But the heavy

stench would irritate his nose for days to come, and his black hair would have a blue glaze --

iridescent blue highlights -- for days. But like all Humans, he would wear that dishonor with

pride.

He took his clothes off carefully, rag by tattered rag. They were ruined, as was his sense of

smell. But at least that would come back with time. Not so the clothes.

Naked, his ebony skin reflecting a bluish glaze from the overhead lights, he walked among

the laborers, head proudly raised. But not a single eye of the hundreds around noticed him

in the midst of their burning tiredness -- or cared.

This small planet at the edge of the God-forsaken galaxy was a living hell and everyone who

lived here felt its cruel yoke. For untold years the Qarzaak had mined its deep interior,

sending their slaves to dig inside the extensive network of tunnels for the rare crystalline

minerals they used as the heart of the intelligent computers. Even the unfortunate Qarzaaks

who were in charge suffered from the planet's isolation and harsh environment.

But worst were the mutating diseases that seemed to ravage the colony regularly, almost as

if the planet itself were trying to fight back against its rape. A new strain had appeared within

the last few weeks, and now Enon found himself to be the last living Healer among the

Human slaves. The other Healers had died while trying to minister to the thousands of dead

or dying. In fact, Enon was almost as exhausted from trying to help fight the epidemic these

last weeks as he was from his long shifts in the mines.

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Tony Chandler - Qarzaak

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