Relic Tech

by Terry W. Ervin II

  “It’ll go hard for those left behind,” I said. “Gar-Crax were on our tail into the bay. Fists and clubs won’t do it.”

  “I think that many were looking for a chance,” said Guerrero. “Kalger said they’re pretty isolated here. Information is controlled.”

  “I could do without that med tech,” I said. “A real Thud.”

  Guerrero smiled at my R-Tech putdown. “That’s another story. Look! Boyd and her wingman are making a run on the Behemoth.” She manipulated the controls and intercepted a visual relay from the orbital platform.

  “They’ll only get one pass,” I said. “Those chasing Crax are just out of range.” Boyd and her wingman split. One angled toward the aft section, the other the forward ventral.

  “Trainers,” I said. “Only armed with a rotary cannon and a single pulse laser.” Both friendlies opened fire just before the Crax. “They’re not pulling up!”

  “They can’t,” said Guerrero, “they’re hit and out of control.”

  Fiery explosions erupted against the Behemoth’s hull. “For I am already on the point of being sacrificed,” I mumbled. “The time of my departure has come. I’ve fought the good fight. I’ve finished the race. I’ve kept the faith.”

  “What?” asked Guerrero.

  “Second Timothy,” I said. My mother said one day I’d be glad I memorized verses. I’m getting tired of praying for the dead.” I adjusted the display. “Boyd, she turned out to be okay.”

  “You were right about her,” sighed Guerrero, before pointing out, “secondary explosions in the aft section. She’s beginning to roll.”

  I sat up. “One must’ve rammed internal docking control.” We watched the enormous transport’s engines flame out. A maneuvering thruster flared to life only to ignite leaking fuel.

  “She’s tumbling toward the planet,” I said before several escape pods rocketed from the Behemoth. “Fewer crew. That won’t help.”

  “The tug will have a tough time saving her and any cargo.” Guerrero’s attention diverted. “They’ve got their troubles. We’ve got ours.”

  I re-evaluated the display. “Three friendlies angling in. Three peeling off to intercept. Doesn’t look good. Time until intercept?”

  Guerrero altered our course. “Now five minutes till alignment. Seven until cascading is cycled.”

  “Crax accelerating,” I said. “Guess this was a bad idea. Wait!” I checked the screen. “A bogie just slid in behind the Crax and opened up.” A second followed suit. “They’ve crippled her!”

  “Rebel One,” called an unfamiliar voice. “Way is clear. Going to help our friends.” The two fighters peeled away from the damaged Crax.

  “We can outrun him now,” replied Guerrero. “Many thanks. We won’t forget.”

  “What’s that, Guerrero?”

  “Spike in planetside radioactive readings,” she said.

  “McAllister,” I called. “You must’ve convinced a reactor to go critical.”

  “Why, Specialist Keesay,” she replied, “you sound surprised.”

  Med Tech Stenny shook his head. “I can’t believe how many pilots and ground crew turned on Capital Galactic.”

  “How many were former military?” Guerrero asked.

  “They’d just shipped half of their competent security,” said Stenny. “Engineers, too.” He looked to Popova, a young Engineering Tech. “Remember that new sec-spec? Toaver, what an asshole.”

  I held my tongue. Stenny was a rude bastard himself.

  “Nasty,” she agreed. “Aggressive.” She swiped a patch of dusty curls from her face. “I bet he was the one who sexually assaulted Tech Crayonit.”

  McAllister hissed, signaling she’d had enough. “I’m sure Keesay bayoneted him. We can check the blood on his blade later.” She looked to me before stepping forward. “So, Medical Technician Stenny, how competent are you with the cold sleep equipment?”

  “Who put you in command?”

  “I did,” I said. “Answer her question.”

  “Do it, Stenny,” Kalger warned. “You don’t wanna mess with this R-Tech.”

  “I’m trained on the equipment. I’ve been through seven simulations in administering proper prep dosages for cold sleep.” He glared at me. “Although I could always screw up, by accident.”

  “Keesay dies, you die,” McAllister said, presenting her menacing smile. “And, I’ve already programmed the system. Anything happens to me, this old interstellar shuttle will die too. Guess who goes with it?”

