by Jim C. Hines
“I was afraid the feral might wander off if I waited for backup to arrive,” Wolf said quietly.
“Yes, and this worked out so much better.”
Wolf didn’t answer.
“You told Rubin he was wearing clothing. Furs, right? Are you sure he was feral?”
“Yes, sir. The same dark blood as us, and he moved just like the ferals on the Pufferfish four months ago.” She mimicked the shuffling, trudging movements.
“All right. Do what you can to clean yourself up, then get some sleep. In here, so you don’t choke the others.”
Wolf hesitated. “You’re not gonna yell anymore or make me clean the train with a toothbrush or anything?”
“I’d love to,” said Mops. “But I doubt anything will top what you’ve already been through. It would just be me lashing out at you because you scared the shit out of me. Because this situation could have gone much, much worse.”
Wolf nodded. “Thanks.”
“Pull something like this again, and I’ll leave you on this planet. Naked. Is that clear?”
“Got it.” She shuffled deeper into the passenger car.
Mops stepped out and inhaled a lungful of relatively clean air. “Doc, show me the best shot of that feral from Wolf’s monocle.”
The human was as Wolf had described: healthy, but clearly feral. “Can you confirm whether he’s a match for the human we saw in the clip from Cate?”
“I can’t be certain, but I don’t believe so. This human appears to be shorter and younger, barely out of adolescence.”
“What can you tell me about the furs he’s wearing?”
“The brown-and-white pattern of the fur suggests the hide may have come from a deer. The edges appear to be clean, straight cuts. Do you think we’ve discovered the first tool-using feral?”
Mops continued to study the image. “Doc, I don’t know what the hell we’ve discovered.”
* * *
Mops’ SHS team had been one of the best in the EMC. They had the best cleansers in the galaxy. And nothing they did managed to completely remove the stench from Wolf and her uniform.
By the time Wolf and Monroe found a mixture of degreaser and detergent that brought the stink down to a tolerable level, the sun was setting, and Mops was ready to head out.
Doc had used Wolf’s relative positioning data to plot a path back to where she’d encountered the feral. The overpowering skunk smell confirmed they were in the right spot, but there was no sign of the feral.
“This place smells like death,” Cate complained.
“The skunk must have a nest nearby.” Rubin dropped to her hands and knees to peer at a pile of fallen branches and dead leaves. “Otherwise it wouldn’t have attacked Wolf twice. Unless it was diseased . . .”
Wolf grabbed her combat baton.
“We’re not here to hunt the skunk,” Mops reminded them. “Monroe, any luck backtracking the feral’s prints?”
“No sign of him, but I’ve got something interesting here,” Monroe said over the comm.
Mops and the others found him about two hundred meters east.
“More signs of civilization.” Monroe pointed to a curving roadway. Even in the moonlight, it was easy to make out the series of large rectangular pits to either side. Time had smoothed the edges and begun to fill them in, but they were too regular to be natural.
“Old human hives?” suggested Cate.
“What’s left of them.” Mops approached the closest, noting another patch of flat, rocky ground that might once have been pavement connecting the home to the road. A bit of digging through the snow exposed broken bricks.
“Stay alert,” said Monroe. “Ferals might use these pits for shelter.”
Cate jumped back in alarm, his wings flapping.
Mops was tempted to linger, to explore the places her own ancestors might have lived. Who knew what artifacts had survived beneath the snow and dirt? From the way the other humans stared, Mops knew she wasn’t alone.
Instead, she pulled herself away. “It’s less than an hour’s hike to the library. Our priority is the runaway human. Maybe they’ll be able to tell us why ferals have started dressing for the weather.”
As they walked, they passed other evidence of humanity: a partial brick chimney that had survived the loss of the rest of the house; the rusted, overgrown frame of a two-person motor vehicle; characters from a language Mops didn’t recognize carved into the side of a tree.
A trilling cry caught Mops’ attention. Before she could pinpoint the source, a shadow shot from the trees and dove toward the ground. In an explosion of snow, a large bird snatched a squealing creature in its talons and flew away.
“What was that?” Wolf yelled, her rifle swinging to track the bird’s movement.
“An owl,” said Doc, broadcasting to the group. “Possibly a screech owl. I wasn’t able to identify its dinner from this distance.”
Mops took a moment to calm her breathing. She turned her attention skyward. How many satellites were passing overhead? The bare trees offered shelter, but if just one satellite or drone captured a clear image, it wouldn’t be long before Krakau fighters swooped down on them, just like the owl and its prey.
They followed the road up a shallow hill. Monroe stopped at the top and let out a low whistle. He pointed to a palatial structure about a half kilometer away. Three square towers—two on the end and one in the center—loomed over the surrounding trees.
“The pointed spires remind me of the primitive fortresses Prodryans once built,” said Cate.
“I believe it’s a cathedral.”
Mops passed that along, adding, “It was a human place of worship.”
“I thought those were called temples,” said Wolf.
