"Sir, I'm scared."
"What was in the signal?" he demanded.
"A voice. A human voice. Only a few seconds. But sir … it's so horrible."
King grunted. "Play me the audio. I can handle it."
She nodded, and her eyes glazed over. Sounds emerged from her mouth. Scrapes. Hisses. Rumbling motors. A clatter like claws across a hard floor.
The background noise of Rubicon station, King realized. She's producing it from the speaker in her throat. What the hell is that clattering?
Then Mimori began to speak. But not with her voice. With the voice of a man. The voice of an astronaut on Rubicon station.
"Beverly, I love you. It's me, Mike." The clattering grew louder. It definitely sounded like claws. "Aliens are real, Beverly. Monsters are real. A fleet. An enemy fleet, heading to Earth. Tell the army! Tell them to get ready. I love you. I love—"
Mimori let out a terrible scream.
Then she collapsed.
King had to catch her, to carry her to the armchair by the bookshelves. The android sat there, trembling. Finally she seemed to calm down. She looked at him.
"That's the end of the transmission, sir," she said.
King took a deep, raspy breath. The air burned his throat.
"Who the hell is Beverly?" he said.
"His wife, sir. I think the Rubicon astronaut was trying to call his wife."
"We gotta get the admiral on the line," King said. "This is going up the chain of command—today—and I don't care that it's Christmas."
CHAPTER NINE
Nebraska
11:02 Christmas 2199
The mechanical buffalo raced over the fields of Nebraska. The tall grass whipped its metal hides, and the engine rumbled in its bowels.
Bastian rode the beast. The ride was surprisingly smooth. A real buffalo, he imagined, would bounce up and down and side to side, tossing him around in the saddle. But the robotic buffalo had state-of-the-art stabilizer technology. Its legs regularly adjusted their length, matching the terrain. The beast's back remained steady, offering a luxuriously smooth ride. Its metal hooves kicked up dirt, but riding on its back, the robot almost seemed to be floating.
Bastian loved the machine. Robotic animals were more expensive than hover-trucks, which most folk rode here in Nebraska. But robots were way cooler. Bastian had saved up for years to buy this buffalo. At this price, he probably could have bought an actual atmocar, fast enough to break the sound barrier and sturdy enough to skim the stratosphere. But Bastian didn't like flying. Maybe it was still the trauma of flunking flight school. He liked remaining on the ground.
He enjoyed riding his buffalo, feeling the wind in his hair, seeing the fields stream by. Sometimes he would take the buffalo out into the wilderness, and he would just ride for hours, exploring the wild beauty of Nebraska. Despite all the pain he had suffered here, he loved this land. He was part of it, and these golden fields and grasslands anchored his soul. His family had always flown in space, brave warriors of the stars, but not Bastian. He was different. He was a man of Earth.
"Can't you go any faster?" Alice cried, clinging to him from behind.
"This is as fast as a buffalo runs," Bastian shouted over the wind.
Riding behind him, Alice peered over his shoulder at the speed dial, which was embedded into the buffalo's neck.
"Just seventy miles per hour?" she said. "They should have shaped this like a turtle, not a buffalo! It'll take ages to reach my grandfather."
Bastian laughed, the wind streaming over him. "Maybe if you weighed less, the buffalo would run faster."
She reached around him, poked his belly. "You're no Slim Jim yourself, big boy."
"Hey, I'm all muscle."
She snorted. "And I'm the princess of England."
"You're a Viking, not a princess," Bastian said. "We're almost at your farm. Be patient. I'm sure your grandpa is fine."
As a kid, Bastian would sometimes sneak onto the Allenby farm. He'd snatch some apples, scare some chickens, maybe grab an ear of corn. Just a dumb kid getting in some trouble. Even back then, a good twenty years ago, Farmer Allenby had seemed terribly old, his hair white and wild. He would chase little Bastian off the farm, firing his shotgun into the air.
Well, that was then. And now Chester Allenby, who was pushing ninety, was getting his revenge. Every day, the old man called Fort Liberty.
"There are aliens on my farm, I'm telling ya! And the police won't do nothin'."