  “Believe her,” Kalger said. “You saw what her code did to the station. Can you match that?”

  “Why’d Boyd tap you?” asked McAllister.

  Stenny replied, “Think about it. Everyone in science and medical is hard core Capital Galactic. I’m the only one with skills who’d be willing to warp-screw them without question.”

  “I can see why you weren’t popular,” I said, trying not to sneer. “Neither am I. McAllister has more reason to hate my guts than you could ever dream up. She’s learned to live with it. We do our task.” I looked around. “We don’t have enough stores and recycling capacity for all of us. Only three can stay awake. You’ll prep Skids, myself, Popova, and Kalger, and see that we successfully enter cold sleep.”

  Tech Stenny crossed his arms and stared at the ceiling.

  “Now yer pissin’ me off,” Kalger said. “Grow up, boy. These ain’t just a group of refugees. Get with the program. The Crax are tryin’ to make us extinct.”

  “McAllister,” I said, “you’re a genius. If Stenny can figure the equipment, so can you. We won’t risk Skids. You and Guerrero will stay awake with him.” I drew my revolver and thumbed back the hammer. “You, Tech Stenny, come on back with me. No reason for the others to watch.”

  Stenny’s jaw dropped. He looked to Kalger for support.

  Kalger held up his hands. “I warned ya. Can’t say I blame’em.”

  Tech Popova jumped between Stenny and me. “You can’t.” She was shaking. Her brown eyes wide. “He’ll do it. Won’t you, Stenny?”

  “I’ll do it,” agreed Stenny. “Yes. No problem.”

  “There is a problem,” I said. “I don’t trust you. I trust McAllister to try harder.”

  “Ludmilla,” said Kalger, taking Popova’s arm. “Stenny messed with the wrong crowd.”

  “Bide,” McAllister said to me. “Tech Stenny will teach me everything he knows. I’m always interested in acquiring new skills.” Stenny sighed. “Don’t relax just yet. After you instruct me, I’ll apply my new knowledge.” Her grin transformed from menacing to sinister. “On you first. If things go well, you’ll live.” She looked around. “Fair enough?”

  Stenny sat forward. “Yes! That’s fair.” He gulped afterward.

  One week later, Stenny, Kalger and Popova were in cold sleep. I was on the platform, ready to be knocked out before the tube insertion. “Think she can go four for four, Skids?”

  McAllister’s impish smile preceded her question. “What makes you think I went three for three?”

  Skids shot a worried look at the red-headed engineer.

  McAllister laughed. “Keesay didn’t teach you how to identify a joke?”

  “He never jokes when he talks about you, Engineer.”

  “Only when you’re not around, right, Keesay?”

  “Skids, do me a favor. Beat her at chess, would you?”

  “Sure thing,” he said. Then he met McAllister’s gaze. “I’ll try.”

  “Make sure she maintains my equipment.”

  “We’ll clean your guns.” She pulled a needle and calibrated the dosage. “Remember, we won’t risk bringing you out until we land on Tallavaster. So, my face won’t be the first thing you see.”

  “Six months from now. Until then.” I nodded to Guerrero. “You’re in charge. Keep an eye on them.” I winked at her. “I know. You’re welcome.”

  I woke up retching with nothing to spit up. Every nerve ending ached.

  “It doesn’t get any better,
Specialist Keesay. Does it?”

  I knew that voice. “Skids?” I rolled over. A nurse helped me sit up. “Careful,” I said, every orifice throbbing.

  “Specialist Keesay,” said Skids, “you’ll never believe it. Both sides almost shot us down. But Guerrero got us through!”

  I squinted. McAllister and Guerrero stood nearby. I heard Stenny across the hall, moaning. I forced mirth through my dry vocal cords. “Glad you made it, Tech Stenny. If for no other reason than to know how terrible you feel.”

  “My eighth time,” Kalger chimed in from nearby. “It never gets better. You okay, Ludmilla?”

  She groaned in response.

  I took a second to get my bearings.

  “Guess who’s here, Specialist!” said Skids. “Guess!”

  “Michael, I’m sure he isn’t up to guessing.”

  I rubbed my eyes and refocused. “Sorry, Instructor Watts. I thought you were Guerrero. You made it!” I felt dizzy. The nurse laid me back down.

