by Jean Kilczer
“I'll second that, babes.”
“Then it's a deal.” I kissed her mouth, so full. “My little flower lips.”
“Jules!” Joe called.
Ah, here we go. I got to my feet and helped Reika up. “Huff?” I shook him. “Time to get up.”
“The checkers are red!” he mumbled in his sleep.
Huff hates the color red. It's synonymous with death on Kresthaven, and rarely found, except in blood, on that ice world. But it's a culture obsessed with checkers, their national game, ever since they bought a set from a space merchant a generation ago, then killed the merchant because the checkers were red and they thought he was Death. Back on Earth, I had found a set of blue and onyx checkers as a gift for Huff. He treasured it. Maybe he was dreaming about the coming events of this dark night. Maybe the night would turn red.
“Huff!” I said.
He sat up.
“We've got to go, big guy.”
He wiped a paw across his eyes and looked around. “I hate this going, Jules friend.”
“We all do, Huff.” I patted his shoulder. “We all do.”
We gathered around the fire and ate our suppers in silence as we waited for Joe to tell us his plan.
He put down his empty plate. “Jules is the crux of this mission, with his tel powers. The rest of the team acts in a supporting role. Chancey, you and Wolfie provide cover for Jules so he can search for the SPS with as little distraction as possible.” He glanced from Chancey to Wolfie.
They nodded.
“Weed, I want – “
“Yes, Captain?” Weed said.
“I want you to stay close to them with the horses, in case you need to make a fast getaway.”
“But, Captain,” Weed said, “I can do more than that. I can – “
“This is not the time for a learning experience,” Joe told him.
“But –“ Weed started.
Wolfie threw him one of his more intimidating looks, and Weed closed his mouth.
“Huff,” Joe said.
“Yes, I am Huff.”
“I know you want to stay with Jules, but – “
“Yes. But that would be well.”
“Well, you can't,” Joe said. “Your fur is a dead giveaway. You'll hold the horses for me, Bat and Reika while we initiate a diversionary tactic.”
Huff glanced at me and whined.
“It'll be OK, Huff,” I said.
“Bat, Reika,” Joe said, “the BEMs have set up an improvised landing site near the garrison for their supply ship. I suspect it's a shuttle that makes deliveries to their HQ in the desert and then drops off supplies for the garrison. When you're ready to go in,” he told me, “one of you three fire a flash beam into the sky. That'll be our signal. Bat, Reika and I will attack the installation, and the ship, if it's docked.” He looked around. “That should send the BEMs pouring out of the garrison.”
“And that's when we go in,” I said.
“We'll hold off until you give us the word that you're ready,” Joe told me.
Reika sighed and took my arm.
I squeezed her hand. “And if things don't go exactly as planned?”
“Then you beat a hasty retreat and we'll meet here, providing you don't have BEMs on your ass.” He looked around. “Don't bring them here.”
“Weed,” I said, “why don't you tell Joe about the DABs underground warren. The main section is located right under the garrison, Joe. If we can't make it back here, it's a good plan B.”
“Weed?” Joe said.
Reika and I got up, scraped our dishes and washed them. It was a comforting routine, as though we'd be back to use the sous chef again. The reality was that we were running out of ingredients, and even if we made it back here alive, our supply of digestall was also limited. There was always pumpkin and cornbread, grown from Earth seeds, but that wasn't a sustaining diet. I thought of what Joe had said. One step at a time.
The horses were hobbled outside to graze on good grass near the narrow swift-running stream that sizzled as it ran toward Northwest Village. Long twilight shadows striped the land in twisted bars of scrub brush, and pinnacles that rose in red spires. I zippered my jacket against the chill night air. It was moist with a promise of rain as it settled over the land and deepened the smell of bitter root.
Weed hefted the spare saddle from the horse he'd ridden here over the white mare's back, and harnessed the travois. Joe wanted us to keep it in case of wounded on our way back. I watched yellow and buff-colored birds caw as they flew to their night roosts in the cliffs. I think some had nests hidden in the rock fissures.
