The Token - Kevin Bird (best way to read e books TXT) 📗

doing this for the second time in the span of one lifetime, something that had never happened before.
As the conclusions to our mutual thoughts were passed through the group, a melancholy washed over us at the inevitability of our situation. Having only so recently woken from a long sleep intended to bring us to a time of safety and plenty, we were not mentally or emotionally ready for this. Our world was once again changed by the two-legs into a place in which we could not survive. Our food was gone and the only thing left to eat was all but off limits to us, creating a no win situation. We were too few to put up much resistance so would it be worth the risk to try?
Previously the two-legs had killed us with loud flashing things that hurt us from afar, so our numbers were ineffectual. Even though this time they seemed to be less effective than before, not once had they attacked us until we were upon them, but now our numbers were so low any loss, such as the two tonight, would be devastating to our group. What option was their but to sleep?
Suddenly an image passed through us coming from one of our elders. It was one of desperation and yet one born of the need for survival. We all thought about the idea communicating backwards and forwards for some time while the youngsters played around us, oblivious to the seriousness of their position. Eventually it was decided; we would have no choice, but to sleep again. However, this time we would not do so with the expectations of waking to a world free of two-legs as we had done the last time; now we would take some actions that might give us a chance to survive even if our sleep was not successful.
Leaving our injured comrade to be tended we headed back down the mountain. There was not much time before the light would come over the horizon, but that could not be helped as we had something to begin and we could not take the chance of waiting another day. Time, once again, was running out for us. This time it might be permanent!


Eleven


Marshall was frustrated. “Can’t you speak up a little? I can’t hear you properly.”
“I’m sorry, Sir, but someone might come in and if they found me on this radio I’d be done for. The Collectors don’t take kindly to having a spy on board. I can’t do what you want if I’m dead.” Though his tone was polite to his employer he was clearly annoyed at being contacted by Marshall.
Usually, for safety’s sake, it was the spy who made the call when he knew he was safe to do so. This time Marshall had called the spy and it turned out the man’s radio had vibrated while he had been on the bridge and he’d had to quickly excuse himself to find a quiet place from which to respond.
“I know this must be important, Marshall, as you wouldn’t risk your favorite Collector spy on something frivolous, now would you?” His tone had become a little more relaxed and Marshall clearly heard the hint of humor in it; one of the things he liked about the spy was his grasp of putting things in the correct perspective. He wouldn’t have lasted long as a spy without that talent.
“You’re right, it is important. My daughter’s life might be at stake here and I can’t save her without your help.” He went on to rapidly explain his plan for how he hoped to use this man in saving his daughter’s life.
He was beginning to regret his agreement with Drake, but what were his options? He couldn’t have given him the amount of shielding he’d asked for. He had a son, Rone, who managed one of his factories and if the Token was not filled then Rone could become forfeit and then pressed! He’d already lost his daughter to her husband and another system far away, and he couldn’t and wouldn’t lose his only other child.
“Sir, I don’t think I can do what you ask.”
He’d never said no before, as he was being well paid, but this was a request so far out of the ordinary Marshall wasn’t surprised the man could hardly imagine getting away with it.
“Who else but you has the opportunity? I know I’m asking a lot, but I guarantee your safety and you know you’ll be handsomely rewarded for your services. Think about it from my point of view. I’ll be losing your services and you’ve been invaluable to me in your position with the Collectors. I need you to do this. What do you say?” Marshall felt a little ashamed of himself. He was a high powered and wealthy man who was used to giving orders and expecting immediate responses. Here he was all but begging one of his employees to do what he asked. Funny how his role as parent overrode that of executive.
“Very well, I’ll do it.” The voice was still quiet and was also clearly nervous. “I want you to remember that this will be my last job for you within the Collectors as I’ll be a marked man. Therefore, I need you to promise me that you’ll make sure I’m safe and well taken care of after this is over. We’ll both have to trust each other, as I’m sure you won’t want them to know who organized something giving them so much pain and embarrassment. Do we have an agreement, Sir?”
Again he thought of the strangeness of this temporary shift in roles, but Marshall didn’t mind as he had what he wanted, as he had expected.
“Yes, we have a deal. When you’ve delivered what I ask you’ll have enough money that you won’t be worried about what the Collectors, or even the Suppliers, would like to do if they ever found you. In any case I’ll also make sure they don’t find you, I have a lot of friends in a lot of places who’ll give you the sanctuary you want.”
Marshall was pleased to have resolved this part of the plan and was happy to do anything for this man who was making it happen. During these many years of war this spy had been of great use to Marshall, so he thought it was only fair to take care of him even after his usefulness was at an end. Marshall was not an ungrateful man and he wouldn’t go back on his word of future support.
”Sir, I have to go now. You’ll get my signal when everything is complete.” His voice was cut off as he broke the connection with his real employer.
Marshall stared out of the window of his office. All he could see to the distant horizon was a land covered in factories and other man-made structures. This planet was not pretty, but it had brought him wealth and was helping the war effort. Funny how the thought of patriotism had crept into his mind when he had just arranged for a clear act of treason to be perpetrated. He was able to easily justify it by picturing his children, Carlee and Rone, and imagining the first being killed by some kind of monster on a far away planet and the second being forced to fight in a war from which he would likely not return. No, this was the only way. Drake would have his payment. Marshall would have his children safe.
In a business like manner he pushed aside his personal thoughts and emotions, they’d only get in his way and he started contacting some business associates. He had some weapons and supplies to order for the pirate captain if all these plans were to work.