  “We must go, Kra,” Lori Watts said. “Michael and I.” She leaned over the table and hugged me. “I can’t thank you enough.” She kissed my cheek and whispered, “I’ll never be able to repay you.”

  I looked her in the eye. “I had some help. And Skids mostly took care of himself.”

  “Not if you hear him tell it.”

  “He’s a fine young man,” I said.

  Skids frowned. “I didn’t beat Engineer McAllister.”

  “He did stalemate me once,” McAllister said with hands on her hips and sporting a new French-braid hairdo.

  Skids shrugged his shoulders. “Engineer McAllister wasn’t paying attention.”

  Watts leaned close and whispered again. “My husband hand-picked you to save our son. He knew you would. And my husband would say you preserved a chance for our future.”

  The stress on ‘our’ caught my attention.

  She stared deep into my eyes. “My husband knows about such things. But I know what I know.” She held her son close. “Thank you.”

  I fought back the nausea. “You’re welcome.”

  “We have to go,” Watts said. She held up the bust I’d carved of her son. It seemed like ages ago. “We won’t forget.”

  Its presence went right over my head. I extended my hand, and struggled to hold it steady. “Skids, you’re okay. Don’t let anyone say otherwise.” I managed a smile and wink.

  Skids shook my hand through tears. “You’re great.”

  “Take care of your mother.”

  “Take care of yourself,” Lori Watts said.

  My mind raced as I replayed what Watts said. I was too ill to concentrate so I curled up and tried to sleep.

  Two days later a marine major and someone dressed in a gray quasi-military uniform debriefed me. Had to be Intelligence.

  “Any questions, Security Specialist Keesay?”

  “Yes, Major Voisard. Several.” He sat silently. “What happened to the Kalavar?”

  “I do not know.”

  “How did Instructor Watts get hold of a bust I carved?”

  “I cannot verify that she had such an item. If she did, it may have been a replica.”

  “Where are they?” Both men sat silent. “Are they still planetside?”

  “They looked at each other. The intel man spoke. “We cannot verify if they have yet to depart.”

  I didn’t trust a word he’d uttered. “But the blockade around Tallavaster?”

  “Has gaps,” said the major. “Anything else?”

  “What became of the Chicher diplomat’s body?”

  The intel man spoke up. “Turned over to the Chicher enclave. Different pack.” He shrugged. “They’re cut off too. Best we could do.”

  “Understood,” I said. “My equipment, sir?”

  The major called into his collar, “Private, the security specialist’s equipment.” A marine entered carrying my uniform, firearms, belt, everything.

  “You’ve been drafted,” the major said. “We took the liberty of dying your security uniform to Marine camouflage. It’s higher quality that we could issue.”

  After what I’d survived I knew that was an understatement. “Thank you,” I said to the major, and thought back to Field Director Simms. I examined my uniform. The brown, gray, green design appeared of moderate quality. I stood and saluted.

  “No need to salute, Keesay,” Major Voisard said. “Untrained conscripts outnumber trained military. Just follow orders.” They stood. “Dress in here. Your squad leader is waiting outside.”

  “Understood, sir.” I watched them leave, then dressed. I slipped the breastplate on under my coveralls and buttoned my armored vest over it all. I checked my equipment before stowing the hospital coveralls and canvas slippers in my satchel. Then I exited.

  “Security Specialist Keesay,” called a deep, booming voice. “Fancy meeting you in this part of the galaxy.”

  I did a double take. Then grew angry and sick. “Private.” I looked closer. “Corporal Ringsar?”

  “Pillar,” he said. “A medical treatment center seems appropriate. Glad you’re part of my squad.” He recognized my disbelief. “Heard your name and urged my captain to request you.”

  “Why is that?”

  He signaled me to follow him down a tan-painted cinderblock hall. “Things are tough out there. Going to get worse. Crazy or stubborn, doesn’t matter. Told my captain you wouldn’t break and run under fire.” He puffed out his chest. “Prove me wrong and we’ll finish that fight.” He led me down some stairs. Each metal step reverberated with our booted steps.

