The Midnight Sun (The Omega War Book 2)

by Tim C. Taylor

  “I said this spray is beautifully cool,” he said in ecstasy. Had he lost his mind? “Fancy skinny dipping, Major? Hey!” He began waving his arms wildly at the water. “Over here! Midnighters!”

  Now his excitement made sense, because Sun saw he was signaling to a raft. Behind that another. She saw a Zuul, and humans out of their CASPers. A tall figure pointed at her. It looked like Gjalp. But then she remembered.

  “Hey!” Sun joined in. “It’s Major Sun.” She turned her speaker to max. “Major Sun! Sun!”

  Further out in the river she heard a commotion. Angry shouts from human and alien voices. She was working with her camera to peer through the mist at the shouting people when machine-gun rounds slammed into her.

  “Get back,” she screamed, intending her order for Branco, but he was already heading back under cover.

  “Cease fire!” she shouted at what she could now see were two CASPers and a Tortantula on a rock in the river. “I’m Major Sun!”

  The CASPers ceased firing just before the damage to her torso armor became critical, and Sun heaved a sigh of relief. Finally they’d rejoined their friends. Branco could get the treatment he badly needed.

  Then she saw the reason she was no longer being shot at. The CASPers had leveled their shoulder-mounted rocket launchers at her.

  She activated jumpjets and rose into the air.

  But there was no need. The Tortantula – surely Betty – pushed the two CASPers off the rock to splash into the water.

  It felt strange to be saved by a Tortantula, but Betty must have seen them. Everything would be all right.

  She used her temporary height to search for Branco, but she didn’t like the way she discovered him.

  Her HUD was disabled, but she’d set her camera view to overlay thermal imaging. Below her, a lance of heat was flying up from ground level. Branco was firing his laser pistol. The high power Ctech soon joined in.

  She was descending to see what he was targeting when an explosion knocked her out of the air like a giant fist. She thudded against a tree and tumbled down through forty feet of branches to a soft, muddy landing.

  The status board was a horror story. Jumpjets were out. Her left arm wouldn’t move, and its armament was destroyed. Her armor was compromised but still good from the rear. Nearly every system had suffered some damage.

  The only good news came from Branco, who rode over on the back of his faithful bloodhounds to see if she was okay.

  “I was attacked by Condottieri drones,” he explained. He blew across the barrel of his HP-4 as if it were a Colt 45 in a Western shootout. “They won’t bother us again.”

  Ignoring his strange and entirely unamusing fantasies, Sun took a gamble and reconnected her stolen CASPer to the Condottieri tactical network.

  “It’s not like they don’t know we’re here,” she said to herself as the suit established a link.

  The situation was far worse than she’d feared. Her HUD lit up with what it considered friendlies. There were forty Condottieri CASPers out there, hidden amongst the trees. A squad of ten was moving to investigate and was almost upon them.

  “Who is this?” demanded a woman with an Italian accent. The HUD flashed her position and name: Sergeant Rufina DiRosa. Range: 47.3 meters.

  Sun began shutting down the link.

  “You’re the other sister, aren’t you?” said Rufina. “We don’t need you anymore. Not with your weasel doing all we need. But we do want our kit back.”

  The connection broke and Sun was off grid once again. “Run,” she screamed at Branco, and together they fled away from the river until the sounds of pursuit grew distant.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 104

  They fled the river, running through streams and muddy banks wrapped in vines, through archways of tree boughs and on through the endless swamp.

  But though the bloodhounds and the CASPer had power to spare, the humans they bore had spent all their reserves in their attempt to reach the rapids before the Condottieri.

  They could go no further.

  As darkness fell, only a few klicks into their flight, they halted in the deepening shade of an enormous tree to rest. Branco slumped over his traveling platform, and Sun slept in her CASPer, the canopy ajar so she wouldn’t choke on exhaust fumes during the night.

  The dawn cacophony of squabbling bat-birds woke her. The faithful bloodhounds had detached themselves from the traveling platform and established a security perimeter. Had Branco woken and instructed them? Or were they developing worrying levels of self-determination?

