Not my new body, he told himself. I’m still me. This is just a huge, organic battlesuit.
He wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do as he strode down Morrison Way and approached the administration building. There were three giant plant warriors there working their way through the huge building. It wasn’t until he entered the square, where the Victory Fountain lay in rubble, water shooting into the air, that he realized he was looking down at the other three. He didn’t tower over them, but he was taller. Looking down at the branches that served as arms, he realized that he out-massed them, too. Together, they were three to his one, so combined, they out-massed him, but he was larger—and hopefully more powerful—than any single one of them.
A missile streaked out and hit Colby low in his torso.
Hell, guys! Stop it! he thought, turning around to face them.
He didn’t have any vocal chords, nor any way to make a sound, however. He swung his many arms as if waving off a troop carrier landing, but far from communicating his desires it just triggered two more missiles. There wasn’t much he could do about them, and it was only an annoyance—even if they did hurt—so he swung back to the other three diakaiju.
As if sensing him, two of them parted a few steps, giving him room to join in the mayhem. He took advantage of that, getting closer before he sent out a focused metal command for the one on his left to stop.
It didn’t.
He tried again, but the giant plant didn’t even hesitate. Colby didn’t think he’d even penetrated the giant—it was as if there was something blocking him, like a shield. It was as if they were on different frequencies—or something more powerful was in control.
Where is the boss plant? Colby asked himself, turning around to scan the city. Was it aware that he’d taken control of some of its plant soldiers earlier, and had it found a way to block him?
He didn’t expect to actually see it, Life had never come at him so easily. Besides, the damn thing could be anywhere. But on the off chance that it was there and within range of being crushed by a well-placed massive foot he’d had to look.
There was nothing left for him to do. With a mental sigh, he reached from behind the nearest giant and wrapped it up with his arms. When he had it thoroughly entwined in his grip, Colby lifted it off its feet. The giant squirmed in his grasp. It was ungodly strong, but Colby was stronger, and without its feet to brace it, it had no leverage. It grasped at him, pulling, desperate to grapple. Colby lost a few minor arms in the attempt. He braced himself, expecting to go into shock as he felt limbs being torn from his body, but his connection ignored that—too human—reaction. After all, it wasn’t like he didn't have plenty of limbs to spare, so the loss of a few was really inconsequential.
The realization was both disconcerting and liberating. He shifted the daikaiju in his grip, and began swinging it like a baseball bat, beating it against the side of the half-demolished building. Bits of marble, granite, and plasticrete broke off—along with larger bits of green plant matter. Chunks of plant flew in all directions as Colby swung again and again, effectively smashing the plant to bits. Still, the arms grabbed at him, even when half of the plant was spread all over the building and into the square. He kept swinging and only stopped when his opponent finally went limp.
He dropped the broken remnants and turned to face the other two, who had paused in their own rampage. They didn’t have eyes, but there was no doubt that they were “looking at him.”
Getting orders from above, huh?
As one, they moved forward to engage him, and Colby stepped back into the square. He might be bigger than either of them, but two-to-one were not great odds. He needed room to maneuver. If they managed to close with him together he wouldn’t stand a chance.
As he backed away one thing immediately registered. They bumped each other in their single-minded determination to rend him into his own green mist. They shared an objective but were not working as a team, and that sparked the beginnings of a plan. Two could defeat one as a team in almost every situation but only when working in tandem. A savvy fighter could turn their inability to work as a team into an advantage.
Colby was a savvy fighter, courtesy of the Marine Corps Martial Arts Program. All those hours of pain, all those hours where Master Sergeant Burke Dorcas tortured him within a centimeter of his life, came flooding back to him. All those bouts fighting two other Marines at the same time—which almost always ended up with him getting the shit kicked out of him—had imbedded muscle memory that took over, even after all these years, even applied to a giant plant body that he happened to be wearing.
He backed up, leading them out of the ruined building, and just as they reached what had once been the Grand Rotunda, he feinted to the right. Both of his opponents wheeled to cut him off, which was just what Colby wanted. He pivoted on one leg, delivering what had to be the most powerful spinning back kick in the history of the human race. It connected low on the closer giant, sending it backward into the second, tangling them both up for long enough for him to step in and deliver a stomp with all of the kilotons of force he could generate. A chunk of the nearer daikaiju turned into mush. Colby tried to take advantage of the situation to deliver another stomp, but this time, as his foot hit, the other plant warrior managed to snake an arm around its companion and snag Colby’s foot as he tried to withdraw. He jerked back and almost toppled, hopping away. He couldn’t afford a fall here; it would be a mortal error. It was only because the other two were tangled up together that he was able to retreat back into the square and stabilize himself.
By that time, the other two had untangled themselves and squared off against him again. The first one leaked greenish fluid from two pulverized areas on its trunk. It was still in the fight however, showing no signs of distress as it advanced on Colby into the square.
There was a small explosion against one of the giant’s crushed areas, as a Marine tried to take advantage of the situation. The wounded plant didn’t flinch, and the Marine fire died off.
