Escape From Desolation: Book Two: Resolution

By Robert F. Glahe

When an earth exploration vessel explodes, a captain takes an escape pod with a handful of the crew. The pod goes off course and crashes on a desolate and uncharted planet. After an initial cataclysmic clash with locals, the captain is the only survivor. He encounters an ancient alien society that has forgotten their history and relies on strict laws to protect marginal natural resources. Those laws doom his shipmates but lead him on an ironic path towards integration within their society. Although they regard their world as utopian, he struggles to accept the sterility and stagnation of their everyday life. While he is welcomed into their world, not everyone is happy he is there. Something is not right, and his arrival begins a change of events that threatens the entire society. While he searches for a way to escape the planet, he also finds reasons to stay.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798350920307

Robert F. Glahe

Rob is a former scientist, corporate lawyer, and systems manager who retained his passion for art and writing throughout his many careers. Writing was a way to pass the time on long train commutes, where he wrote a full-length novel (but not about trains). His artwork intensified after becoming a stay-at-home Dad, and he began participating in art shows around Chicago. His creative energy largely concentrates on writing, but he also paints and sculpts, focusing on whimsical penguins.

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ESCAPE FROM DESOLATION

Book Two – Resolution

By

Robert F. Glahe

BookBaby

Copyright 2023 Robert F. Glahe

Print ISBN: 979-8-35092-029-1

eBook ISBN: 979-8-35092-030-7

First Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Other Books

Book One - Inclusion

Book Three – Emigration

For Linda

Table of Contents

Chapter One New Priorities

Chapter Two The Beast Within

Chapter Three The Party

Chapter Four Unexpected Reconciliation

Chapter Five Aid and Abet

Chapter Six The Ugly Truth

Chapter Seven Obsession

Chapter Eight Accountability

Chapter Nine Revival

Chapter Ten The Shipment

Chapter Eleven The Rift

Chapter Twelve Recovery

Chapter Thirteen Regent Nouveau

Chapter Fourteen Private Deal

Chapter Fifteen Meet the Devil

Chapter Sixteen Retrospect

Chapter Seventeen Make Decision and March Forward

Chapter Eighteen In for a Penny, In for a Pound

Chapter Nineteen Second Bite

Chapter Twenty Fractured Glass

About the Author

Acknowledgements

Thank you to my family who kept me going.

Chapter One

New Priorities

A restless night followed Yoni’s conversation with Prig. The rat’s custody of Judge was a loss of control; an unknown entity had power over their fate. Events moved according to another creature’s design. The silence of the unit amplified his fear. There was no one to distract him. He paced. He sat. He paced again. Movement was relief.

Ahri was better medicine. Her departure converted his unit into the vacuum of space, a dead zone without sound. He eventually activated the chimes, but their music did not soften the sting of her absence.

The devious rodent had promised to take him to Judge the next day. The plots of Prig and his control over Judge pricked at his mind and teased him awake each time he started to doze off. Outmaneuvering Prig was essential but elusive. Scenarios for conquest looped in his brain until thoughts and dreams blended.

Morning came, and Yoni was a wreck. He went into his bathroom and stared at a blank wall where a mirror could be. Ahri had said there was a function for creating a reflective space, but he could not find it. He massaged his eyes. They burned and his eyelids were swollen. His head ached with a throbbing pulse. His back was sore.

He rubbed his fingers across the stubble on his chin. Ahri had been the one to keep him clean shaven. She had used a cream. He searched for it but could not find a trace of it. She also kept his unit spotless, stowing away all small items. It irked him now because it was her tidiness that concealed the cream.

Disgusted, he wiped his face with water. He wanted it hot, but it remained an unchangeable tepid. He stood in the stall where a shower-like stream flowed automatically for a precise duration. It was a trick to finish rinsing before the water ended. There were no long showers on DeSolus. He stepped onto a cloth that he had laid on the floor. When he was dry and dressed, he went to the kitchen.

He fixed himself tea. That always appeared to help. Breakfast was a flop. He prepared food cubes with a pan like Ahri had used. He found a liquid that resembled the oil she had used. His version came out as mush and tasted plain, blander than hers, even blander than the vendor’s cuisine.

Hell, I can’t even cook here without her.