  But it was Branco himself who caught her attention. He was lying on his back in the mud near his platform, and he was shaking. She went to his side and saw that his fever was far worse than when she’d left him on the island on the day they’d gotten separated from the others. And what was that terrible stink?

  In horror, she lowered her gaze from his face down to the mess of sores and pus that were his legs. Why hadn’t the fool told her they were so bad? They stank of putrid meat mixed with ammonia. She tried lowering his pants to see how far the sores ran up his body, but the fabric of his clothing was glued tight to his flesh.

  She jerked in horror to see movement within his legs and watched, unable to turn away, as a bulge poked out of his pants leg. The bulge became a tiny circular maw, some kind of maggot, a fat and segmented hairy thing that had been feasting on his flesh.

  She grabbed the horrid thing and crushed it between her fingers. It popped loudly, coating her in warm red blood. She tried to grasp the fact that most of the mess running down her hand had once been inside Branco’s body.

  “Your legs are reservoirs of infection and parasites,” she reasoned with him. He was too lost in delirium to connect with anything she could say, but she realized she was really talking to herself. Justifying what she needed to do.

  She took one last look at him and jumped back inside her CASPer, bringing up a Tri-V view of one of the core manuals bundled with the Mark 8’s operating system.

  The document was entitled “Emergency Field Treatment for Non-Medical Personnel.”

  * * *

  Using a combination of sterilized CASPer sword blade and cauterization from bloodhound laser probes, Sun amputated Branco’s legs above both knees. Vines had made effective tourniquets, but she’d been forced to use boiled and cooled tree resin to seal the wounds in the absence of bandages.

  And all the while, she felt a prickling in her back as if she were being observed. She’d even turned around several times and stared into the undergrowth, but if a Condottieri patrol had arrived to kill them, they were being very coy about it.

  She looked down at her unconscious patient, biting her lip in worry. Without doubt it was the hardest thing she’d ever done. Her interpretation of the field treatment guide said it was the right thing to do, but all the way through the operation, the fear worried at her that she was mutilating this man for no good reason.

  “Will Branco get better?” said the translator pendant around her neck.

  Icy fingers of fear scratched her spine. The voice her pendant had translated was a hissing lisp uttered by an alien mouth. Tortantula.

  Very slowly, she turned around and looked up at a ten-foot-high monster with multiple eyes in its head, neurotoxin fangs, and giant war-spider legs.

  It might be Betty. It had to be Betty. Frankly, she couldn’t tell one Tortantula from another, but if it wasn’t the trooper from Vengeance Squad, she was already dead.

  “I don’t know, Betty. But I hope so. That’s why I took his legs off.”

  “You care about him.”

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “Now I understand. You humans don’t like to pull each other’s legs off. You didn’t do this because you enjoyed it.”

  “It was a horrible thing to do. I hated it.”

  “But you did anyway. Because you care.”

  “That’s right. Betty, are there others with you?”

  “I cared about Ta
tterjee.”

  “I know you did. The others? Are they still alive? Are they with you?”

  “He could be very cruel, you know. Stupid Betty. Shut up, Betty. You’re just a dumb Tortantula, Betty.”

  “Another time, Trooper. I saw the Condottieri at the riverbank. Did they kill Venix and the others?”

  It took a few moments for Betty to switch mental gears and respond. “A couple died,” she said. “Then they let Venix and the big rafts go. I brought you something.”

  The Tortantula threw a well-stuffed human rucksack to the ground. Inside, Sun found food. Proper human emergency rations. Water purification tablets. Ammunition for weapons they didn’t carry, and a canister of jumpjet fuel they couldn’t use. She hazarded a guess the Tortantula had packed this herself.

  “That’s brilliant. Betty, you’re a lifesaver. Wait! What do you mean, they let Venix and the big rafts go?”

  The Tortantula didn’t answer for a while, but Sun let the alien collect her thoughts. “They let Venix and the big rafts go,” Betty said slowly, “because they don’t want to capture the Big Mechs. Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “So they can catch the other Big Mech.”

