Machani Diplomat

MACHANI DIPLOMAT

By

Diane J Cornwell

Machani Diplomat

By Diane J Cornwell © 2014

Published by Tift Publishing

Cover Copyright © 2014 Tift Publishing

Cover Image © Innovari | Dreamstime.com

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents and actions are either products of this author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Copyright

Map

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Jazz’s Asteroid Sample

About the Author

Other Titles by Diane J Cornwell

New Columbia Southern Continent

Chapter 1

When the forest canopy thinned enough for sunlight to filter through to the leaf littered ground, Stacy Baxter turned off her torch and slipped it behind her belt.

She moved closer to the edge of the forest adjacent the space port western parameter, careful each silent step did not touch any white silky threads of fungi growing across rotting branches. She dodged large clumps of spiky ferns while continuously searching for any movement of the pale green vines of the indigenous carnivorous pods that were the blight of the rain forest, and the deadliest oddity to humans and animals on New Columbia.

The rumble of a craft lifting into the air warned she was close, so she kept close to the immense tree trucks and new growth saplings, ready to hide if she heard parameter guards.

Stacy moved behind a massive tree wrapped in vines that hid the tree’s thorny protection, and caught a glimpse of the wire fence through the thinning vegetation. She lowered the tip of her flame thrower and checked the area for more of the pod vines, while listening for rustling or scraping sounds. When she located any movement at odds with the gently swaying leaves, she assessed the danger level before she studied the next moving plant or branch.

Finally, the movement of a pale green vine slithering closer caught her attention before she heard the faint whisper of vine on bark. Unaware of the smile on her face, she flicked on the small flame and raised the tip of the flame thrower. Not today, sunshine! Come a little closer, and see what waits for you.

While she waited for the tip of the vine to come in range of the flame thrower, she followed the length of the vine back to its base and focused on the pod, ignoring the faint smell of decaying leaves and bird calls high up in the canopy.

The pale yellow lid remained closed over the yellow and orange bowl shaped pod. Good, too small to fit her body inside. No wonder she could not smell rotting flesh even though the breeze should have bought the stink towards her. The opening of the pod needed to grow larger before its vines could drop animals or humans into its corrosive liquid.

If she had time she would love to study the contents of the bowl, just to count the number of insects floating in the liquid. She imagined discovering how the pods worked, and the chemical makeup of the acidic liquid. That thought lead to her receiving praise and money for being the first to propagate the pods, but knew she needed more education before she undertook that project.

With her mother missing, her income stopped. If her father’s body was discovered, his income would also stop, and without money, education was not possible. She knew what she had to do, reach the wreckage and stamp it to earn money, not study carnivorous plant life that existed in the rainforest. She bought her attention back to the vine.

It had not moved any closer in the moments her mind wandered. The short growth of the closest vine would not reach her while she remained behind the tree.

She shut off the fuel and the flame died.

A final check of the cleared ground next to the forest edge revealed no parameter guards in sight. Stacy crept east, away from the reach of the small pod’s vines. She stepped lightly to minimise the vibrations because she had concluded months ago that vibrations attracted the vines to her or any animals that walked close enough to be caught.

The noise of planes and small space craft landing and taking off grew louder than the warning calls of the canopy dwelling monkeys. She squatted beside a small bush meters from the cleared ground and again checked for parameter guards.

A vine twitched on the lowest branch of the tree next to her, so she followed the length of the vine back to the pod that controlled the vine. The pod grew in a sheltered spot behind a clump of ferns, but she could clearly see the wide open yellow lid above the fern fronds. From the size of the lid, the bowl had to be large enough to drown a human, which meant the attached vines were a lot longer than the previous vine. Very dangerous. It could slither closer and wrap around her legs.

Stacy activated the flame, and pointed the flame thrower towards the vine tip. She heard a laugh and froze. Parameter guards were close.

She thought about remaining where she was, but if one of the guards walked into the forest to relieve himself, as she had seen other guards do on their circuit of the port parameter, she would be seen hiding behind the bush.

A better option was to head back into the forest, but, because she needed to get into the space port before dark, she decided on hiding behind the pod, even though it would be more dangerous.