Ahri’s absence played out in every step he made. She was the only person that made the Lahr market trip enjoyable, as vibrant as that Indian market on Earth. She made Lahr into Chandni Chowk. She made DeSolus livable. Even though he achieved citizenship, his connection to the city depended on her.

The ache for Ahri’s company was lessened with an appropriate diversion—reflection on Maddy—or an inappropriate one—longing for Ridge. Yoni was a man haunted by three apparitions, one absent, one estranged, and one dead. Ahri had an advantage, being present, but regret and guilt were worthy competitors. A failed marriage beckoned for another chance. A friend lost by one’s own incompetence demanded a proper period of remorse.

Placing Ahri in company with the other two meant something, too much. It opened the doors of possibility. A sense of marital fidelity meant that intimate thoughts of Ahri must be repressed, but the march to chivalry was brief, interrupted by the memory of Maddy’s betrayal. Her ghost, although a worthy competitor, paled against Ahri’s virtue. A life in DeSolus was plausible with her by his side, but another barrier lingered, not as a conscious formation of words but as a dull melancholy. Would a life with Ahri wash away the guilt of letting Ridge die?

He left the kitchen a mess. He left towels on the bathroom floor and an empty tea glass on the table in the living room. His bed was ruffled, and the covers hung loose over the edge. The whole scene of rudimentary chaos was an echo of home. He glimpsed into Ahri’s room to observe perfect order and darkness. The wall portal was solid. Nothing was out of place. He would allow that room to remain as she left it.

He left his apartment to meet Prig. The creature was a conundrum, a non-citizen who demonstrated no concern in roaming the city without a permit, confident he could forge one if he did not secure it legally and only produce one if the situation required it. Anything was possible with the rat. Prig told him to turn right after he left the building lobby and walk about two hundred meters to the first open square. There would be a blue bench where Yoni would sit and wait.

How long? He put the question to Prig with the obvious inuendo that he had little patience for waiting.

The rat was undaunted. Be patient. I may need time. Stay there as long as it takes for me to appear.

Yoni would not wait forever. The rodent should be smart enough to figure that out on his own.

The square was easy to locate. Citizens greeted him with cordial nods as they passed by. One female lived in his building. She was an older citizen; her short white hair, wrinkled cheeks, and loose skin around her arms gave that impression. Yoni wore protective glasses to endure the glare of the double suns and perpetually cloudless skies. The environmental force field around the city was designed to reduce the effects of glare, but after days in the forest, Yoni had developed acute light sensitivity. He was less diligent in protecting himself in the forest, and his arms had become sore and red. To protect them, he chose long sleeves for his meeting with Prig.

He sat on a blue bench as soon as he entered the square. It included a solid back that provided comfortable support. Although its smooth surface suggested that it was stiff, made of a fiberglass like composite or plastic, it flexed and conformed to his contours when he applied the pressure of his weight. He became drowsy without anything to do. He nodded off occasionally but jerked awake when he slumped and began to slip off his seat. As time wore on, the urge to leave grew, requiring creativity in forming reasons to wait: doing it for Judge, effort already expended, or nothing better to do.

The plaza was not large, about one hundred by one hundred paces. Using bench color to define the correct place to sit was almost the right approach. Most benches were green and yellow, but as the waiting lingered, something stuck out. There was a bench across the square that resembled a bluish tone.

Agh!

Since Prig had made a point to tell Yoni where to wait, one blue was probably right and the other wrong, an annoying but expected vagueness from the rat. If location was important to the success of the meeting, the wrong choice may delay or terminate Prig’s plans. There was no way to know. On the other hand, was it material which blue bench was chosen? He was equally visible from either side. Until Prig appeared, there was no solution to the dilemma. Only time would provide the answer.

Two citizens dressed in pale yellow robes entered the square from the opposite side and sat on that other blue bench. They waved, nodded, and resumed their conversation with each other.

Did Prig send agents on his behalf? Are they my contacts? No, they appear too involved in themselves. They could care less about me. Hell. Should I go over there and ask them? Should I wait here? What did he say? Find the blue bench and wait. He said nothing about meeting anybody. How long should I wait? How can I tell? They don’t have any timepieces on this cursed rock.