  “The Raknar aboard Midnight Sun?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did Tatterjee tell you this?”

  “No. But it’s obvious.”

  “But that means…do you think my sister’s alive?”

  “Yes, probably. Oh, I’ve something else for you. I could see Branco didn’t look well when you came to the river.”

  The Tortantula reached one of its many legs into a pouch below her belly and handed over a dozen field med-kits.

  Sun unwrapped one. Inside were bandages, painkillers, antibiotics, and medical nanites!

  “Will these help Branco?”

  “Betty, you’re a wonder. These will save his life.”

  “Really? Because Tatterjee used to say I was a wonder. But I think he was being rude.”

  As Sun injected the first batch of nanites into Branco’s upper thigh, she said, “I can tell you need to talk, Trooper. Tell me about Tatterjee. Tell me everything.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 105

  They rested a while, giving the nanites time to work on Branco. But the bloodhounds reported intruders, and they watched from cover as a Condottieri patrol passed through the swamp less than a hundred feet away.

  It wasn’t safe here.

  They tied Branco to his traveling platform, and the three of them headed off, making directly for the sea. If the Tortantula’s assumptions were correct, she judged the Condottieri would make the definitive move there. In fact, the more Sun thought about it, the stolen Condottieri map showed multiple locations to either side of the river delta. Without the connection to the enemy’s data hub, she couldn’t tell what they were, but it supported the idea that Venix was being herded – bait to catch Midnight Sun and the Raknar inside.

  Branco didn’t regain consciousness that day, but he slept peacefully during the night through to the early hours, when he woke refreshed and consumed by a brutal hunger. As he tore through a ration pack wearing a thoughtful expression, Sun was on tenterhooks, waiting for his reaction to the mutilation she’d wrought upon him.

  “I’m alive,” he said simply. “I wouldn’t be without you two. Thank you.” Then he shut his eyes and fell asleep.

  Sun soon joined him while Betty kept watch, assisted by the bloodhounds.

  The morning, though, revealed an unexpected disaster. The wreckage of all four bloodhounds was strewn on the ground before them. The legs had been ripped from their torsos, and their bodies had been smashed in. Some carried bite marks.

  “There was a storm last night,” Betty volunteered in explanation. “Very windy. Smashed the poor little robots to pieces. Very sad. Yes, I am very sad.”

  Sun could feel her hands shake in fury, but Branco caught her eye and winked at her. What right did that idiot man have to be so cheerful?

  “I’m sad too,” he told Betty. “Without those bots, I’m marooned. I can’t walk, obviously. You two will have to leave me here to die.”

  “That’s a shame,” said the Tortantula. “Such a waste of the nanites I gave the major. Goodbye.”

  Betty shuffled over to Sun and stood almost over the human woman’s head so she could whisper in private. “Just checking, Major. You said yesterday that you like this man, that you don’t want him to die. Is that still true today?”

  “I want him alive,” Sun answered through clenched teeth.

  “I understand your need,” Betty replied. “I feel…a similar impulse. But I have just this moment thought of a solution. I believe I can keep him alive long enough for your purposes. Leave it to Betty.”

  The Tortantula scuttled over to where Branco was sitting and leaned in close to speak to him quietly.

  “You don’t seem troubled, Branco. Do you wish to die?”

  Branco grinned, convinced he could see where this was headed. He’d better be right, or he was about to talk himself into a lonely death. “I do,” he replied, “but Sun won’t let me. She’s cruel like that.”

  “Hush now, human. The Major doesn’t mean to be cruel.” The Tortantula leaned in closer still – mere inches from Branco’s head. The human screwed up his face at the smell from her mandibles. “You won’t realize this,” she hissed secretively, “you being only a male, but I’m convinced that the major wishes you to stay alive so her larvae can feast on your flesh.”

  Branco tried not to laugh. With Betty’s heavy scent so strong, it wasn’t difficult. “Sun wants to lay her eggs in me? Are you sure?”