The faint popping sound of the flame igniting was muffled by rustling leaves as she jogged to the clump of ferns. She dropped to her knees behind the fern seconds before the guards came into view, more interested in their conversation than keeping an eye out for trespassers like her, or even the deadly vines.

One vine slithered towards her. She pointed the flame thrower at the leaf litter near the base of the pod and pressed the trigger to feed fuel into the nozzle. The flame burnt a small pile of leaves. It was enough to warn the pod. The vine stopped moving.

The leaves continued to smoulder and greyish smoke rose into the air.

Stupid! The guards would see the smoke if they looked towards her. Stacy held her breath while the guards strolled along, chatting about when to expect the next attack by the Machani.

Not before Wednesday next, the taller guard offered his expertise.

She softly expelled air and breathed in again.

No, the wife said there is a pattern, and the next attack will be tonight.

The guards were still too busy talking to bother looking for trespassers, so she relaxed slightly.

A shout from further along the parameter fence caused both guards to look back.

Stacy stood to see who called. She caught sight of three teenagers pointing into the forest, before she squatted again.

She checked her wrist computer in the slowly dimming light. The first evening shower would start in another ten minutes. At the moment she was sweating from the heat and humidity, but once the rain started, she could add wet to hot and sticky.

And annoyed! Annoyed at the delay to climbing through a gap in the parameter fence to reach cover before the rain. Wet was not so bad, but using the torch would draw unwanted attention from the space port guards.

She checked the vine. It had moved three inches closer while she was distracted. She fired more leaves inches away from the base of the pod as soon as the guards jogged back to the teenagers.

She had no choice. It was time to risk crossing the clearing.

As she stood, she flamed the vine just to relieve her anger over being forced to pick through the wrecked hulls to earn enough food to feed her brother and herself. Anger at her inability to solve the city’s problems. Anger at being too young to get her net implant. Anger at the aliens who seemed to have the means to destroy the whole planet but they chose to only bomb the tallest buildings every other night.

Another burst of flame washed over the already smouldering vine before she forced her emotions to settle.

She left the smouldering vine, raced across the clearing and squeezed through a gap in the wire fence. She stopped only long enough to pull the gap back together so it was not noticeable by passing guards, then jogged towards the alien wreck. A large piece of metal, ripped from the crashed craft looked like it could hide her from both parameter and space port guards until full dark, so she dropped to her hands and knees and crawled underneath.

Thankfully, the metal would keep most of the water off her when the evening rain started. The hollow underneath was large enough for her to stretch out and sleep while she waited for full dark to hide her illegally stamping everything she could find in the alien wreck. She found a comfortable position with a clear view towards the fence and relaxed.

The gap was larger than she thought. The space underneath would be clearly seen if a guard wandered between her and the alien wreck and shone a light directly at the metal.

Because she could not see any other large pieces of wreckage close to the crashed alien craft, she decided her hiding place would have to do. She eased closer to the gap to watch for approaching port guards as well as the fence and cleared ground she had just raced across.

She located the two parameter guards talking to the teenagers. One guard fired a shot towards whoever hid far enough inside the forest to remain unseen. The tips of ferns flamed before smouldering.

Whoever hid among the ferns was probably trying to get into the space port before dark to locate copper, or other valuable metals to trade for food, just like her. She hoped the other picker was keeping watch for vines while dodging the parameter guards.

After another two minutes of watching the dark smoke raise from the bunch of ferns, one guard pointed south. She guessed the guard ordered the teenagers back to the city. Both guards strolled back towards her.

She watched them pass the gap in the fence and silently prayed they did not notice the cut chain links. If they did and fixed the break in the wire, she would have to find another gap to escape after she stamped the wreckage.

They were too busy talking to notice the gap as they kept to their circuit outside the fence, but with the fading light, the forest noises quietened enough for the guards’ voices to drift on the breeze.

Damn pickers! The taller guard laughed.

Scavengers! That one will be eaten before the night is over. The second guard laughed. I hope the teens have more sense than to search for him. He glanced back down the parameter.