Colby had to keep maneuvering, he had to position the other two so they’d continue to get in each other’s way. Most of all, he couldn’t risk getting tangled up with both of them a second time. If he was caught, he was a dead man (plant).
He dredged up every single trick he remembered from his MCMAP training—and then added in some from pure street brawling for good measure. At one point, he ripped a cerrosteel support beam out of a ruined building and started swinging it around like a madman, raining blows on the other two, sending plant bits flying. It was gratifying but not all that effective, and it cost him an arm when he got too cocky and one of his opponents latched on and yanked back.
He darted in with kicks and blows, trying to hit and retreat before they could react. More often than not, his greatest opportunities came when the other two got in each other’s way. The first one, the one he’d stomped, was slowly being broken, blow by blow. One leg, leaking a green ichor, buckled. Colby feinted, and the other tripped over its comrade in its eagerness to get at him. Colby had been waiting for this moment, and he grabbed the fifteen-meter-tall statue of Admiral of the Navy Fergusson Bianci, which had graced the square for centuries. He ripped it off its granite foundation, confident the admiral would approve of his plan. Spinning it around as if it were made of paper-mâché, he lunged forward and drove it into the base of what Colby thought of the giant’s neck, pushing the admiral’s upraised arm through the plant with enough momentum to both knock his foe over and drive the statue’s arm into the ground.
It spasmed, reaching for the statue with a trio of limbs, but its power was gone. It wasn’t dead, but it was out of the fight, for the time being at least.
The second giant closed with him before Colby could recover, but the time for running was over. Colby was hurt, missing minor arms and a chunk of one massive thigh, but so was the remaining giant. Now was the time to take on his opponent and let mass carry the day.
Mass nearly wasn’t enough. Evidently, giant pl
ant warriors had their own hand-to-hand combat techniques, and when they weren’t getting into each other’s way, these could be very effective indeed. They grappled like titans and crashed to the ground with a force that threatened to topple the surrounding buildings. Colby got on top of the other giant, which should have been a huge advantage but he somehow found himself slowly being crushed as a dozen arms wrapped around his torso and all but two of his own arms and grinding them to splinters. His connection flickered and he knew he didn’t have long. With his remaining arms he grasped the other giant’s nominal head and started pounding it into the stone slabs that made up the square. This was going to be a race to see who could remain conscious the longest. Colby sensed he had only seconds left when the other plant stopped applying pressure, its body limp. He’d won, but barely.
Never, ever underestimate your opponent, Edson!
He’d managed to take out the first daikaiju by using his brains and training, but assuming that might made right, he allowed the fight to be controlled by his opponent—that mistake almost cost him his life.
Colby got to his knees and slowly stood up. The plant beneath him was dead, green mist already forming. Behind him, the other giant was still alive weakly pulling at Admiral Bianci. There was no way he was going to give it a chance to recover. Crossing over to the impaled giant, Colby pushed one of his smaller hands into the creature’s wound and imagined reaching through his fingers into fallen plant, questing for control. He’d been blocked before, but whether from the physical contact or its weakened state he felt a flicker of contact. Even as he tried to exploit it he could feel new walls being erected, batting aside his commands for the daikaiju to quit, give up, surrender.
Let’s see how far we can push the whole battlesuit analogy.
He cleared his mind, imagined the heads up display of his battlesuit and pictured the emergency molt button. As he pressed it, he willed the logical sequence of events into his opponent. A sequence that, even if that damn boss plant cabbage head was calling the shots, it would never see coming.
With a spasmodic jerk the plant warrior went completely rigid. An instant later wisps of green mist drifted free from all over its body.
“Elvis has left the building,” Colby said to himself. He was three-for-three and the enemy had been defeated. He let out a huge mental sigh. . . as a missile slammed into his gut.
Oh, come on, guys!
He already ached from his to-the-death wrestling match, and this missile hurt. He didn’t know how many more he could absorb, but he certainly couldn’t attack the Marines to get them to quit.
“C'mon, Edson, figure out how to show these people you're on their side before they bring out the big guns and you're taken down by friendly fire.”
He was overthinking it, thinking, in fact, like a general. That was the problem; the Marines firing on him weren't generals. He had to give them something they'd understand, right down to the greenest private.
Only one thing fit the bill. Colby drew himself to his best drill field position of attention, held it for a count of five before he very deliberately moved into a position of parade rest, then froze. A few rounds hit him, then they petered out.
He waited like that, five, ten, who knows how many minutes. Finally, there was motion at the far end of the square. Thirty Marines appeared behind a mobile artillery piece, the 155 mm gun aimed right at him. He recognized one of the Marines, to his relief.
Slowly, so as not to startle the Marines into firing, he came back to a position of attention and using only a single arm rendered the best salute he could given he was working with a massive tree branch.
He couldn’t hear anything, but he could sense Lieutenant Colonel Manuel Sifuentes ask, “General Edson?”
With as much grace as he could manage, Colby cut away the salute and nodded his giant, leafy head.