“Hello, Prince,” I told Asil and stroked his fine arched neck, as black as descending night. Reika walked over as I saddled him. She reached up and kissed me. “Luck.”
I smiled. “Luck, Ree.”
She turned and strode back to her horse
Chancey and Wolfie rode on either side of me as though to protect me from unseen dangers. Wolfie and Reika carried their land warrior kits in their backpacks. Chancey had his beam rifle slung across his back. Huff loped on all fours close in front of Asil. His white coat gleamed in the rising moons.
We were silent as we rode, but I could feel the sense of camaraderie, the sure knowledge that we were a unit, with all minor differences left behind us in the dust.
In the yellow light of the larger moon, I saw a shiny fulgurite lying in sand, a beautiful specimen of petrified lightning. “I'll catch up,” I threw over my shoulder and went to pick it up. It was white as snow, with traces of blue. A hollow tube, about two feet long.
I put it into my saddlebag.
Joe rode up. “For Lisa?”
“Yeah, Joe. You think she'll like it?”
He grinned. “She'll love it, kid. Especially since it's from Dad.”
I swung back onto Asil and we continued.
It was past midnight when we reined in on the crest of a hill overlooking Northwestern Village. A few street lamps still burned. A pleasure craft, probably young Denebs, cruised the main drag, then lifted to circle above the dark stone and fibrin structures.
Beyond the town, the great battlements of the western mountains rose in ragged peaks like silent tsunamis that flooded out the stars.
Joe rode up beside me. “How close do you want to get for the probes?”
“A couple of hundred feet.”
“You think you can project into the tents and see what's going on without being detected?”
“I think so. I've been practicing in the DAB's warren.”
“You remember what I said about following my orders?”
“I gave you my word, Joe.”
He nodded and started down the hill. We followed.
We stayed to shadowed side streets where windows were dark and only the two moons threw crosses of light.
Voices!
The metallic Dissonance of BEMs calling to each other and cackling in that cracked-cement noise they make.
We dismounted and led the horses past stone and fibrin private houses with lawns of sweet-smelling purple flowers, and children's toys scattered on stone walks.
In the distance, three of the six garrison tents were bright with lantern light. Shadows flickered across the material as figures moved inside.
“Some sort of celebration,” I said to Joe. “I hope a few of the crotemungers are still asleep.”
“And if they're not?” Joe said.
I bit my lip. “It'll be a lot harder to probe without detection.”
He put a hand on my shoulder. “Do the best you can. We can't use the beam flash as a signal to begin our attack on the landing site with all those crotes awake. Weed?”
“Yes, Captain.” He moved closer to Joe.
“Leave Jules and Chancey and Wolfie's horses tied. When Jules says it's time for our diversion, ride here. Don't spare the horse, and let us know.”
Weed nodded and moved back from us again.
Wolfie pointed to a ground vehicle about a hundred
feet away from one of the tents. “Is that close enough?” he asked me.
“As good as any place,” I said.
“Jules,” Joe said, “if you can, probe for the reason for this celebration. It might be important.”
“I'll try, Joe.”
He put out his hand. I shook it and smiled. “Be careful, Dad,” I whispered.
He nodded. “Look who's talking?”
“Huff,” I said, “I…” For some reason, I felt tears well up. He threw his bear arms around my shoulders and gave me a lick of his long tongue. “The Ten Gods have my orders, Jules Terran friend, to see to your care.”
Bat came up and patted my cheek. “Take care, Bubba.”
“You too, Bat. Reika? A kiss for luck?”
She hugged me. “If kisses could keep you safe, I would shower you with them, babes.”
I pressed her head against my chest and kissed it.
Weed remained behind with Asil and Chancey and Wolfie's horses while the others mounted and rode toward the landing site installation.
“Watch out!” Wolfie whispered as a BEM, a bottle clutched in one tentacle, braced himself on three more and slithered sideways across a grassy patch between lit tents. He fell over, cackled and spread his tentacles for balance as he staggered to his feet.