Stacy glanced back, but could not see the teenagers. She wondered who was worse, the aliens trying to drive the humans off New Colombia, or the local teenagers and guards getting a kick out of driving other humans into the rain forest to feed the pods.

She finally realised what was missing when she hid near the large pod. The rotting flesh smell. If there was no rotting flesh to feed to pod, it must have been really hungry. That though was followed by another.

If the alien plant had no eyes like her botanist neighbour kept saying, then she was certain the pod felt heat as well as vibrations, because it responded to her threat of fire. Her next thought was more radical. It might be more intelligent than all the botanists thought. She shook her head at that idea.

Of course the pods were more intelligent than everyone thought. They killed enough of the first settlers, before the old ones understood what was killing everyone who ventured into the rainforest, day or night. She had read every report she could find of the few pods studied by the first settlers. None listed visual or hearing organs, but every report gave good descriptions of the pod samples decaying a few minutes after they were dug up, leaving little, if any, substance to study.

Her anger built again, at the aliens for attacking, at the guards who stopped her illegally earning enough credits to purchase food for Kyle and herself, and at the forest Kyle had named Hungry, both for continuously trying to creep across the cleared area onto the space port, and for eating anything the vines could catch.

She debated leaving the space port and tracking down the teenagers to feed them to the pods, but realised she would be as bad as the boys if she forced them into the forest. Better to bide her time and wait until full dark to stamp as many metal pieces as she could for collection the next morning.

The space port siren sounded a warning of an alien craft approaching, just as the misting rain changed to a downpour.

It was too early. Why would the Machani attack before full dark? Stacy put all thoughts of punishing the teens out of her mind. She needed to find better shelter before the explosions started.

She was only fifteen yards from the main section of the alien wreck that crashed two days ago, and she would be safer inside it than anywhere else when the craft flew overhead. All she had to do was run across the open space and dive inside the hull without the tower guards spotting her.

She debated staying where she was until the raid ended, but realised the port guards would be hurrying to shelter before the alien craft arrived, so any noise she made should be drowned out by the alarm that continued to warn of the looming attack.

Rain soaked her hair and dripped into her eyes as she crawled out from under the metal. She scanned the area for port guards, but saw none in the twilight. After she retrieved the flame thrower and backpack, she raced across the open space and climbed into the wrecked alien space craft.

A quick rub of her hands across her face removed most of the water before she began her search. She checked the forward wall cupboards. No metal items, only food packages, along with other packages with alien script she could not read. She pulled the borrowed picker stamp out of her backpack and stamped each item.

The next panel opened as she approached. It was full of colourful robes similar to the robes the two Machani diplomats wore when they visited her father months ago.

This craft could have belonged to another diplomat. That meant he was probably on his way to meet with her father when either his own people or the port defence system fired on him.

His body could still be in the cockpit.

She took a deep breathe before she moved over to the door leading to the cockpit. It slid open.

The air was fresh. She stepped into the room and checked both high backed seats. They were empty. She looked under the console. It was empty.

The Machani diplomat had to be alive, or was alive long enough to exit the craft after it crashed. If he was hiding in the forest, she would need to watch out for him when she returned to her father’s den. Or the alien could have already reached the den and was waiting for her father to arrive. Well, he could continue to wait until she returned.

She left the cockpit and stood at the rear of the craft to watch two alien craft streak across the sky, just below the cloud cover. Not that she could see either craft in the rain. She heard the roar of their engines and finally located the craft from the flashing red and green lights across the wings and body of each craft. They headed towards the city.

The skyline of the city lit up as one craft fired down onto the roof of the tower that housed the mayor and two remaining politicians. All the rest of the politicians were dead from the last four bombing raids.

Black smoke rose over the city as both alien craft fled back to space.

There was no logic to the attacks. Months ago, she had overheard the Machani diplomats assure her father they wanted to trade visits the forest to recuperate when required, for anything we had in excess. No explanation of what made them need to recuperate or what we had they wanted, but they insisted they did not want war.

So, who was flying the Machani craft that bombed the buildings, systematically removing all the leaders of Colombia?

Five