  “You’re right,” I said, stepping aside for a woman before exiting out the glass doors. Her stomach bulged under a loose blouse. My voice trailed off as I watched the woman. “I know how to fight.”

  Pillar laughed. “Too much time in space, Keesay. No birthing up there. Kind of reminds you what we’re fighting for.”

  I spotted a black and yellow fallout shelter sign near the hospital entrance. “Correct.” I squinted in the warm sunlight. It was shining down between the rows of cut stone and concrete buildings.

  “Crying infants,” said Pillar, “reminds me of some wimps in the trench line.” Pillar snapped his head for me to follow him to the right. “Scuttlebutt is, Keesay, you’re some kind of Crax-killing specialist. I’ll have to hear about it.”

  “Who told you?” I asked, watching a mixture of diesel and humming, hydrogen-burning vehicles speed by.

  “Some firebrand engineer. That’s how I heard you were planetside. She wanted to know if I was the same marine that thumped you on the Mavinrom Dock.”

  “Figures.” I looked up and down the street. The rows of buildings were of uniform block design, eight to ten stories tall. All unmarked. “Anywhere to eat? I’ve been in cold sleep. Just getting my appetite back.”

  He laughed. “Already trying to avoid field rations. Our rations really are field rations.” He jerked his head, still chuckling. “This way. Hey, guess who’ll be sharing your fox hole?”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer. “His name better not be Stenny.”

  We’d hitched a ride to our forward position. The diesel tractor pulling the wagon rolled past fields of buckwheat, sorghum, and clover. Goat herds devoured the latter. Pillar did most of the talking, about his prowess on the battlefield and in the bedroom. I decided to interrupt him.

  “Buckwheat,” I said. “Good for honeybees.”

  “Huh? Bees? Negral’s got beehives everywhere. Need them for the crops.”

  “I know. My uncle kept bees. Made a decent living off the honey.”

  “Hard to believe,” Pillar said. “A couple years ago this planet was basically all rock and water. A few primitive lichens and algae. I heard the Phibs sold Negral some alien engineered bacterial strains. Metabolized rock, gave off organic wastes.” He lifted his helmet and scratched his head. “I don’t pretend to understand it. The initial bacteria had genes that limited the number of times it and its offspring could divide
. Them Phibs have it down to a science.”

  “They should,” I said. “A xenobiologist told me the Phibs have been in space as long as 60,000 years.”

  “There’re some on the planet.”

  I was skeptical. “Have you seen any?”

  “No. But I’ve seen a couple of the big crabs that serve them.”

  “Bahklack? Umbelgarri thralls?”

  He nodded. “If they’re around, and they’re helping Negral establish Tallavaster, makes sense there’re some here.” He leaned close, so the farmer had no chance of hearing over the tractor’s dieseling purr. “Hidden in the city are some Phib defenses. The Bahklacks maintain them.”

  “How big is New Birmingham?”

  “Housing for forty thousand,” he said. “Only about twenty-five thousand colonists though. Twice as big as Volsar and Sola Two.”

  “How many residents are in the field?”

  “What, farming or defending?” He shrugged. “Defending, maybe fourteen thousand conscripts. A reinforced regiment of colonial marines.” He looked up. “Getting close. We’ll hold out longer than Volsar and Sola Two.”

  I looked ahead. Several tents and a series of trenches broke the otherwise flat terrain supporting endless fields. “How’d you get here?”

  “Intel predicts we’ve got long hours of static defense ahead. I’ll let your foxhole buddy tell you.”

  We hopped off the wagon and waved. The farmer waved back and continued past the defensive position.

  “This way, Keesay.” Pillar led me away from the sandbags and tents, down a stone stairway, into a large trench, and finally to an underground outpost. I saw hints of fortified concrete construction, but most of the ground was a layer of dirt on solid layers of gray rock. A young captain and middle-aged NCO stood near a table. Pillar saluted. I stood at attention.

  The captain returned Pillar’s salute. He looked to me.

  “Sir,” I said. “C4 Security Specialist Krakista Keesay, reporting.” He was silent. “A major directed me not to salute officers.”

  Sergeant Trahk stepped forward and scrutinized me. “Salute or not. Follow orders without question and fight. That’s your duty.”