Heat beat down on his head. Sweat rolled down his cheeks. A hat would be wonderful. One of the armrests had a square symbol near the front edge. He pressed it because it appeared to be a button. A thin film rose from the back of the bench, ascended vertically, and then curved over him. Colored in dark green, it protected him from the sunlight.

That’s better. I wish I had discovered that earlier.

The two DeSolans were talking and occasionally laughing. They shared an atmosphere of ease, content in their station and oblivious to any hardship. They illustrated a contradiction to his trials and experiences in DeSolus. When the couple departed, other citizens passed through. Some sat on the open benches and deployed their shields. When citizens left a bench, the shield retracted back into the bench about a minute later.

The square was constructed with hexagonal slabs that sparkled as though they were mixed with glitter. Counting them was a way to pass the time. He lost count and restarted, reaching numbers of 199, or 193, or 201. When the square was empty, he violated Prig’s command to stay on his bench and walked across the whole surface, counting as he stepped on each stone. The final total was 216.

He approximated time by observing the progress of shadows over the course of the morning. DeSolan objects cast two shadows because of its suns, a hard shadow like that on Earth and an adjacent fainter image. Even though some worlds in the Galactic Realm had binary star systems, his home had one. The DeSolan shadows were another reminder he was a stranger and not on Earth.

Waiting, sitting alone, although dreary, presented one truth: he had freedom. Wasting time was his prerogative. No one scheduled his activities. Meeting with Prig was voluntary, not the result of a government edict. Even as an idle man, he regained free will.

The central tower, the anchor of the city, lay on the horizon while he waited for the rat. Those who occupied the top of that structure had an excellent vantage point of the entire metropolitan area. The Prime Regent might be watching him. It was an idea without evidence, a hunch born from boredom.

Silly paranoia.

He dismissed the idea that he was being watched by the Prime Regent. Yet, the DeSolan leader’s reclusiveness left room for suspicion. That seclusion must be challenged. There was a tremor. The plaza stones rattled, lifting out of the ground, but settled into position when the disturbance ceased. The vibrations resembled the passing of a large vehicle underground.

Another hour passed—only a guess—and Prig remained a no-show. Dozens of citizens had come and gone. His butt was sore, and his throat had become dry.

Time to return home.

Doubt fixed him to the bench. Fate dictated that the moment he left, no matter when, Prig would arrive a fraction of a second later and discover him gone. It was maddening, mediating the conflict between capitulation and hope. Ultimately, pragmatism prevailed. Yoni rose to his feet prepared to march home. A difficult first step was followed by a second that was a tiny bit easier.

Air hissed out from the seams around one of the stones, less than fifteen paces from the other bluish bench across the open square. A two-legged creature, with an octopus-shaped head, stood inside a cylinder that rose from the ground. The figure blinked large black eyes and waved a pale, creamy-white hand supporting two broad fingers. It darted its head around to verify no one approached the square, bellowed a cow-like moan, and waved its appendages in jerking motions. It wanted him to approach. He jogged toward the creature, the nature of which he had not seen in any world.

Where’s Prig? Yoni had expected his principal contact, not an emissary.

Not here. I Snipzit Creet. Come quick. Prig send me. Come before citizens come. Window of safe exit not wide. Come, Yon-Man. Words flowed out of an orifice that resembled a pus-oozing sore in lieu of a mouth.

Yon-Man? That’s a new one.

He hesitated, weary of aliens pushing him around and directing him to places for their agenda. I don’t know. Prig said nothing about going underground. I thought he was coming.

Our window no more . . . in one hundred clargs. Come now or never. Make no difference. I go back myself before citizen come, with you, not with you.

What the hell. Let’s go. He jumped into the tube, and it dropped immediately. Everything went almost black when the stop-cap sealed above them. The elevator tube shook and rocked. It knocked him into the alien. Cold wetness pressed into his clothes.

Ugh. What’s that stuff?

The rocking and shaking of the tube challenged his balance. He managed to pull himself away from his companion, creating a sucking sound when tacky slime resisted separating from his clothes. It snapped back onto the octopus being.

Sorry!

No matter. I not harmed. Grab bar on side of tube. It grunted and shook as if it was laughing. Novice.