"Honest to goodness, I saw Bigfoot walking in my field. Send over the marines!"
"It's alligators in my sewer again. Goddamn alligators in my pipes, I can hear them grunting. I need a marine squad here, stat."
But every time, it was nothing. The aliens turned out to be coyotes. Bigfoot was nothing but a wild boar. The alligator was just a banging pipe. Bastian would normally ignore the kook, but Alice loved the old farmer. So here they rode again.
"A giant spider kidnapping his wife," Bastian muttered to himself. "We'll probably just find a daddy longlegs on his pillow."
But it was okay. The ride was on the way to Bastian's house. Well, what had been his house. Before Stacy got it in the divorce. He'd step on a spider, ride a little farther, and be with his daughter again. A few hours with Rowan, his little angel, would make everything seem right again.
They finally saw the Allenby farm ahead.
It was a small farm, as far as they went. A cornfield. A soy field. A chicken coop and some cows. The farmhouse was a humble home, the roof missing a few tiles, the walls needing a coat of paint. It was a far cry from the King ranch farther west, with its Neo-Colonial manor and sprawling fields.
The Kings came from old money. The family had fallen on hard times, losing its fortune in the war, but they still had their land. Bastian had grown up in that manor. Of course, it legally still belonged to his father. Even though Commander James King had spent the past four decades in space, the ranch was still his. Someday Bastian might inherit it. Or might not. For now, he refused to set foot there.
Not after what happened.
Not after what he saw in that hotel room.
The ranch belonged to Commander King, and Bastian wanted nothing to do with the man. As far as Bastian was concerned, he had no father. Even if that meant he had no home.
He slowed the buffalo down. They rode onto Allenby Farm, and Bastian took deep breaths, trying to calm the turmoil inside him.
* * * * *
"Thank goodness you're here." Old Man Allenby burst out the front door, wearing overalls and nothing else, even in the cold. He was barefoot, and his white hair stuck out every which way. "It got her! Alice, that darned giant spider got your grandma!"
Bastian stifled a laugh. Ah, same old Chester Allenby. He was senile, and laughing wasn't nice. But Bastian couldn't resist a little chuckle.
Alice glared at him. "Stop laughing at my grandfather."
"You're right." He nodded. "I'm sorry. Let's find the spider that spooked him and step on it."
The two marines walked along the cobbled path. Patches of snow lay scattered across the garden, and icicles hung from the roof. Christmas lights dangled from the crooked eaves, half of them burned out.
Maybe I've been working Alice too hard, Bastian thought. She lost her parents just last year. And her grandparents are getting too old to maintain this farm.
He should give her some time off, he knew. Time to clean up the place. But Alice was the best damn soldier in the Badgers Company, which Bastian commanded. Hell, she was probably the best damn soldier in the entire brigade. Bastian had promoted her to master sergeant, making her the senior NCO in his company. She was his right-hand woman, his liaison with the enlisted troops he commanded.
Unfortunately, that meant she didn't get a lot of time off. Now Bastian felt guilty about that. He liked Alice. And he had been working her too damn hard.
Since his divorce a year ago, Bastian had been spending all his time on the base. Weekends. Holidays. Workin
g and training nonstop. That meant Alice was there nonstop too. As his master sergeant, she went where he went. At Fort Liberty, he sought refuge from his broken home life. Was he keeping Alice away from fixing hers?
Now I really feel like shit, Bastian thought, looking at the sorry state of her farm.
He vowed to start treating Alice better. A week or two vacation would give her a chance to fix things around here.
Old Man Allenby grabbed his arm, eyes wild, interrupting Bastian's thoughts.
"You gotta find her, Captain!"
Bastian frowned. "Find who? The spider?"
"My wife! The spider took her, son. Dragged her off into that there forest."
The old man pointed with an arthritic finger. Bastian stared past the farm to the forest. Snow draped the trees.
He sighed. "Mr. Allenby, you see, spiders are very small. Far too small to lift an adult woman."
