Colony Lost

by Chris Philbrook

  Theo stared into the forest. “Sorry, but your dome stays on until we’re out of here.”

  Remy nodded and responded. His voice was muffled in the real world, but crisp in their ear sets. “Yes sir.”

  “I’m going to fill these jars then we’re ghosting this forest. Ping-Pong, if you see anything make sure you image it with your rifle. That Russian prick will want pictures and I’m sure soon enough we’ll be on a safari to capture one of the damn things.”

  “Roger that,” Ping-Pong said. He returned to his vigilant post, anxiously watching the forest for whatever alien beast his leader had seen.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Marine ground vehicle maintenance tent, Rasima Plains, planet of Selva

  20 August 163 GA

  The gangly motor pool private, covered in sweat, grease and dirt awoke with a startle. Despite the rank smell of body odor and chemicals, he’d fallen asleep underneath the Armadillo class armored personnel carrier.

  He had crawled under it at the start of his evening repair shift to check on a noise the tank driver reported earlier in the day. The private had found nothing beyond large scrapes and smears on the tank’s belly, but he cleaned the gouges out and put a fresh coat of dark green paint on the exposed ceramic and metal hull. After that . . . he stole a nap.

  Now, he was awake - and hearing something moving on top of the tank.

  “Hey, who’s there?” the private called out into the alien world’s shadows. His voice traveled low along the ground and escaped into the large tent the marines used as a tank garage. The private felt the movement atop the vehicle cease, then heard a wet plop hit the ground not far from his head.

  “Oil? Piss? What the fuck? Who is being sneaky?” He sighed. Using his long arms and legs the marine scurried slowly underneath the tank until he reached the front edge. He held his breath and closed his eyes, then moved out into the open space, expecting a bucket of motor oil, cold water–or worse–to splash into his face.

  But nothing did.

  He got to his feet in a crouch beside the green tank hull and grabbed a wrench off the steel table just above his head. The hefty weight of the iron felt reassuring in his hands and gave him the courage to stand up and look at the top of the tank where he knew someone mucked about.

  “Alright, I asked who’s there,” he said as he stood to his full height. He looked up the slope of the tank’s front face, beyond the sealed glass viewports, over the tops of the closed roof hatches and past the heavy machine gun.

  The surface of the tank was bare. No one stood on its top. What the fuck? Alright I saw no feet, and heard no one jump off, which means whoever was up there went backwards.

  He jogged around the side of the long tank to the rear where the passenger ramp opened and looked through the tent entrance.

  Nothing there, either.

  No one ran away from the tent. No one could’ve reached anywhere to hide in time either. He turned around, somewhat relieved, and faced back into the tent with its stark shadows.

  The private took a deep breath and steeled himself for the inevitable hazing he knew he was about to endure. This was the military way when boredom set in; harass, harangue, irritate, and annoy. All in the name of brotherly love and entertainment, and all forgiven once experienced and retaliated upon. Sadly, the experience sometimes sucked. Like now when it was foisted upon the weary and unwilling.

  The long and lean man walked with his wrench loose in hand. I don’t want to hit someone by accident and kill them. But if it’s a fucking terrorist, I am messing the dude up.

  Something made a noise above his head.

  He looked up to the pitch black tent ceiling and saw nothing.

  He turned in a slow circle and panned his vision across the top of the tank once more but stopped when he felt a tremendous impact hit the top of his head. He felt a disturbing shift in the rigidity of his neck and he collapsed–breathless–feeling no pain but knowing his body had been damaged. The sensation confounded him. He landed on his side facing the tank treads and his limp body rolled slowly to its back as someone–or something, he couldn’t tell–leapt from the tank, landing with its legs on either side of his weak and powerless body. His head drifted side to side, refusing to listen to the commands he tried to give it.

  The bright light bulb that hung above his face went dark as something obstructed the minimal view he had. In a distant world, from another room or maybe yesterday, he felt tugging and yanking at his uniform near the waist. Somehow, the digging felt deep, as if his pants were being ripped off him straight through his stomach, though again he felt no pain. He listened as the fabric ripped away, and then as the noises became meaty, heavy, and wet. His body jerked around at the mercy of his attacker and its brutal strength. The pathetic light bulb hanging far above his head pulsated in his mind’s eye as his brain misfired. The yellow light turned whiter and whiter as his skin grew cold. An insidious blackness spread in from the edges of his vision, closing his existence down, smothering his world.

  In the shadow of the thing that loomed above him, something fell and hit his face. Something wet. Something coppery. Something hot.

  His insides were ripped out and tossed in every direction by something the private couldn’t see, or understand. He would’ve called that a blessing if anything meaningful of him remained to do so.

  His world became void as the thing that took his life dragged what remained of his body out of the tent, and across the open ground of the foreign world, toward the forest at the end of the peninsula.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Crew quarters aboard Beagle, Rasima Plains, planet of Selva

  20 August 163 GA

  Exhausted and satisfied, Dustin rolled off of his wife. He panted in the hot interior crew cabin aboard Beagle as his body settled into the post-sex afterglow. He stared up at the uneven ceiling and the pipes, ducting and cabling that ran across it.

  “That was amazing. I needed that.”

  He slumped into Melody’s narrow, wiry cot beside her. He put his head on her shoulder where it met her breast.

  When she caught her own breath, she brushed her fingers delicately across his sweaty brow.

  “I’m so glad you still want to have sex with me,” she said.

  He laughed in the tiny room. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re still hot as hell.”

  “Still? She asked, cocking her head.

  “Yeah totally. You’re amazingly beautiful.”