Their compartment came to a hard stop. His weight pressed onto the floor. There was rattling, clangs, and thumps. The unit surged forward, pressing his back against the sidewall. It jerked to a stop again. He adjusted himself, moving away from the wall. After more clangs, there was a pause.

Grab side bar! Creet raised its voice.

The creature appeared annoyed that it had to repeat itself. He complied with the demand. A second later, their unit lunged forward returning Yoni to the wall. His grip on the handle allowed him to right himself without falling. Rapid acceleration pressed on him while the compartment oscillated with increasing frequency. Vibrations hit deep into his bones. There was no view of the outside, but the intensity of the vibrations and high-pitched whirring inside the cabin created the impression this shuttle was faster than those in the primary city.

He clenched the bar. It was a lifeline now. If this tube were like the shuttles up top, I wouldn’t need a bar. What is wrong with this thing? It’s going to rattle my guts out. Dim light permitted him enough vision to define the contour of his guide.

No understand. I never top side.

Okay.

Something swampy, like fish from the sea, creeped into his nose, another pungent dose from the shadowy Snipzit Creet. He wrenched his nose. The alien was a smart fellow and noticed Yoni’s expressions, familiar with their meaning.

What matter? You unlike my fragrance? Hoo-rug, you smell not so good, either, Yon-Man. Too clean. Up-top city? Prig smell up-top clean when he returns from there. Careful you insult me. I shift tube to maximum.

Hey. Cool down.

Snip no like you. No understand Prig. No understand other pink Yon-Man.

Judge, down here! That confirms what Prig said.

There is another man down here? Yoni feigned ignorance. It might have been unwarranted caution, but this terrain was uncharted.

Their car decelerated all its speed in one second. He held on tighter, but inertia forced him to step forward to prevent falling on his face. His back protested the sudden shifts, pressing nerves and shooting a tweak of pain down his leg.

Oops. I forget to announce; we at end of trip. Absorb impact with bending knees. Hag. Hag. Its eyes became slits as it uttered a deep laugh, revealing the malleable nature of its flesh that wiggled like gelatin.

The tube made a final hard stop.

Not funny, Octo-Man! Get safety harnesses in this thing!

Hmm? Octo . . . Creet jiggled and acted irate, but assessing the creature’s mood was guesswork.

Yoni regretted his last utterance. The creature’s temper or propensity for violence was undefined. Creet’s appendages were whipping about. Yoni prepared for a fight. Before it had a chance to demonstrate potential violence, the cabin door opened.

Prig stood there about two meters away.

Creet calmed down, or he ceased his gyrations. His appendages dropped to his sides while Prig approached.

Yon-Man . . . out! Creet growled a command.

The human stepped out into a chamber brighter than their transport, and his eyes strained to adjust. Prig stood there.

Gads. I’m glad to see this rat.

Yoni, my friend. Welcome to my humble home. The lizard-rat raised his paw up to meet the captain’s hand, gigantic by comparison.

Prig! Yoni greeted him with rare congeniality. While he shook the little paw of his host, Octo-Man bowed and backed away without a word. It disappeared into one of the tunnels around the chamber. Prig turned his head toward Creet’s direction.

Yoni took an opportunity for a jab. Nice company you keep.

Yes, a fine creature. A little irritable toward new acquaintances. Was he hospitable?

As good as any DeSolan, if that means anything.

Shhh! Prig darted his head about searching for any eavesdroppers. Some of us down here are not fond of comparisons to our benefactors. You may fall into a fusion pot.

What’s that?

I will explain later. Simply say it is a one-way trip. Please temper your words and follow my example. Yoni, my friend, you are not in DeSolus Urban anymore.

Meaning what? That this is a different culture?

Yes. You are astute. But then you were a ship’s captain. Yes, I should expect your skill.

Yoni ignored the compliments as offhanded. I presume we are underground. How deep? He paused, scanning the chamber. Based on my trip down here, I would guess dozens of levels.

Underground? That expression is as good as any. Prig rubbed his chin. Ten levels, and there are ten more under us. Each level stretches outward eight to ten kilometers.

Yoni was a long way from his residence, encountering another world that required adjustment. I will go back, I hope.

Yes. First, we must talk.

I didn’t agree to this excursion. What do you mean? Talk about what? Where’s Judge? And promise me—I’m going back right away. He stepped toward Prig, and the rat backed away.