Human religion hadn’t been part of the Krakau education program. Mops wouldn’t have known the first thing about it if not for the scraps she’d pieced together from old books over the years. “Different religions had different traditions and rituals and symbols. Stars, crosses, candles, an apple with a bite missing . . .”
“That cathedral looks like the perfect shelter for a pack of ferals,” Monroe said. “I suggest we stay clear.”
Mops had been thinking the same thing. She zoomed in on the building. How many centuries had it stood? How long had it taken humans to build? Nobody thought of humans as a species that built things. Humans were soldiers to be feared, or occasionally a tragic people to be pitied. “Let’s circle north and— Wait. Something’s moving.”
Monroe tensed. “What is it?”
Doc enhanced her vision the best he could, giving her a clearer view of what she’d thought were a series of bushes or shrubs. She focused on one just outside the arched doorway as it trotted down broken steps.
The beast was all chest, with relatively small legs and a spindly rope of a tail. Curved horns rose from either side of the head. It shook itself, dislodging a thin layer of snow.
“That thing has to be six hundred kilos, at least,” Wolf whispered.
Rubin hurried to see. “From the size and body shape, they could be a species of cattle. But the wooly fur on the front and the hunched shape of the shoulders suggests it’s a herd of bison. They’re herbivores—no threat to us as long as we leave them alone.”
“Can we ride them?” Wolf asked.
Rubin hesitated. “I . . . wouldn’t advise it.”
Wolf continued to stare. “What about eating them?”
Mops should have been relieved. Better a herd of harmless wild animals than a pack of hungry ferals. She watched the bison moving about. “What stirred them?”
“Sir?” asked Rubin.
“When I first saw the cathedral, I didn’t realize they were alive. They must have been sleeping. They’d been there long enough they all had snow on them. Then suddenly they’re all stirring and nosing around. What w
oke them up?”
“Maybe they smelled us?” suggested Cate, with a pointed look in Wolf’s direction.
Rubin shook her head. “The wind’s wrong.”
Wolf raised her rifle. “I’ve got a range of five hundred eight meters to the closest one. No way they heard us.”
Mops’ eyes traced every line of the building. Her attention lingered on the towers.
“Should we check it out?” asked Monroe.
Reluctantly, Mops turned away from the cathedral. If their runaway human had taken shelter in the library, there was a good chance security and familiarity and habit would keep them coming back. “We check the library first. If it’s empty, we’ll double back to the cathedral.”
Cate scraped his forearms in disdain. “You would leave a potential threat at our backs?”
“You’d rather risk spooking a herd of animals that could gore and trample you to jelly on the off chance there’s something in there?” asked Mops.
“Your weapons are more than a match for those beasts,” said Cate. “Kill them all, then destroy the cathedral. That way, any potential threat is destroyed. That’s the Prodryan way.”
“And what does the Prodryan way suggest we do when Alliance satellites pick up all that weapons fire?” asked Mops.
Wolf spat. “Besides, this whole planet’s a potential threat.”
“Which is why the whole planet should be destroyed,” Cate pronounced.
“Which is why we need to find that human.” Mops started down the road, trusting the others to fall in behind her. “Before anything else does.”
Advocate of Violence: Mission Objectives
Gain access to EMCS Pufferfish and crew.
Study weaknesses of cruiser-class ships.
The Pufferfish is nothing but weaknesses, held together with little more than glue and tape!
They steer with video game controllers!
Most of my time on the Pufferfish was spent in a locked cell. (See Attachment A for my notes on Alliance brig facilities.)
Find evidence to bring down high-ranking Krakau officers.
Fleet Admiral Sage: nothing yet.
Admiral Pachelbel: guilty of conspiring with a Prodryan spy.
Go to Earth for reconnaissance of cured and feral humans.
Observe human combat tactics.
Adamopoulos escaped the EMCS Box Jellyfish by use of artificial Comacean skin gel.
Her plan for reaching Earth involved jumping from an exploding shuttle.
In my professional opinion, something is very wrong with this species.
Kill Marion Adamopoulos to avenge her defeat of the Prodryans at the Battle of Dobranok.
Waiting for the right opportunity.
Kill everyone else on general principle.
Waiting for the right opportunity.
Turn the humans against the Krakau.
Significant progress on this objective, but most of the credit for this goes to the Krakau.
Don’t get killed.
Ongoing—need to pay particular attention to Earth’s many hazards, along with the human named Wolf.
* * *
MOPS CALLED A HALT in a small wooded area, within sight of their destination. The tall ruins and old roadways they’d passed suggested this had once been a heavily populated city, but this particular block was nothing but trees, narrow paths, and broken stone footbridges. Possibly a city park?
Their destination was an enormous building of white stone and pillars, about thirty meters beyond the edge of the park. Brown vines clung to the walls. A fountain sat out front, covered in muck and dead weeds. In the center of the fountain sat the statue of a muscular bearded man whose right arm had broken off. Smaller statues stood to either side. They seemed to guard the stone stairway leading into the building.
