by B. V. Larson
Nicu shrugged. “As I said, I took a different route in order to scout the enemy.”
“What route?”
“An unexpected one.”
“That’s sludge, isn’t it? You went down into the sewers. Like a rat. Didn’t you?”
“I have video,” he said.
“Show me.”
Nicu played several seconds of fuzzy video he’d shot with a hair-thin vid pickup. From within a drain in the floor, he had shoved the wire up into the corridor outside the blasted airlock. Inside the landing bay, a rook rested. It was blackened and showed bright points of twisted metal. The rook had been completely destroyed.
“That’s the one they blew up,” said Loiza. “You weren’t even at the right landing bay.”
“As I said, there was some confusion—”
“So,” Loiza interrupted, “you slipped away from your team and into the sewers, then took pictures of abandoned wreckage.”
“Do you have something against me, Commander Loiza? I’m sensing personal vindictiveness here.”
Loiza closed her eyes and shook her head. She pointed out toward the front picket lines. “They may counterattack tonight. Stay in that corridor with the lookout teams. And stay out of the damned sewers!”
#
When the attack finally did come, it was brutal. In the middle of the sleep-period, Nicu was awakened by a rude hand upon his shoulder. He lurched into a sitting position.
“There’s something coming,” said young Drina, another of the sentries in the outer corridors.
Nicu was awake in an instant. He had his laser carbine unslung. “I’ll spread the word,” he told Drina. “Keep a close eye out.”
She nodded, and he trotted lightly away toward the public mall. At the entrance, he was challenged. He told them he had important information for command.
He was waved inside. He had no sooner reached this area than a most horrible wailing cry erupted in his headset. More sounds came, gasps and whimpers. He suspected the sounds were made by Drina. He shivered in his suit.
The dimmed lights overhead flickered out. Emergency reds came on. In places, strobing yellows lights flashed. Nicu headed for the barricades. His pace increased.
The firing began before he could dive over the barrier. Laser bolts snapped in both directions. Spacers from the outer corridors fell back in full retreat, firing into the darkness. Answering fire from the corridors tore into them. A few of the sentries staggered back into the public mall, trying to reach the barricades.
A dozen killbeasts bounded amongst them. They smashed down the spacers, slashing off their helmeted heads with horn-bladed feet. The men behind the barriers watched in horror, then unleashed a lashing fusillade. Several of the killbeasts were cut down before they beat a hasty retreat.
After the battle was over, Nicu panted, looking over the top of the barricades. That had been close. He wished he could open his faceplate to wipe away the itching sweat from his brow, but he dared not because of the lingering gas.
A hand fell on his shoulder. Another hand followed. He was hauled to his feet.
It was Loiza and her guards. Her eyes were blazing.
“You will not talk your way out of this one, Nicu.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” said Nicu indignantly.
She took his laser carbine and examined it. “This weapon has not even been fired. The magazine is full.”
“I never got a clear shot. I didn’t want to hit one of our own.”
“You left your post. You ran at the first sign of trouble. This time, I have witnessed it.” While Nicu sputtered denials, Loiza turned to the men who still held him loosely. “Take him down to the service airlocks. Remove his helmet in the airlock. Space him. Then space the helmet as well and everything he’s touched. He’s contaminated.”
Nicu writhed and whined, but his external transmissions were cut off. They overrode his reactive suit and began a thorough, faceless beating. He thought at first, as he balled up on the deck plates and the kicks and hammering fists rained down, that they had been kind not to open his faceplate and let in the gas. But then, as his mind numbed and his body began to soften like pounded meat, he realized the gas would have been a relief. He would have felt nothing. He tried to reach up and open his faceplate, to suck in the tainted air and pass out, but his hands were pinned down. They stood on his hands and kicked and punched. He knew from past experience his urine would be dark with blood after this, if he ever got the chance to use a urinal again.
