by Thomas Stone
Ramey turned on his back again and took stock of his remaining possessions. Stored in pouches on his utility belt and vest held three protein bars, extra ammo for his combat rifle, a small med aid kit, stimulus and pain pills, a combat knife in a scabbard strapped to his thigh, and...
An explosion ripped through the air. In reflex, Ramey drew in his knees and put his hands over his head. Sand and rock rained down. A great thud came from nearby, so close the ground trembled. Then all was still again. Ramey opened his eyes and felt along his sides and front to insure no new objects protruded from his body. Sighing in relief, he once again turned on his stomach and peeped over the edge of the hole to discover his field of view obstructed by what appeared to be the great hatch that had protected the opening to the underground garage.
*
Both exterior and interior hatches for the airlock stood open. Soldiers ran back and forth from inside the complex to the garage carrying weapons and discarded material, including desks, chairs, lockers, and anything of weight that could be piled up as some sort of defensive barrier. In reaction to the initial explosion, lights in the garage were off, the darkness presently streaked with moving, illuminated beams from the soldiers’ personal flashlights.
When Jennings asked what was happening, a passing soldier said they were under attack but gave no details -- most likely because he didn’t have any.
At the loading dock, Jennings stepped behind the gunner stationed there. “Where’s Denforth?”
The soldier looked at him and replied, “Outside.”
As Jennings started to speak again, another blast issued forth from the top of the ramp. Jennings, Ellis, and all the soldiers instinctively ducked as dust billowed down the ramp into the garage.
Two troopers had been standing near the base of the ramp prior to the explosion. Jennings squinted through the hazy garage and caught glimpses of both men as lights moved over their forms. They had been blown backwards halfway across the parking lot. One lay motionless, facedown, but the other tried to rise only to collapse back to the pavement. He weakly raised a hand and Jennings heard him call for a medic.
Without another thought, Jennings jumped from the loading dock and ran to the injured soldier’s side. Placing a hand on the trooper’s back, he said, “I got you. Where are you hurt?”
The soldier raised his head to look at Jennings. Blood trickled down his face from cuts on his face and scalp. “My leg.” Jennings looked down to the soldier’s left leg, which the trooper held with both hands, and saw an ugly red gash exposed through ripped cloth. “I think it’s broken,” the soldier added.
“We’ve got to get you inside.” Jennings looked to the dock, thirty meters away, before grasping handholds on the soldier’s vest and dragging him across the garage floor. It was slow going through the dust-filled air. Soldiers ran about, shouting at one another. Without a leader to coordinate their actions, they were confused, their training next to useless. Flashlight beams crisscrossed the darkened garage.
Whooshing sounds came from the garage entrance as Jennings strained to see through the swirling dust and dark. Through the handheld lights, something floated down the ramp into the garage, followed by similar forms. They paused at the base of the ramp as if taking stock of the situation.
Jennings re-doubled his efforts and the wounded soldier in his grasp yowled in pain causing Jennings to slow. Gunfire suddenly erupted from the soldiers positions, filling the garage with ear-piercing noise. Bright tracers streaked from the loading dock to the base of the ramp, but Jennings couldn’t tell if any found their mark. Ricochets pinged through the air and Jennings heard the trace of a redirected flechette as it zinged past his head. He ducked lower and continued to tug the soldier as he shuffled backwards.
The looming shapes on the ramp began to spread out. Responding to the soldiers’ fire, beams of light erupted from their separate locations, adding more flashes of light inside the enclosed space.
Jennings judged that he had only moved five meters closer to his destination. The thought crossed his mind that if he was to survive, he would be better served to leave the wounded soldier and seek shelter. The closest object affording any cover at all was one of the columns that supported the roof of the garage, but it was ten meters away and not in the direction of the loading dock. A spray of projectiles patted the pavement a mere meter away, each hit manifesting in a long spark and echoing pings. It was enough for Jennings to change his direction and head toward the sheltering column while still dragging the wounded soldier.
The troopers shouted at one another within the din of battle. Jennings could hear their voices through the cacophony but could not make out what they were saying. They managed to form into scattered firing positions, interposing themselves between the dock and the ramp, effectively creating a barrier between the door into the complex and the invaders. Jennings and the wounded soldier were trapped outside the perimeter.
Jennings did not know who or what the invading force was. From the glimpses he had taken, they were unlike anything he had seen before. They appeared to be automatons of some sort, yet they moved smoothly which gave the impression of biological control. Perhaps they were something like simulcons -- remote-controlled fighting machines. There was little time to think about it.
With a final effort, Jennings reached the pillar. In the darkness, he pulled the soldier behind the column and laid him gently on his back. Although Jennings could only see in flashes, he could tell the soldier had gone completely limp, either passed out or... Jennings bent low to place an ear against the soldier’s chest and felt thick, sticky liquid against his cheek. The trooper had stopped breathing, dying from his wounds as Jennings dragged him over the pavement.