Peace, citizen. Easy now. You misunderstand Prig. Please, I did not mean anything. You will return. You must. However, we must discuss your friend, the courses to take, and the consequences. All will be sorted through. Do not worry.

Yoni drew a breath to calm down. The disembarkment zone was well illuminated and about as big as his apartment, with higher ceilings, about five meters. The walls were dark, smooth, metallic, and slightly concave. The floor was black and grainy, firm like compacted gravel.

The human changed the tone. So, this is your underground palace.

Before you judge, allow me to provide a tour of our fine domain. He led the way to one of the tunnel holes.

I hope it’s worth the wait. I sat on that bench for hours.

Yes. I told you to sit on the blue bench. Creet was aware of your presence, but he is tremendously cautious and calculates the risks of detection carefully. When you selected the wrong bench, he required time to reassess the perfect moment for appearing.

I sat on the blue bench!

Yoni, Yoni, Yoni. You are truly an alien here. You sat on the cerulean-jade bench. It was clearly not pure blue.

The damn thing was blue enough!

I want to choke this beast.

Yoni shook his hands together in front of his face, but Prig paid little attention except to exhibit confusion over Yoni’s stressed appearance.

We are together now; delays are of no material consequence.

You weren’t sitting out in the sun, Prig.

That is true. That is true. Prig chuckled, but to Yoni it sounded like hacking, the sound a cat makes when it coughs up a hairball.

May I take you through my humble realm?

Please.

He led Yoni into a tunnel where an open-air vehicle was parked. It was equipped with three pairs of seats.

Here we go. Please . . . sit.

When they were situated side by side in the front row, Prig pressed one of five glowing burgundy squares lined across a panel in front of them. The vehicle lunged forward and accelerated rapidly. Wind blew across their faces, and the air became cool and damp as they passed through the tunnel. Their car rocked and bumped. Yoni clenched the armrest to keep steady. The air was musty and stale, warming as they progressed down the tunnel. Green triangular lights were set every forty meters. Maximum speed could be estimated when the elapsed time between the lights was the least, a duration of about two seconds. That speed approached twenty meters per second.

The transports to the forest were much faster, but in the enclosed tunnel, riding an open-air skiff that shook like an old washing machine, the speed felt lethal. The dashboard had a digital counter that changed each minute, a welcome distraction from the terror.

Finally! A clock!

Hey, that looks like a clock. Nothing like it up top. The force of wind made speaking a strain.

Huh? Prig had let his mouth gape open so that it would catch the breeze like a sail. He rocked his head back and forth to vary the intensity of the gusts on his face. The bumping did not faze him, and he cooed each time the car jolted.

Clock? He composed himself and focused on Yoni. That? He glanced at the primitive LCD counter. Yes. We do follow the progression of time.

Up top, citizens don’t follow time. Yoni raised his voice.

Yes. We have schedules to maintain, sewers to flush. If we wait too long, they become clogged—stinky business. We must maintain electrical and water systems. We also measure utilization. Tracking time is required. His cheeks flapped with the rushing wind.

Your device is crude compared to the level of technology in the city.

This technology was developed by their ancestors, built for counting time before citizens lost interest in measuring it. I imagine it was designed long ago, centuries or millennia. I could not say. Here. Open your mouth and feel the wind. Ah. So fine. He resumed his play with the gusts and ignored Yoni.

Okay, I’ll try it. He opened his mouth. The force of air pushed his cheeks out and flapped the skin.

This is childish.

He continued to take in the air when debris flew into his mouth and slammed down his throat. He gagged and coughed. He heaved forward and spit up a black slimy fibrous mess that reeked of rotten meat.

My friend, what’s the matter?

Yoni had the glob in his hand and displayed it to Prig.

We are nearing a deteriorated section of the tunnel. Debris floats in the air. I usually shut my mouth here.

Thanks— He coughed. For mentioning it— He gagged.

The vehicle stopped at the edge of a huge cavern, hundreds of meters high and over a half kilometer across. Ten-meter circles of light dotted the ceiling. Shuttle cars moved about. Hundreds of beings scurried across the floor, moving equipment, working control panels, and loading large transportation cars. The air was hot. The lighting revealed thin dust that clouded the air like fog. The room boomed with