When the beating finally ended, they dragged him away. His muffled cries could only vaguely be heard by the men as they hauled him deeper into the station. They took him to the lower vents, the places where the heavy machinery thumped and groaned. Down here, in the pump rooms, the gas was drawn up the tubes from Minerva and processed. The living area was far above in the cleaner parts of the Tyrolia.
As they dragged him, Nicu planned. He made no overt attempts to escape. He struggled lightly, but not too much. He was glad there were only two men holding him. He would have preferred just one, of course, but two was much better than three. They had not removed his knife, which still lay against his side, hidden beneath a flap of fabric. Perhaps they had not seen it. Or perhaps they thought so little of his fighting skills they had not bothered.
He believed that with surprise on his side, he should be able to draw the knife and kill one man. One thrust would do it. But not two men. He did not know what he could do against two. He was too injured. He didn’t think he had any broken bones, at least nothing more than a rib or two. But stiff and groggy from the beating, he would not be able to move fast enough. Even if he killed one, by the time he’d done it the other would draw his weapon and it would be all over.
So he let them take him. While he pleaded and dragged his feet, they marched him down the long catwalks to the lower airlocks that were used for tube maintenance. Below the Tyrolia, nothing existed except the tubes and the endless blue, glowing expanse that was the atmosphere of Minerva. As they went deeper, windows appeared under the catwalks. The churning blue planet, thousands of kilometers below, filled every window. Outside in space, long dark tubes of snake-like metal hung down into the stormy gases of Minerva’s atmosphere, resembling vines hanging from a great jungle tree.
Nicu heard the sound of pursuit first. The others had their headsets turned on. No doubt, they listened to the command chatter from above. Inside his silent helmet, all Nicu heard was their clanking steps upon the catwalks and the slapping, rippling sounds of stealthy pursuit from behind. The sounds of something plopping along after them.
When the pursuer drew close, Nicu heaved himself forward. The men leaned back in response, holding onto his arms. The worm-like thing that followed them struck the struggling knot of humans from behind. It attached itself to the man on Nicu’s left. Nicu knew great relief then. If the shrade had wrapped itself around Nicu, he would have had no chance. His guards would have had no compunction about blasting his body apart along with the shrade.
The second guard hesitated. His grip on Nicu slackened. He backed away from the horror that squeezed the life from the first guard. Nicu took the opportunity to reach up with his freed arms and turn his suit intercom back on.
“Fire!” shouted Nicu. “Fire or we’re all dead. It’s already too late for him.”
The third man had his gun out, but still hesitated. Nicu made a sound of rage as the first man slumped, overcome by the shrade. It would come for them next. He got out his knife and flashed it down. The man who hesitated had blown his chance. Now, Nicu slashed at the wrist. Nicu reached down and plucked the hand-cannon from dead fingers.
Nicu fired repeatedly, destroying the shrade and the first guard. Then he ran into the darkness. Behind him, the surviving guard picked up his own severed hand in shock. His nano-suit squeezed to cut off the flow of blood.
Nicu did not even look back. He had learned his lesson. These people had no idea how to survive. They did not appreciate Nicu. He was in this alone
. He was an island unto himself. He would not trust himself to the mercy of humans or aliens again.
#
Some days later, Loiza made her final move. She ordered a full scale evacuation. The enemy held most of the landing bays and the rooks, but not all of them. Additionally, a new force of rooks, those from the other outlying bases like Gamma Base, had gathered to offer what aid they could.
Perhaps this was what they wanted. Perhaps the aliens just wanted to run her off into space. Maybe they had an armada waiting out there—waiting to blow her to pieces. She did not know, but she had to try to escape these creatures.
Had these things been created by the Nexus and unleashed upon the Vlax? She believed they had been. She had ordered the Vlax to maintain radio silence with the Nexus. They had not sent any warnings or distress calls. Even if the Nexus hadn’t sent these monsters, she would not pass on the news. Why let one of your enemies know that the other had you on your knees?