"Don't talk to me like I'm a child," Allenby snapped. "I babysat you when you were still shitting your diapers. Hell, I babysat your father too. I know what I saw. A giant spider. A spider the size of a goddamn horse. First it ate one of my cows. Then it dragged my dear Hannah into the forest." He sniffed. "She's the love of my life. You gotta find her. Please."
Alice embraced her grandfather. "We'll find Grandma. I promise you."
"Mind if we take a look around the house?" Bastian said.
"I told ya, goddammit, the spider took her into the forest," the old man said.
Alice patted his arm. "I know, Grampa. I know. But we just want to check the house, okay?"
The old farmer snorted. "Oh, all right. If you must. I see you don't believe me. You think I'm crazy, do ya? Well, come on in!" Sarcasm draped his voice. "Make yourself at home. Have a cup of tea, why don't ya?" He harrumphed. "You'll see I ain't crazy. You'll see the goddamn cobwebs!"
As they approached the front door, Alice leaned toward Bastian.
"He's getting worse," she whispered.
Bastian wondered what they'd find inside. Maybe Hannah Allenby was simply in another room, maybe doing the laundry or lost in a good novel, and Chester got confused. At his age, his mind was going. It was sad. Bastian hoped he never reached ninety. He would prefer to die in glorious battle than fade into senility.
Some chance of that happening, Bastian thought. The wars are long gone. My primary antagonist as a marine seems to be a house spider.
When they entered the house, Bastian covered his nose. The place stank. It was also a right mess. The kitchen table and chairs lay overturned. A pot had spilled porridge across the floor. The stuffed moose head had fallen, and two cats hissed atop a pile of fallen books.
"Grampa, what happened here?" Alice said. "Did you fall down again? Did you knock these things over?"
"Mrs. Allenby?" Bastian cried, coning a palm around his mouth. "Are you here, Mrs. Allenby?"
He began searching the house, worried that something had fallen on her.
"Grampa, what happened?" Alice repeated. "Was there an earthquake?"
"A spider!" he said.
Alice gasped. "Did you knock over all this furniture trying to catch a spider?"
"No, goddammit! The spider knocked it over." The old man harrumphed. "Aren't you listening to me, Alice? The spider was the size of a goddamn Clydesdale!" He pointed at Bastian. "Almost as fat as that meathead."
"Hey!" Bastian bristled. "I'm all muscle. Mostly muscle." He glanced down at his belly. "Okay, I put on some weight during the holidays. Sue me."
"Bastian, stop obsessing over your weight for once," Alice said. "Help me look for my grandma."
They moved into the dining room, which was in bad shape too. The cabinets had been yanked off the walls. Shattered plates and cups lay across the floor. A heavy white curtain draped across the entire back wall.
Alice gasped, went very pale, and pointed at the curtain. "Bastian!" She grabbed his arm. "Look."
"I see it. A giant curtain across the wall. Or is that a bedsheet? I—"
Then it clicked.
That was no curtain. No sheet either.
Those were cobwebs.
Cobwebs covering the entire dining room wall.
* * * * *
Bastian stepped outside the farmhouse, squinting in the sunlight.
"Mrs. Allenby!" he shouted.
"Grandma!" Alice cried.
Old Man Allenby hurried out of the house, still barefoot and wearing only overalls. The elderly farmer pointed at the forest.
"The spider took her thataway. Into the old woods. Please. You have to save her."
Bastian glanced at his watch. He was supposed to pick up Rowan soon. He didn't have time for this.
"Alice, I gotta get going," he said.
She looked at him, eyes full of tears. "My grandmother. Won't you help me?"
Bastian grumbled under his breath. "Hold on."
He turned aside, activated his MindLink, and did what he hated to do.
He called his ex-wife.
For a long moment, nothing happened. Finally her MindLink accepted the call.
A hallucination of Stacy appeared before him, standing in the snowy yard. In real life, she was back home, several miles west from here. But her avatar filled his mind, seeming to stand here in the flesh.
"What is it, Bastian?" She was folding a shirt. "I'm busy packing my suitcase. Make it quick."
Only he could hear her voice. He was hallucinating the entire thing. But the illusion was complete, indistinguishable from real life. Aside from the absurdity of a woman folding laundry in a snowy field, that was.