Twelve


Dale had been carried into his home by Santor and Lane who then laid him on the bed. Carlee had rushed to open the door when she’d heard them shouting that Dale had been injured. Lane had immediately excused himself to go help his father bear Adam’s body to their home. Carlee was struck by the pain she felt at his loss. Adam had been a fine young man and this was no way to die. As soon as the thought came it was quickly replaced by a fear for her husband. She was surprised that it overwhelmed her as much as it did. She hadn’t realized until now that she still loved him deeply and the sight of his bloody and apparently lifeless body filled her with dread.
Santor’s voice broke into her internal struggle; “He’s not dead Carlee. Come on let’s get him out of these clothes and see what we can do. Lane told me he’d swing by Allain’s farm to get Jacob. When he gets here he’ll know better what we should do. But for now it’s just you and me. Are you ready?” He was already lifting Dale’s limbs carefully in order to remove the heavy clothing the man had worn to keep warm.
Carlee snapped out of it and became the epitome of a strong and loving wife, “Yes, of course I’m OK. Here let me do that. “You go boil some water, the pots already full, but you’ll need to light a fire.”
She felt herself calming as she asserted her position as the woman of the household. She noticed the look in Santor’s face as she got on with her tasks; he seemed almost impressed with her. “Go on, now!” She didn’t raise her voice, but he moved as if she had and went to the kitchen. She knew that he’d half expected her to just go into hysterics at the sight of Dale being carried in yet she was handling this very well and was pleasantly pleased at herself. From Dale’s description of her attachment to the vid-screen and her apparent boredom with her life here, she knew Santor and the others imagined her to be a much more spoiled person than she was now showing herself to be. Amazing how stress could bring out the best in people given the chance.
While he was gone Carlee continued to gently remove her husband’s clothing. The sight of his blood down the front of the jacket made her hesitate in fear for a moment but she went on. She felt sickened by the sticky stuff all over him. What was it? As she took off his thick woolen under-shirt she gasped aloud. A large wicked looking bruise, already turning purple, covered the left side of his chest. She was grateful that Dale was unconscious, as this would have been extremely painful.
She had stripped Dale naked by the time Santor returned with the water. She gently ran her fingers through the still figure’s dark hair while whispering in his ear. Ignoring Santor, she told Dale how he was going to be all right and that she would take care of him.
“What’s this stuff all over him and how did he get this bruise?” She was talking as she began to wipe Dale’s body clean with a soft cloth Santor had dropped in the hot water. She did this lovingly and somehow it made her even more sure Dale would be OK. After all, how could someone die when they were being taken care of like this?
“He killed one of the creatures that came into the pen, and its blood spilled over him. It’s not like our blood, it’s colorless, and as you can tell, very sticky. The bruise must have come from the end of his pitchfork. We found Dale under the dead creature, and I think he stabbed it as it landed on him and the end of the