We waited for him to go into a tent, then the three of us ran, crouched, to the ground vehicle, and sat down in its shadow.
I lowered my head to my hands and began a sweeping probe, calculated to encounter a sleeper with the delta waves that indicate deep sleep.
The celebrating BEMs began to sing, if you could call the raucous sound of tin being rattled a form of song. I exhaled a long breath to relax. I had to ignore this distraction and find sleepers without being detected. Chancey and Wolfie sat very still, but the rhythm of the song played havoc with my probe.
“And you, my brother. And you, All Mother…”
The words beat in my mind. I imaged a tunnel where words and rhythm were muffled outside the walls.
There, in one of the dark tents. Sleepers. I conjured up the aroma of the sweet purple flowers and sneaked past the minds' guards of sleep. One alone was dreaming. A barren, ruined world. Probably Tau Ceti. A tortured landscape with no growth. How true was this dream of his homeworld, I wondered. I approached the sleeper's mind softly, on wings of gossamer, and pictured the SPS monitor and mount atop its panel of buttons and lights. He turned it into a flickering film of female BEMs dancing. I pulled it back to the SPS and held it there. The dreamer surrounded it with the inside of a tent. I drew back from the image, like a camera zooming out, and the dreamer complied.
There it was!
The third tent to our left in the field. Dark. The sense that it was not a sleepers' tent, but unoccupied, with the cold stillness of an empty room. Outside, a pile of opened boxes.
I carefully backed out of the sleeper's dream and opened my eyes. The real tent was there to our left, with the opened empty boxes beside it. “It's here!” I said. “It's in that tent.” I pointed.
“Shit,” Chancey said softly. “Then let's go.”
Wolfie patted me on the shoulder and got up. “Nice work,” he said.
I could hardly believe it.
“Weed,” I called in a whisper. “Not yet. We don't want them pouring out of the tents.”
He nodded and moved the horses back.
With no BEMs in sight, we trotted across the open field. Chancey and Wolfie stayed behind the pile of boxes to give me cover.
I opened the tent flap and went inside. Boxes were piled along the four walls, blocking windows and the light of moons. I waited for my eyes to adjust. And drew in a breath. The SPS stood alone in an alcove formed of boxes.
“Oh my God,” I whispered. That's it! Oh my God!”
Then I remembered to subdue my thoughts as I ran to the SPS and fell to my knees. I touched it with a sense of reverence. In space, the unit could locate star systems. Here, tucked in this corner of a tent, it could communicate with planets. I pressed the ON button, my breath coming fast in my throat.
Nothing.
“What the hell?” I muttered with my heart sinking. I pressed it again. Still nothing. My stomach felt queasy as I checked the panel, found the latch and opened it. Empty! The battery was gone. “Christ and Buddha.” Without the battery, and no place to plug in, the unit was useless.
I ran to the flap and threw it open. “Chancey! Wolfie,” I whispered. “They took out the battery. It's gone.”
“Mother fucker!” I heard Chancey rasp.
Three BEMs emerged from a lit tent, waving bottles and singing.
“Get back!” Chancey whispered.
“I'm going to let them see me,” I said and stepped out of the tent.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Chancey whispered.
“They won't kill me. Older brother wants me alive. When they're close enough, I'll probe for the battery. When I have it, I'll lift my hand and scratch my head.”
“That's our signal,” Wolfie said, “to take down the three BEMs, send weed in for the SPS, and locate the battery.”
“That's it,” I whispered.
“Who is that?” one of the BEMs asked.
“It resembles a barren-of-dirt Terran,” another said.
I went back to the SPS, my heart pounding and pretended to be studying it.
“Welcome to our fold, Terran?”
I turned quickly, as though surprised. But dammit the three BEMs who slithered in had closed the flap behind them. I couldn't signal Chancey and Wolfie from in here, even if my probe for the battery were successful.
