Chapter 3

Still wary of each other, their hands and other limbs resting apprehensively on their weapons, the eight humanoids walked, stalked, jumped and rippled down a winding transparent tunnel.

Behind them lay their newly arrived ship: a huge, dark-gray metal sphere. Its landing legs were buried in an endless carpet of green undergrowth. Sergei looked in awe at the ship they were leaving, and the landscape around it.

The ship had - apparently - landed on a planet with organic life. It had a clear blue sky, rich with oxygen, streaked with drifting white clouds. Endless rolling hills were covered by bright, short-cropped greenery. The transparent tunnel stretched above the greenery on thin supporting legs, ending some hundred feet from the ship. The horizon was visibly curved.

The group hurried up, as the tunnel began to fold itself up behind them. The ship's legs retracted with amazing speed back into the dark sphere, and the ship took off on a pillar of roaring blue fire. A huge shaft opened up in the "sky", at least a hundred meters above their head, and the ship flew out of the shaft. Then the shaft closed itself, leaving no seams in the uniform blue sky.

Ahead of the group, a transparent dome seemed to rise from the ground itself. The dome was large enough to house a city block; inside it was filled with brightly lit platforms, walkways and buildings.

"All this... and no taxi," Sergei muttered under his heavy breathing, chased by the self-destructing tunnel. "Wish I had... three legs."

Tripod walked at a more leisurely pace on his three thin legs; he had time to watch the scenery while he moved, muttering what sounded like an alien ditty:

"Woompan-woompan Jeek-Jeek, woompan-woompan Yyypyylyy..."

And the group of eight entered the dome. Above the entrance, another communications globe lit up and displayed the metal symbol of the 2-2-2.

In eight languages it declared: "Welcome to your new home planet. This is the home of the 2-2-2 Crew, your crew, built by the 2-2-2. It is also a mobile base, from which you will fly raids on other star systems. This planet is defended by machines in orbit. You will learn the controls in time."

Sergei looked out at the blue sky. It had no sun; the uniform lighting came from every part of it.

"I get it... it's a fake sky. We're underground, right?"

"Correct, Sergei."

Then Tripod spoke to the globe, and the globe replied in his tongue.

"Sergei. The being called Yyypyylyy or Tripod asked us to tell you the following: 'Jeek-Jeek is an approximation of the sound of your speech. It is not intended as an insult.'"

Sergei smiled at Tripod, nodding.

"Tell Tripod that I understand, and that the name 'Tripod' means 'has three legs.'"

The globe spoke in Tripod's language. Tripod made a hideous imitation of a human smile, and said to the Russian: "Ni-chevo! Yees?"

Sergei laughed, for the first time in many days. But the Russian and the three-legged alien would not touch each other.

Inside the dome lay a small city with many levels, reaching deep into the crust of the planetoid. Soon, the eight humanoids had found the accessible control and surveillance panels. Even sooner, they learned to use it to view the planetoid from the orbiting satellite cameras on the outside.

Thus, Sergei could see what lay on the other side of the uniform blue "sky": a thick armored shell, black as space itself. The surface, he learned - in time - was made of a material that absorbed all incoming light and converted it into electricity for the internal illumination. Temperature and humidity inside the air-filled habitat was controlled by thermostats. The climate system even adjusted temperature and humidity locally, to make it more comfortable for individual humanoids.

The one called Snowball craved a cold climate, and the machines kept the air around him around zero degrees Centigrade. The 2-2-2 guided Snowball to his own personal quarters on the planet: a miniature replica of his homeworld, complete with an alien sky and a frosty, ice-cold habitat.

Sergei followed Tripod to his newfound comrade's own quarters. They followed illuminated signs in Tripod's language, along a constantly moving walkway that spiraled through the dome.

"I know you can only understand a bit of what I'm saying, Tripod," said Sergei, standing beside him. "But I think you're smart, and you know what's going on. We can help each other. I'll look out for you, you'll look out for me. I don't know what you did back where you came from, and you probably don't care what I did before I came here. The important thing is that we stay alive, and look for... you know what I mean. The 2-2-2 can hear us, but there are things the 2-2-2 cannot know."

Tripod stopped at a circular doorway, tall enough for him to pass through. It opened and he peered into a floor space two hundred meters wide, the ceiling a false sky. The entire floor resembled a collage from another world: sulphurous rocks, scattered across the gray floor, emitted thin trails of smoke into the air. The false sky was orange. In the center of the floorspace stood a cluster of concrete huts.

Tripod grunted and walked cautiously into the artificial landscape. He sniffed the air and let out a contented sigh, then he turned around and made a gesture at Sergei to enter.

"Jeek-Jeek follow, yes?"

Sergei sniffed the air inside and stepped back. He clutched his nose.

"Uh! No follow. Sorry, but your apartment stinks like a baby's diapers... I'll stick to my own place, thank you. See you later, Tripod."

Sergei went up the walkway, going after the luminous scrolling signs in his own language. They led him to another floor. He entered, and found a Russian-style cottage made of fake logs, in a landscape of false birch-trees and flowers on the floor. His fake sky was blue.

By the cottage stood his Mercedes - or a perfect duplicate. Sergei opened the hood of the car and looked at the engine. Perfectly duplicated. He sat down in the driver's seat and gripped the steering-wheel with both hands. Staring out the front windshield, he grinned. Then he began to weep, silently.

"A zoo... a bloody zoo in space. A bloody zoo animal..."

He punched the signal-horn button on the steering-wheel. No sound came; the battery was dead. He kept punching the padded button, as tears streamed down his hard, clean-shaven face. Sergei no longer needed to shave, ever... the 2-2-2 had seen to that. Staring ahead with ruddy eyes, he punched in rhythm with his words.

"You're going to regret this, you bastards. If it takes me forever, I'll make you sorry you ever did this to me. I come from a tough breed. We beat Hitler, we beat Napoleon, we beat every foreigner who tried to enslave us." He raised his voise to a hoarse shout. "I'm a Russian! A Muscovite! I was in Afghanistan! I eat broken glass and I piss vodka and I don't take crap from anyone! ANYONE! Anyone... anyone..."

The floor had no echo; it smothered his words with silence.

No sun ever set over the green fields that covered the base planet. Its internal sky was perpetually bright. Only in the private quartets there were timed sunsets and nights.

Eventually, the false daylight in Sergei's quarters faded into a dark night that lasted twelve hours. When that night ended, Sergei's training program began.

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GALACTIC GANGSTA(c)A.R.Yngve 2003, 2004. All rights reserved. May not be copied without permission.

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