Things had progressed in the worst possible direction. Each day, the humans aboard the Tyrolia grew weaker. Their power and oxygen had been cut off in many cases. Just providing food and sanitary facilities for her people grew more difficult with each passing day. Many lay about, sick or comatose from the strange, invasive gas that filled the Tyrolia. They could not live in their suits forever. Children were already falling sick.
Worse, each day there seemed to be more of the aliens. When they had first landed, if she had truly understood the rate at which they bred new replacements, she would have ordered a full scale assault immediately. They would have taken grievous losses, but they would probably have saved the base. But it was too late for that. They would have to abandon the Tyrolia and destroy her from orbit.
They had to run, or be wiped out. She ordered everyone to the remaining operational rooks. More rooks from other bases would take people in transfer. They would take every ship they had, less than one hundred in all, and fly to the inner asteroid belt. They could find massive bases there, scarcely manned. With luck, they could hole up amongst the huge, rolling rocks and wait out the storm. Her greatest hope was the aliens were not fully under Nexus control. Perhaps they were a wildfire that could turn back and burn the ones who lit it. The aliens might even serve as cover for her fleeing people. She would let Nexus Command deal with the menace. Perhaps they would fare better than she.
The Vlax Romani lifted off en masse and headed into the dark, licking their wounds. Behind them, when they had reached a safe distance, Loiza activated Tyrolia’s self-destruct rig. She watched, knowing the fusion cores would spin out of alignment. In thirty seconds, the whole thing would implode and sag down in a decaying orbit, sucked down by the crushing gravity of Minerva.
She watched, sadly. Thirty seconds went by. She blinked, and waited. Her lower lip trembled. Everything she had worked for over the years was about to be destroyed.
A full minute went by, then another. Nothing happened. She talked heatedly to her engineering staff. Could something have gone wrong?
#
Nicu, the last human in control of his own mind aboard the Tyrolia, climbed down from the self-destruct system attached to the fusion core. He had disabled it, but had barely managed to do it in time. Sweat dribbled inside his helmet. That had been close. Too close.
Even now, he could hear the servos clicking, trying to bring together the remotely controlled contacts that would cause the explosive device to detonate. If he hadn’t driven his knife into the circuitry that sat on top of the charge, he would be atomized by now. He shook his head.
Loiza had chosen her side, and he had chosen his. He was on his own side now. Perhaps, he reflected, he always had been. Maybe that was why everyone else always called him names. Nicu, they knew instinctively, was not on their team.
He stood at the bottom of the catwalk, looking at the bomb as it whirred and clicked helplessly, trying to set itself off. He smiled. He had made a difference in his life and the lives of others. Everyone said he never did anything but waste his time, but they were wrong. He was important today.
Nicu’s smile faded as he heard stealthy sounds behind him. He knew what they were. He knew what they had to be. He flicked his knife on and turned to face—whatever snuck up behind him. He had fought his way past these creatures before. His heart sank when he saw them, however. A dozen monsters stood there. He had not even noticed their approach before, he had been trapped in a helmet, making it hard to look over one’s shoulder. He had been focused on stopping the bomb. Now, he thought, maybe he should have let it go off.
He reached up to his helmet. His next thought was to open his faceplate. The gas would come in and quickly end his suffering. But if he did that, he would only be anesthetized. Then the aliens would have their way with him. They would make him into a Boldo or a Kizzy—or something worse.
Nicu considered scrambling up the ladder and setting off the bomb. They were too close, however, he knew. They would never let him get up that high and kill them all.
Loosing a single sob, he turned his knife and held the whirring thing over his chest. A quick jab. It would be easy, he told himself. Like sinking the blade into boiled spaghetti. Oblivion would be his reward for a hard life.