A tan-coated BEM drew his beam weapon and moved to my left on unsteady tentacles. He clasped an empty bottle in one tentacle. A shorter, narrower one, black-coated, perhaps young, slithered to my right and took a swig from his bottle. “How nice of him to walk into our tentacles,” he said and drew his weapon.
The tall gray one, about seven-feet in height, paused in front of me, his beamer pointed at my chest. “Have you found what you're looking for?” he asked me.
“Not yet. You want to help me find it?” I asked.
“Lift your two arms,” the gray one ordered, “away from the weapon that you wear.”
I did, and threw up my shields as I concocted a red coil within its walls. I spun it quickly. Grew it quickly. I was becoming proficient at this. When my head throbbed with the power I'd created, I dropped my shields and threw the coil at him with a message attached. The battery!
He staggered back. The beamer in his hand wavered.
The battery! I threw again.
And there it was. I don't think he could help the image that formed in his mind. A metal box, about two feet wide and high. Perhaps three feet long. Tucked in a dark corner of a tent between empty cots. It could only be one of two remaining dark tents.
The hive mind became aware of my invasion and attacked en masse. I threw my shields back up and retreated under the petals of the flower. The bees squeezed in after me and stung. I gritted my teeth against the pins of pain that flicked across my temples.
No need, brothers, the gray one sent. It doesn't matter that the Terran knows. “You are a very powerful telepath,” he admitted. “All to the good. Older brother will drain your knowledge with ease.”
The bees lifted and found their way out of my shields. I let them drop again.
“I'll make a deal with you,” I told the gray one, while the black-coated BEM unstrapped my holster and slung it over his shoulder.
I lowered my hands. “I don't want to die. And I sure don't want to be eaten alive by Bountiful the Profuse.” That was no lie. “I know where DAB's HQ's is located. General Roothe and his officers are housed there. I could lead you and your brothers directly to them.”
His great yellow eyes blinked. “And in return?”
“My freedom. I never asked to get involved in any of this. The government doesn't pay me enough to get killed. I came here only as a consultant. But,” I shrugged, “
I found myself enmeshed in the conflict. How about you take me to your leader? Older Brother wants me alive. Doesn't he?”
“Older brother is enjoying the festivities. Tomorrow is soon enough.”
“What're you brothers celebrating?” I asked casually.
“Tell him,” the gray one said. “I want to see the look on his face.”
The black-coated one cackled. “Why the coming invasion, cousin. Our fleet is already space-born.”
“On its way,” the tan-coated one added and staggered back.
I swear I felt the blood drain from my face. I took a deep, shuddering breath. “That should be quite a show. When will the fleet arrive?”
“The fireworks will begin at dawn tomorrow,” the tan-coated one said.
“Are you not afraid for your life?” the gray one asked me. “I am curious. What does life mean to a Terran?”
I held down anger as I thought of the Denebrian child who'd been ripped apart alive by the monster. I covered the image with false thoughts. “It means everything to me, brother. That's why I'm willing to cooperate.”
“I am not your brother,” the gray one said. “Older Brother will tap your mind for all you know of the Denebs and of Earth's military forces.”
“Whatever he wants.” I shrugged.
“Why do you lift your shoulders when you talk?”
“Just a Terran gesture,” I said, “like this one.” I lifted my hand and scratched my head.”
The gray BEM raised his shoulders and let them drop, then rubbed his furred head with a tentacle. He glanced at his comrades and cackled. “Come,” he said to me, in a friendly manner. “Older brother will decide what he wants to squeeze from your mind.” He cackled again and opened the flap.
I scratched my head again to get them used to the gesture, and walked through the flap. I waited for the three to be outside, then I lifted my hand and scratched my head.
A blue beam from my left cut through the night. The tan-coated BEM screamed and spun as he fell. Another beam, from my right, silently bored through the black-coated BEM's head. He fell without a sound. The gray BEM swung toward me. Two beams, from either side, sliced his mantle and left it hanging like a slab of meat as he went down, face forward, into the dirt. His hand, frozen on his beamer's trigger, burned the dirt and made it bubble.