The racket in the garage had not abated. Jennings peeked around the plastisteel column and noted that the floating invaders had spread out even more into the garage, taking up positions more advantageous to their attack. One drifted close to the sheltering column and fired toward the loading dock from some sort of beam weapon. As Jennings watched, he saw the soldiers’ shots hitting the thing and bouncing off a surrounding field. At each strike, the field glowed slightly, faintly illuminating the enclosed form. It drifted closer to the column and stray shots bounced off the plastisteel, causing chunks of the material to spray in all directions, several small fragments peppering Jennings’ face and chest. Withdrawing reflexively behind the pillar, he checked himself for wounds. Other than a few small spots on his cheek and forehead which already oozed blood, he was not injured.
Jennings rose slightly, stepped over the soldier’s prone body, and placed his back against the pillar. Another explosion ripped through the garage, shaking him and causing him to wrap his large hands around his head. Ears ringing, he dropped lower and peeped around the opposite side.
The invaders had either tossed an explosive device toward the heavy machine gun guarding the door into the interior of the complex or managed to hit the soldier’s munitions near that position. The machine gun nest was gone. The heavy blam-blam sound it made was ominously absent from the ongoing firefight although the rat-a-tat from small arms indicated some troopers were still alive and still putting up a fight. Worse, the hovering shape of the nearest invader now towered over Jennings not two meters from where he hid.
Chapter 15
The survivors trudged up Minerva’s ramp looking disheveled and dirty, but otherwise in good health. There were dozens, with stragglers still emerging from the catacombs. Fagen thought they looked shocked; wide-eyed but still smiling; glad to be going home, he guessed. Lisa, George, and Tobias were in the group, but something was not quite right with them. For one thing, George was no longer bound. He walked beside his wife, holding her hand and, like the others, looked in awe at the ship he entered. When Fagen addressed them, they seemed to not remember who he was.
“I’m glad to see you made it,” said Fagen.
Tobias looked blankly at Fagen. “Thank you,” he mumbled as he walked past without a hint of re
cognition.
Fagen shook his head. “Come inside,” he directed the group. “There’s food and water. I expect you’re all tired and hungry. We’ll soon have you out of here.”
The confused crowd murmured in their excitement. Fagen looked at the last of the stragglers and saw Griswold walking toward him. He looked at Fagen without recognition but nodded nonetheless.
As he passed, Fagen asked if there was anyone else behind him. Griswold stopped and looked back into the yawning mouth of the cave. He shook his head. “No,” he said, “I don’t think so.”
“All right,” said Fagen. “Please step inside.”
Griswold turned his attention from the cave and shuffled up the ramp into the ship. After one last look, Fagen followed.
Bobbi entered Minerva’s spacious control room and went straight to Edward where she plopped down on the couch beside him. Bart and Minerva were huddled with Arai at the main control console. Bart had an arm draped over Minerva’s shoulders.
The survivors, as Fagen dubbed them, were shepherded into the hanger deck as it was the only place large enough to hold them all. Presently, they were distributed over the deck singly and in small groups, eating and drinking from Minerva’s stores.
Bobbi observed the monitor floating in front of Fagen. “What’s with these people?” Bobbi asked.
Fagen shook his head. “I don’t know. They don’t seem to remember anything.”
“They don’t even know where they are,” added Bobbi. “They’re not exactly zombies, but it’s more like they’re operating in a haze. Some of them know each other and they’re talking among themselves like neighbors, but about the food and the ship -- nothing about where they’ve been or what’s happened to them. You know, a few of them have been missing for years.”
“Their memories have been tampered with,” said Fagen. “Eli did it. The kitzloc don’t want anyone to know anything about them, so their memories have been selectively wiped. At least, those parts that have anything to do with the kitzloc. What happened when you put Randy Ellis in with them?”
“Apparently nothing. Those from Jennings Bank remembered him. It’s like one big happy reunion down there. He brought up the kitzloc, ‘the beasts’ as he referred to them, but nobody responded. They just looked at him like they didn’t know what he was talking about. Very weird. You know, I think some of those people were from the original Braithwaite crew.”
Fagen sighed. “Something else has come up.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Arai just told me our doppelganger has shown up.”
“Where?”
“At the Braithwaite complex.”
Bobbi stared at Edward.
“We’re headed there now. Best to ready your gear. Weapons too. We don’t know what we’re going to find, but my guess is the True Ones have returned to Mirabel.”
*
Keeping the charred garage door between him and the entrance to the complex, Ramey crawled from the depression that used to be his foxhole. Sounds of the jets that apparently kept the alien machines aloft floated to him across the open space. Slowly, he worked his way to where the large door laid. The metal scrap was bent from the blast, the crease causing the heavy door to sit skewed upon the ground, enough to create an opening so Ramey could crawl under. From the new location, he watched as more alien machines floated from the belly of the mysterious spacecraft and then made their way down the dune to the garage opening.
Sounds of an intense small arms battle reached his ears informing Ramey of the fight his fellow soldiers were putting up below.
The pitch of the battle increased. Sounds of smaller explosions, grenades probably, echoed from below, the vibrations renting the ground beneath him. Ramey wanted his flechette rifle and considered returning to the filled-in hole to dig it out but individuals had turned their attention to the open field and now patrolled the area, looking for survivors of the initial attack. One passed directly in front of him, seemed to pause to inspect the garage door, then moved past in the direction of the hole where Vickers’ body reposed.