In the end, he could not do it. He could not kill himself. Instead, he went down snarling. The aliens lost limbs coming for him. The killbeasts, strangely subdued, silent, did not kick off his head. They didn’t fire laser bolts at a safe distance and burn gaping holes in his flesh. Instead, they closed and grappled. Nicu hissed and fought. Clearly, they wanted to take him down whole, intact, and make a monster of him. He made them pay dearly. Three killbeasts were injured and a shrade was cut in half before they took the knife from his flashing hand.
Then they lifted him like a child and ran with him. He felt helpless. His face was wet with tears and sweat.
Jostling on the hard carapace backs of killbeasts, Nicu despaired. He activated his vid collection with his chin. He selected a Kizzy shower sequence. Clip 187.
Thirteen
Droad did not head immediately up to inspect the base on Crom, as Senator Fouty had suggested. Although the Senator’s hints about it were intriguing, he had his own stops to make. He wasn’t completely happy with his position. He’d hoped to meet with the military chiefs as an authority, not as an appointed liaison. He had envisioned seminars full of generals taking careful notes, working up strategies to defeat the aliens should they ever arrive on this planet.
Instead, he’d spent his time touring various installations around Nexus Command, several of which were fortunately in the immediate vicinity of Bern. He did not get a warm reception. The military people, especially those who were political appointees, saw no advantage to themselves in being caught dead with ‘the butcher of Garm’ an unfortunate name some press people had given Droad. Only people professionally dedicated to defense, rather than self-advancement, were ready to listen to his story.
Droad told those who would listen of the beamed messages. They assured him no alien activity had been reported, and that they had ordered a generally higher level of alert since hearing of Garm’s misfortune. Still, they seemed to think of it as some sort of plague or insect infestation. The sort of thing they’d heard of from colonies wiped out in their infancy centuries ago when they discovered a mutating virus that could not be stopped, or a strain of indigenous fauna that crept in and devoured new colonists.
Straining to maintain his composure, Droad tried to impress upon them the danger they faced. He emphasized the suddenness of the enemy attack. Continually, he was met with skepticism. Everyone knew that Garm was a disorganized backwater. Neu Schweitz was a paragon of organizational excellence in comparison. He could not get them to grasp the magnitude of the threat.
The most compelling elements in his bag of presentation materials were the security vids he had gathered carefully. They demonstrated the orchestrated nature of the enemy assaults. These vids showed clearly, to anyone with a military mind, that the enemy was intelligent
and very capable.
Each time he made his presentation, he backed it up with a dramatic finish. He called for Rem-9, who brought in the pressurized encasement they had carried all the way from Garm. Rem-9 carried it in grimly, clanking with each stride, his grippers whining as they lowered the heavy steel burden. Solemnly, Droad opened the many clasps and seals. Inside were the desiccated remains of the aliens themselves, including the strange, specially-grown creatures that had beamed messages out into space to unknown recipients. Each time he concluded his talk with the disgusted staff by pointing out that the Kale system had received such a call from the aliens and it had reached here only months earlier.
The presentations had won him few friends and little support. He was given free run of the place as an “Inspector”, but little else. Those who most sincerely wanted to help him always voiced the same complaint: They could order alerts and drills, but any budget or policy decisions would have to come from the Senate. There would be no new units raised, no militia musters, no ships built, not even any satellites sent up and tuned to the proper frequencies. In regards to these aliens from distant Garm, little of real consequence would be done.
After a few weeks, Droad had grown frustrated. He had taken to hanging around Nexus Command Central, eyeing the big displays and reading incoming reports. This was one of the few true nerve centers in the Kale system. Both Fleet and Militia, the two halves of Nexus Command, were here with all their pooled intel.
His presence in the NCC was barely tolerated. To keep him under control, he was assigned an assistant named Joelle Tolbert, a skeptical young Ensign from Fleet Command. At least, thought Droad, she was easy on the eyes.
“With all due respect, Inspector,” the Ensign told him, “our space defenses are far beyond the primitive systems of Garm.”
“And what’s to stop an enemy from cruising in from outside the system, as happened to the last world I stood upon?”