“Reminds me of one of those ancient Roman cities,” Wolf whispered. “All the columns and white marble and crap.”
“Wrong part of the planet.” Mops studied the broken-out windows.
Rubin gestured for Mops’ attention. Keeping her voice low, she said, “The Prodryan appears to be in distress.”
Cate stood a short distance from the others, arms wrapped around his torso. In the relative darkness, it took a moment for Mops to see what Rubin meant. Cate’s arms were swollen. The bristles on his skin had retracted and appeared to be oozing some kind of oily green mucus. Doc brightened her vision, helpfully giving her a clearer view of said mucus.
“You all right, Cate?” asked Mops.
He jumped hard enough his wings rustled. “I look forward to leaving this planet.”
Mops pointed to his arms. “You seem to be . . . leaking.”
He tugged a corner of his shift from beneath his armor and used it to wipe the worst of the seepage. “I believe it’s an allergic reaction to the chemical assault the skunk used to defeat Wolf.”
“It didn’t defeat me,” Wolf insisted. “I decided it wasn’t worth killing, that’s all.”
“Was this before or after you were beat up by a tree?” Cate shot back.
“Can you take anything for this reaction?” Mops said, cutting off Wolf’s angry retort.
“At home, I would spread salt-clay lotion over my scent receptors to block the stench and ease the swelling.”
“You smell through your skin?” asked Mops.
“You don’t?” He turned to stare at her.
“Humans smell through their nostrils.” She reached beneath her visor to tap her nose.
“That puny thing?” Cate scoffed. “How inefficient.”
“Says the guy covered in arm-snot,” said Wolf.
Mops silenced Wolf with a glare, then said, “Cate, are you medically able to continue?”
“I am fine.”
“Good.” Mops turned her attention back to the library. “Monroe, any sign of activity?”
“Nothing.” Monroe rested one arm against a tree. “It’s not what I imagined. I always thought of libraries as little brick schoolhouses. Or else those rainbow coral things the Krakau grow to store mem crystals of their family histories. This place is huge.”
Mops nodded, only half-listening. “It’s quiet.”
“If you say ‘too quiet,’ I’ll electrify your helmet.”
“It’s nighttime,” said Monroe. “All the sensible life-forms are sleeping.”
“Sensible life-forms would not be on this planet to begin with,” added Cate.
Rubin peered at the library. “Silence might mean the native life-forms are hiding from a predator. Although in this case, the predator could be us.”
Mops straightened. “Monroe, I want you to hold back and cover our six. Rubin, watch the windows. Wolf, you’re on my left flank. Cate, watch my right.”
“What does ‘cover our six’ mean?” asked Cate. “Six what?”
“EMC slang for watch my back.” Monroe settled down against a tree with his gun in his lap.
Cate peered more closely at the humans. “You have six backs?”
“Nobody knows where the expression comes from,” said Monroe.
Mops drew her pistol and started across the clearing. Beneath the snow, the ground here was crumbled rock or concrete. “Walk carefully, people.”
Monroe was right about the library’s size. It was an imposing structure, wide and blocky, built of heavy stone blocks. Archways and pillars made it feel more like a palace than a library, as did the broad stone steps leading to what appeared to be the main entrance.
They’d closed to ten meters when a flock of birds erupted from one of the upper windows. From the corner of her eye, Mops sa
w Wolf swing her rifle around. “Hold your fire.”
Cate spread his wings and muttered something Mops’ translator didn’t understand.
“What was that?” she asked.
He looked away. “It was a form of greeting, an acknowledgment of kinship to other creatures of the air.”
Interesting. “Is that why your people want to kill the rest of us? Because none of us fly?”
“Not at all,” said Cate. “The Prodryans would still exterminate your kind from the galaxy if you could fly. But we would feel regret over your deaths.”
“Have you considered not killing everyone?” asked Rubin.
She might as well have asked, “Have you considered breathing radon?” or “Have you tried gluing your genitals to a comet?”
Cate stared for several seconds, then turned away, his disgust obvious.
Mops glanced back at the trees. “How does it look, Monroe?”
“You’re clear, sir.”
Mops climbed the first set of steps. Wind had swept this area clean of snow. “Some of those windows are boarded up from the inside.”
“People probably took shelter here, back during the outbreak,” guessed Wolf. “At least they had something to read while the world went to shit.”
At the top of the staircase was a wide, cracked landing. Three stone arches led to a set of oversized doorways. To Mops’ amazement, one of the doors toward the right had survived. It was a tall, heavy thing of cracked glass. She stepped into the center archway and frowned. “No glass.”
“What’s that?” asked Wolf.
Mops indicated the other doors, where nothing remained but empty metal frames on rusted hinges. “Glass doesn’t decay. The remnants of these doors should be crunching under our feet.” She dropped to one knee and ran a gloved hand over the ground. A film of dirt and moisture covered her fingers. “It’s too clean.”