*
The soldiers defending the airlock saw Jennings drag one of their own behind the pillar and consequently directed their fire toward the nearest mechanical creature. Every hit showed on its shield. Each strike briefly glowed while glancing shots appeared as yellow and white sparks. The column was peppered with flechette holes with a good number of the darts stuck into the plastisteel.
With nowhere to go, Jennings crouched behind the pillar. Almost within arm’s reach, the machine hovered and concentrated its fire at the soldiers on the dock. So far, it had not made a move for Jennings, but it was only a matter of time before he was discovered. At the moment, even if it did see him, it was too busy to come after him. If it decided to use the pillar as a shield, the game was over.
Another one drifted across the garage toward Jennings, firing at the soldiers as it did so. The yellow beam from its weapon swept over the dock missing most of the soldiers on the high mark. One trooper rose to fire his own weapon when he should have ducked and the beam sliced diagonally from right to left through his shoulder and across his chest, effectively removing the top half of his body from the bottom. The halves separated the lower collapsing to the dock and the upper falling to the garage floor where a crimson pool formed.
Jennings pressed closer to the column as a flurry of flechettes zinged past. The vehicles were parked even closer than the dock and with his attempted rescue of the now-dead soldier aborted, Jennings considered his chances. Two soldiers emerged from the airlock door, one carrying an RPG tube. As soon as the soldier stepped on the dock, he squatted to one knee and sighted along the tube toward the alien nearest Jennings. Jennings saw what was about to happen and rolled away as the soldier let the rocket fly.
The projectile left a white-hot trail of propellant that streaked across the garage and hit the alien dead center. Even though the creature was protected by its force field, the resulting explosion lifted it up and flung it past Jennings into the far wall. Jennings would have been killed if not for the body of the dead soldier which took the brunt of the blast. When Jennings lifted his head, his ears refused to work. He gazed at the silent chaos as tracers continued to cut across the garage, illuminating the space and pointing a clear path to the parked vehicles. Jennings’ own truck loomed closest. He glanced back and saw the alien attempting to rise, with some difficulty, from where it had fallen. Without another thought, Jennings jumped to his feet and ran to the vehicle.
He reached it without getting killed and without knowing if he had been seen. He duck-walked under the chassis to the far side and crouched behind one of the massive tires as he re-assessed the situation.
During the course of the battle, Luther Cross watched the soldiers defend the airlock entrance from the relative safety of the main corridor. Luther was many things, but not a coward. Had he possessed a weapon of his own, he might have joined the soldiers in their defense of the complex, but they had relieved him of his weapons and delegated his status to that of a semi-prisoner. Now that they were in the fight of their lives, Luther imagined things had changed. The soldiers were busy and paid no heed to him. As he kept an eye on the interior hatch, Luther drifted backward down the hall toward the locker room where the soldiers had stashed their supplies. Perhaps he could pick up one of those flechette rifles, maybe then he’d have a chance to defend himself if worse came to worst.
At the locker room, to his chagrin, he found no weapons lying about. As he turned to leave, he discovered young Ellis watching from the doorway. Ellis had the same idea and asked if Luther had found a gun. Luther shook his head.
“What are we going to do?” asked Ellis, fear in his voice.
Luther looked at Ellis and felt along his own utility vest until his fingers outlined the tube and controller stashed in his pocket. “I’ve got an idea,” said Luther.
As Luther and Ellis considered their options and every remaining soldier defended the entrance to
the complex, Tringl and Penbrook slipped from the conference room and passed through the main corridor to the stairwell. With Emory in the lead, the two descended the stairs into the darkened spaces below.
*
The starship Minerva passed silently over the desert sands clearing the tallest dunes by less than fifteen meters. Arai sat in what was now his usual spot, at the main control console with VR attachments across his eyes and over his skull. To no one in particular he said, “Minerva’s back.”
Minerva and Bart exchanged a glance. Minerva said, “I’m right here.”
“No,” said Arai, “I mean the ship’s AI. It’s re-evolving. It’s not exactly the same as before, but it’s growing in consciousness.”
“And it’s me?”
“I don’t know yet,” replied Arai, “if it’s going to be you again or not.”
Bart slipped into the chair beside Arai and plugged into the console.
Minerva continued. “If it’s me, then it’s going to get awfully confusing. I mean, there’s me, then there’s the ship, and now there’s...”
“It’s not you,” said Bart. “It’s different. It’s still evolving but it’s not a human consciousness.” He looked at Minerva, his eyes glazed from his VR state. “I think it’s Bedoran in nature, like Arai, except it’s...” Bart paused.
“Except it’s what?” asked Fagen.
“It’s female,” said Bart. “A Bedoran female.”
Arai’s tail trailed out from behind his chair. It had been wrapped around the seat support like a snake around a branch, but now it unwound and flicked through the air in what could only be described as an expression of delight.
“What does that mean?” asked Bobbi. “What are the consequences?”
Fagen shrugged. Bart had no idea either.
“Five minutes until we reach our destination,” said Arai.
“Sensor report?”