"Merry Christmas to you too, Stacy," he telepathized.
Telepathizing was a strange art. When Bastian had first gotten the MindLink installed, he had struggled to get it right. You had to think up the words, direct them to the right part of your brain, and send them over the MindWeb. Early on, Bastian would get confused, would accidentally transmit private thoughts. He had embarrassed himself quite a few times during those early years. But it got easier. By now, he knew how to keep some thoughts private, how to send others over the neural network. Eventually, they said, it became second nature.
He found that speaking aloud helped. Often, he spoke the same words he was transmitting telepathically. It was unnecessary. Stacy was miles away, could not actually hear his voice. But speaking the words helped Bastian distinguish the private from the public. A good trick for dumb meatheads like him.
Stacy groaned. "Bastian! What do you want?"
"I might be a little late picking up Rowan. Just a little! No more than half an hour late."
She tossed down the folded shirt. "Bastian! I have to leave my house in exactly seventy minutes, or I'll miss my flight. I'm heading over to Bemidji for the weekend. If you don't show up here in seventy minutes to pick up your daughter, I'm taking her with me."
"Stacy!" he whispered between clenched teeth. "I get Rowan for half of Christmas. You heard the judge."
"Only if you pick her up on time."
"Why the hell are you going to Bemidji anyway? That's all the way in Canada."
"It's in Minnesota, dumbass. Hunter has family there. Not that it's any of your business."
Ah yes. Hunter. Her new boyfriend. The organic food salesman. Bastian had never met the guy, only heard stories of how sensitive, kind, and handsome he was, and how his health food store was booming. The local farmers raised good food here on the farms of Nebraska—wheat and beef and corn, honest American fare. But apparently Hunter's customers preferred avocados, sprouts, and seeds from overseas. All organic and free-trade, apparently. Whatever that meant. To Bastian, it all looked like animal feed. He wanted to smash Hunter in the face with a bag of quinoa.
"I'll be there," Bastian growled and hung up. He turned toward Alice. "We gotta hurry."
Alice was kneeling, examining the snowy ground. "I see some tracks. Look. See that? Those are footsteps. Strange footsteps. Holes." She shuddered. "Giant spider feet."
Bastian looked. He saw them. Holes the
size of apples in the snow. What kind of animal could leave such tracks? Maybe it was a mechanical beast? A robot spider, similar in construction to the buffalo? But that didn't explain the cobwebs. Why would a robot, even a spider-shaped one, spit out cobwebs?
He didn't have time for this.
"Bemidji," he muttered. "Goddamn Bemidji with Hunter and his avocados."
Alice didn't hear him. She was already racing toward the forest. "Bastian, come on!"
Reluctantly, he followed, cursing every minute that passed.
* * * * *
They lost the trail five minutes later.
Following the tracks through the garden was easy enough. But once they reached the forest, they encountered hard, icy ground strewn with stones. Fresh snow was falling, hindering their efforts. At one point, Bastian thought he found more footprints, but Alice pointed out that those were hoof prints. Just a deer.
"I don't have time for this," he muttered, checking his watch.
Alice looked at him, biting her lip. She was a big, powerful woman, almost as big as him, but tears rolled down her cheeks, and her bottom lip quivered. Despite her size, she looked so vulnerable standing there in the snow.
"You can't help me?" she whispered, breath frosting.
Bastian pursed his lips. "No. But I know who can. Come on, back to the buffalo. I have a friend who can help. And let's hurry."
Two minutes later, they were back on the mechanical buffalo, galloping across the plains. Bastian knew that every minute counted. Not just because Stacy was going to take their daughter to goddamn Bemidji. If Alice's grandmother was out there in the snow, she was in danger. With all the stress today—about his daughter, his father, and Hunter the Quinoa King—Bastian had nearly forgotten what truly mattered here. There was a woman in danger. Alice's grandmother. No, Bastian could not abandon the old lady.
He shoved the throttle down to the metal. The robotic buffalo gained speed, legs kicking up snow and chunks of ice. They didn't need to take any roads. The buffalo roared over the wilderness at breakneck speed.
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