  “I’m certain, Branco. She’s as good as admitted it. I’ve suspected as much for weeks.”

  “Are you sure? Or is it really you who wishes to lay her eggs in me?”

  Betty sprang up aggressively, and Branco was instantly reacquainted with paralyzing fear. The alien was acting almost broody, but she was also a ten-foot tall monster who could end his life in an instant. “You flatter yourself, Branco. I would never do that.” The translation of her voice took on an enigmatic quality as she lowered herself close again. “Not in you.”

  “Oh, I get it now,” said Branco. “That’s the real reason you came out here to find us. It’s not for me. It’s for her.”

  The Tortantula blinked her eyes in a chase sequence. “It’s very embarrassing. I never even told Tatterjee. But I find the sisters to be very impressive, and Major Sun would make a fine host for my eggs.”

  “I knew it! That’s why you shake around her sometimes?”

  “It is, and if you ever tell anybody this, I shall do very bad things to you. I know it’s wrong to eat your commanding officer, but is it also inappropriate for your spawn to do so? I’m confused by such questions.”

  “You’re amazing, Betty. I was always told that Tortantulas were devoid of empathy.”

  “No, Branco. I’m highly attuned to the emotions of everyone around us; I just don’t give a fuck. Branco?”

  He’d slumped forward, flinging out his hands to break his fall. “Sorry, Betty, but I’m very tired. It’s been a fascinating talk, but I’m still marooned with no transport.”

  “It’s good that you enjoy us talking. Tatterjee is still with me, but we don’t speak any more.”

  It was Branco’s turn to blink, and he wondered whether he was picking up Tortantula body language or…maybe it was working the other way around. “Oh,” he said. “You mean Tatterjee is inside you. He’ll always be a part of your flesh.”

  “Branco…you understand! No one else does.”

  He did, at least in part. Another time he’d enjoy this, but he was too tired. Time to get to the point. “Betty, do you need someone to ride with you? To provide cover during close quarters combat?”

  “I do.”

  “Will you bear me on your back, transporting me to safety, and carrying me to war as our lives require and for as long as we shall live?”

  “I shal
l.”

  Before he could think of another line to feed her, she flipped him onto her back.

  It was like sitting in a minefield. All around was rough hide coated with hairs tough enough to penetrate light armor. But in the relative safe zone on her back, the hide was less aggressive and Tatterjee’s tiny saddle and harness were still there. Shame it was only big enough to carry half a human butt cheek in comfort.

  “You’re a lot heavier than Tatterjee,” Betty complained. She wriggled, trying to get comfortable, but he sensed that she couldn’t. He didn’t feel right up there either, but this made so much sense for both of them that he had to make it work.

  “I don’t like this,” said the Tortantula.

  “I am heavier,” Branco said. “It’s true that you aren’t quite as nimble as when carrying a Flatar.”

  “Yes. You are too heavy.”

  “Being heavy is a good thing,” he said hurriedly. “It gives you an advantage, Betty. If there were more like you and me, we’d form an elite heavy Tortantula unit. If we show how well we work together, maybe the company bosses will form such a unit around us. Just imagine that. Extreme kills. Extreme eating. The best rewards, because the heavy Tortantulas would be first into the attack.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “I do,” Branco replied. “Look up human military history from the region I’m from, Europe, and you’ll see the most glamorous units were heavy cavalry. The ultimate shock troops. Cuirassiers, the Macedonian Companions, Cataphracts, medieval knights in shining armor. That’s what you and I can be together. Space Knights.”

  Betty said nothing.

  “Betty?”

  “Quiet! I am doing as you suggested.”

  Was she looking up human history? He couldn’t see a slate.

  “Yes!” Betty exclaimed. “We shall be the new apex elite unit. CASPers shall be our lowly servants. Charge!”

  With Branco desperately gripping onto Tatterjee’s tiny harness, Betty galloped away, the new possibilities Branco had planted in her head powering her limbs to terrifying speeds. Even with the mud sucking at her feet, Betty must be doing thirty miles per hour.