***************
Colby took a sip of the coffee, savoring it. Duke lay on her back at his feet, sound asleep. He still hadn’t processed what had happened—he was aware of everything, but he wasn’t quite sure how to analyze things, and he couldn’t bring himself to discuss things with Manny Sif. While only a lieutenant colonel, Manny was the de facto head of the government on New Mars, the second most important planet in human space.
The administrative building had been destroyed, and all the civilian staff as well as General U Te, had been killed in the attack. After Manny had sent a full report through the wormhole, the response from Earth had been brief and clear. He’d been ordered to implement martial law, with himself in charge, until someone could come to relieve him.
Colby had sent off his report as well, but he was glad that this time there was corroboration. A certain vice-minister couldn’t accuse him of inventing an emergency as a way to worm himself back onto active duty.
The surviving Marines were congratulating themselves on their victory. At Colby’s suggestion (retired, he couldn’t give orders, only suggest, but taking out the trio of daikaiju had earned him their respect), they had burned the three giant and smaller soldier bodies. The regular soldiers had surprisingly collapsed when the giants had been defeated, and Manny Sif thought they were related.
Colby wasn’t so sure. Maybe because he’d spent so much time connected to the plants, he was attuned to them. He could swear he’d felt another presence out there, operating beneath the level of his own connection. He was sure it was the boss plant. If he was right, then a far more likely explanation was that after losing the three giants, the plant boss had cut its losses and bugged out, all the better to prepare for another effort.
There certainly was enough raw material for another plant army. There hadn’t been any way to collect up all the spores that had been released when the plants died. Manny Sif was sure they’d achieved victory, and Colby didn’t think the brass back on Earth understood the gravity of the situation. From their perspective, a single battalion had defeated these aliens, so how could they be a threat to all of humanity?
A follow-up message from Earth included orders to seal off the wormhole to Vasquez, but that had to be put on hold, at least temporarily until a rescue party could go back and rescue Topeka and Riordan and anyone else who might have survived.
Colby saw no point in sealing off the wormhole after the rescue party returned. It would be like closing the barn door after the horses escaped. The plant boss was somewhere on New Mars, and it would be plotting—and maybe communicating with wherever its kind called home.
In a way, he felt sorry for it. He didn’t want to admit it, but he’d been one of them, in a way. Maybe it was Stockholm Syndrome, or maybe he just had some deeper insight that had seeped into him, but all the death and destruction hadn’t had a malevolent feel to it, any more than when he had dusted his crops on Vasquez for weeds. Was all the death and destruction just a terrible mistake? If they could just communicate, might it be possible to make peace with the plants?
Oh, come on, Edson. Next you’ll be singing Kumbaya.
This wasn’t over, not by a long shot, and the risk was still unimaginable.
At his feet, Duke whined, deep within a dog dream, one that Colby could guess.
“Yes, you know girl, don’t you? We’ve got to find that boss plant.”
END OF BOOK TWO
Book 3
BITTER HARVEST
Part I: Weeds Amidst the Rubble
Duke whined as Colby stood at the apron, watching the shuttle come in for a landing. The dog had been glued to him since the end of the battle.
“It’s OK, girl,” he said. “They’re the good guys.”
Lieutenant Colonel Manuel Sifuentes, Colby’s former protégé and the senior active duty Marine left on New Mars, had been trying to organize what remained of the planet’s only major city in the aftermath of the battle with the plant soldiers, and the last thing he needed was to worry about the contact team from Earth. Without a real job, Colby had volunteered to meet them. As a retired lieutenant general, he’d had plenty of practice de
aling with bureaucrats while still on active duty, and if this could free up Sifuentes, then Colby was happy to help.
No, not “happy.” “Willing” would be a better description.
He patted his front pocket where he’d put the list. Government bureaucrats could be—and usually were—a pain in the ass, but they could also get things done. He and Sifuentes had come up with a prioritized list to fix the mess that New Mars had become. The list was not all-inclusive, just what they needed to address the immediate concerns. He had no idea who was on the shuttle, but he was going to give whoever it was the list and get them going on it. Like most bureaucrats, they’d have their own ideas and priorities, no doubt conceived without a proper understanding of the situation here on the ground; Colby’s task was to delay or possibly derail their objectives and get the things on his list done right away, even if he had to beg or browbeat them into it.
The shuttle slowly landed, kicking up dust that still had a tinge of green. During the heat of the battle with the plant army, a green mist, created from the bodies of dead plants, had risen, coating everything. Now, a day later, most of it had disappeared. If it were not for the utter destruction of the city, he could have thought that all of the fighting had been a dream. Almost all traces of the plant soldiers themselves were gone.
The shuttle door opened, and the steps unfolded. First to debark were two Capital Guards who rushed down, then took up positions at the bottom of the steps, facing inboard.
Colby kept his face neutral. Like all Marines, he had a very low opinion of the SUTAs (Sticks-Up-The-Ass). They were wannabees, peacocks in fancy uniforms who strutted and pranced, chests puffed out as they reveled in their self-importance. Marines tended to ignore them, but their presence always meant that someone high on the food chain was around.
The Seeds of War Trilogy Page 17