"Just Like Us" -- July 1

Word count: 1200

Just Like Us

“Captain, they are not going to be able to understand more than a third of your report.”

“Are you implying that the Intergalactic Exploration Task Force isn’t clever enough for some three-syllable words?” Captain Crawley put his stylus down and glared at his companion. “How do you suggest I improve?”

Lieutenant Breck wrapped a long arm around an upraised knee to retie his boot. “Try describing home, sir.”

“Home?”

“Yes, sir. How would you describe your home?”

Crawley frowned.

As he waited, Breck scraped the remnants of his meal from his tin plate and rubbed it clean with special-issue cleaning wipes. The sharp smell of the wipes blended with the harsh smell of the dust in the air.

“Aren’t you from the mountains?” he prompted when Crawley kept hesitating.

“Yes.”

“Well, then, describe the mountains.”

“Chartreuse.”

Breck groaned under his breath. “Green?”

In the past forty-eight hours, Breck had been treated to more ridiculous names for color shades than he had ever wanted to hear.

“It’s not just green. It’s—" Crawley’s head snapped up from his report and he frowned into the distance. “Hear that?”

Breck paused and listened. In the distance, likely on the other side of the low range of hills to their left, the engine of a short range craft very like their own thrummed softly.

“Did you request—”

Crawley cut him off with a sharp movement. “I didn’t. No record of inhabitants here either. Must be some Kraets.”

Breck’s stomach did a flip at the stinging venom in Crawley’s voice as he pronounced the name.

“Maybe it’s another—”

“They’re the only ones it could be.” Crawley stood, still listening as the throb of the engines quieted. He cursed and shoved his tablet back into his pocket.

Breck quickly gathered the rest of their supplies and shoved them into his pack, his fingers shaking on the intricate straps. Kraets. The worst people to encounter out here. The two of them should have been the only ones here at the edge of System BX-13. They were explorers—here to take notes, create detailed maps, and add nuance to initial satellite scans. Before the Kraets arrived. At all costs, they must keep the Kraets from claiming more space. Humans had been posturing for years, pushing to explore and control as much territory as possible against the inevitable wars that no one really wanted.

“…as bad as the Communists back in the day,” Crawley growled.

Breck sealed his pack and shouldered it. “We should keep going,” he suggested. He couldn’t have quite explained why he felt such a powerful urge to keep Crawley away from the new arrivals. “It’ll take them a while to—”

“No.” Crawley raised his own pack and beckoned Breck to follow. “Let’s find out what they’re up to.”

****

At the top of the hills between their resting place and the receding engine sounds, the atmosphere was thinner than normal. The land around them was perfectly flat, endless dusty plains marked with occasional unexplainable grooves.

Breck stumbled and nearly fell into a crevasse that opened nearly at his feet. He screamed as he caught a rock outcropping just in time.

“Lieutenant! What is wrong with you?”

“Sorry, Captain.” Breck backed away from the edge, lightheaded. “I…tripped.”

“Pay attention, soldier!”

“I’m trying, sir.” Breck crouched by a dull orange rock. Crawley would probably write it up as “sienna.” He tried to catch his breath.

“What’s on your mind, Lieutenant?” Crawley’s voice had a resigned ring.

Breck shrugged. He couldn’t tell Crawley he was afraid of being recognized. All it would take would be one crewman, one look, one cry of “Breck!”

And Crawley would know. Breck shuddered to think of the hate and vitriol in his Captain’s voice being turned on him.

“Are you ready yet, soldier?”

Breck shook his head, still breathing hard.

“Do you need first aid?”

“No. Just rest.”

Huffing, Crawley mounted a small outcropping and leaned out, squinting. “Twenty minutes,” he said. He pulled out his tablet and sat down.

“Running east-northeast above the canyon bed, a range of low hills with many canyons and crevasses,” he dictated into the end of his stylus. “No signs of life. Rocks a mixture of vermillion and sienna.”

****

Breck had to stall. With each step, he could feel his throat closing off.

“They have to know the colors, or they won’t have a clue what minerals might be here,” Crawley explained.

Breck could just make out the Kraet craft on the other side of a huge pile of precariously balanced rocks.

“What about our soil samples?” he asked.

Crawley rolled his eyes and spoke slowly and clearly, as though to a small child. “We can’t take samples of everything, Lieutenant. “Certainly not before those Kraets get going. Stop delaying. I want to get down there and see what they’re up to.” He pivoted, his boot raising a tiny cloud of orange dust.

Just orange, Breck thought sullenly. He hung back as Crawley strode forward, casting about for another distraction.

“Captain!”

“Not now.”

Breck caught up with Crawley. His suit felt too large, too heavy, his pack too cumbersome. It weighed on him. “Captain, how will you know if they are Kraets?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t they look just like…us?”

The word felt so foreign coming from his mouth. He hid a grimace and hoped Crawley was too absorbed to notice. He could feel the hate radiating off the Captain in waves.

“Not if you know what you’re looking for. There are signs.”

“What are they?”

Crawley motioned Breck to duck. Crouching, they moved along an outcropping with their heads down. Crawley’s voice was hoarse and raspy when he spoke again in a whisper.

“It’s real subtle. They’ve got these long limbs—so long you start to wonder if it’s really natural. They look kind of like something wearing a human suit, like it just isn’t quite right.”

Breck looked down at his long arms and hoped Crawley wasn’t looking at them too.

“Is that all?” he asked, thankful that Crawley had whispered so he didn’t have to trust his voice aloud.

“That’s all on the outside. Inside, they’re all different. Their blood…”

Crawley trailed off as he peeked around a corner. On the plain below, a four-seat short-range craft lay anchored. Three crewmen stood in a group, heads together.

“Kraets,” Crawley said, and hate sprayed out of his mouth with spittle.

“What do you have against them?” Breck asked, dismay growing in the pit of his stomach. “They’re almost just like us.”

Again the word felt foreign and false in his mouth.

“Why are you defending them?” Crawley slammed his hand on the ground, raising his voice. “They—”

“Hey! Humans!”

The air erupted in a flash of brilliant white light and hundreds of sharp, staccato cracks.

When the dust settled, Breck lay on the ground with another long-limbed body atop him, a pool of orange blood widening around them. Crawley, his suit stained bright red in several places, stared at the two as the distressed shouts of the ship’s crew drew nearer.

“Nacarat blood,” he said to himself, bending over the orange slick. He spat. “Serves you right, Lieutenant.” ~