  “But still.”

  “Yeah, still,” he said, unsure of where she was going.

  “Are you implying that as soon as I’m not hot anymore you won’t want to have sex with me? Because that’s what I’m hearing,” she said, gently pressing a fingertip into the center of his forehead. She was playing with him.

  “No. No. Not at all,” he said, lifting his head to look at her. “I didn’t mean that. I don’t mean that. Nothing of the sort. I’m sorry. I love you, you’re gorgeous and perfect. I was just trying to compliment you.”

  “You’re so easy.”

  Dustin grunted. “I dunno about me being easy. Say what you will but you’re the pregnant one in this cot.”

  “That’s your fault.”

  “Maybe so, maybe so.” He ran his fingers along the length of her thigh, then her stomach. He could feel the small bulge of the baby inside her but she hadn’t grown much. “When are you going to start to show?”

  Any day now,” Melody said as she joined her husband’s fingers on her stomach. “Things will get more difficult then. I brought two sets of larger flight suits to help hide it, but wearing those might raise questions.”

  “Yeah,” Dustin said. “We owe Doc a solid. Do you know what the plan is for flight assignments? You said the meeting was coming up. Anything change?”

  Dustin felt her body tense.

  “I am on the transit home. Not the transit back to Selva. What we thought.”

  “Damn it. I knew it. Gonna be a long time apart.”

  “I k
now,” she said. “It sucks. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s cool.”

  “Dustin, it’s not cool. It sucks. Be honest. Stop acting hard, like you’re so tough you don’t care. I know you care. I deserve a little better than your tough act.”

  “I wish this was happening differently. We should’ve been smarter about things,” he blurted.

  “We enlisted, then we got pregnant, baby. How smart could we be in the first place?”

  They shared a laugh.

  “You’ll be too far along with the baby to return on the next transit right?”

  “Fat as a cow,” Melody said. “And there will be no keeping secrets at that point. I’ll be in full-on preggo-mode and dealing with the trouble we could be in. I don’t expect much, but I do expect to be grounded. And, it’s for the best. I’ll be full-term and could pop at any moment.”

  “I suppose,” Dustin said morosely. “I guess it’s for the best. It’s painful to imagine you half a solar system away, pregnant with my child, having to do it all alone. I should be with you. Maybe I could petition for a transfer home? Head back with you now.”

  “Really? Do you think you’d be able to live with yourself if you left Waren and Lionel here? Baby or not I think you’d be just as conflicted and torn with me back on Ares or whatever moon I get sent to when this spud comes. You staying here is the least painful thing for us. And let’s be honest; no matter what, it’s going to be painful.”

  “You’re right. I’m whining.”

  “I know,” she poked his nose. “It’s cute.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Talk to Lionel mid-way through the stretch between trough openings. Request paternity leave. You know he’ll grant it even though the baby won’t be born for a bit. You’re due the time off the same as I am. I doubt Major Duncan will fight Lionel’s request. You come back to the moons and arrive pretty close to when I give birth. You’re only going to miss the worst months of the pregnancy.”

  “Still though . . . that feels like a lot to give up. Time I’m missing of the pregnancy and birth I can’t get back.”

  “Do you still have your penis or did it shrivel up and fall off a second ago after you came?”

  He looked down. “Yeah, he’s still there, right next to Chester and Hank.”

  “I was going to ask about them next. Look, our family will get through this. You’ll do your six months here while I transit home and clean up the mess.”

  “Our family. That’s something to hear. That makes my day. And I get to make up my time being a dad after that.”

  “Roger that, husband and father of my baby.”

  “When’s your departure date?”

  “Twenty-seventh.”

  “Shit. That’s less than a week. Do you think Dan and Andy would be willing to give us the crew quarters again like this? Mighty gracious of them to keep our needs in mind.”

  She chuckled. “I don’t think we’re the only two people having sex on Selva. If I ask nice, they’ll make time for us.”

  Melody leaned up from her uncomfortable bed and they kissed.

  A muffled squawk came from beneath Dustin’s gear. He sat up beside Melody and reached into the mess. He produced a tiny earpiece and slid it onto his left ear. He keyed the transmit button on the side.

  “Sergeant Cline.”

  “Dustin, it’s Lionel. I need you back to the operations tent immediately. On the double. Move with caution too. Something is danger close.”

  “Move with caution sir? Can you be a bit more specific?”

  “We have a KIA.”

  Dustin’s body stiffened. To use the specific acronym for Killed In Action, Hauptman must’ve known the person was murdered.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Dustin held up a finger asking Melody for her patience.

  “Who was it? How?”

  “Motor pool private named Christian Stahl. We haven’t found the majority of his body yet, but there’s enough of him smeared on the ground and the side of a tank he was working on for us to know he isn’t upright and breathing anymore. Something or someone dragged his body away. We need to find out what happened.”

  “Roger that. You think one of us did this? An anti-expansionist? Or . . . ?”

  “Just get here. Watch your six.”

  “Like a hawk,” Dustin said, and stood up from the bed of nails he and Melody had shared. He grabbed his clothes and started to dress, turning to face his wife.

  “Someone died?” she asked him.

  “Yeah. Hauptman said it was a mess. He says a private was killed.”

  “Killed? By one of us?”

  “Maybe. Could be a terrorist, or something indigenous. Ping-Pong’s squad saw some big shit moving in the forest down on the peninsula the other day. Might be a carnivore that did it. I don’t know.”

  “Shit.” Melody slumped against the interior cabin wall and dragged her knees under her chin.

  “Look, stay in here until dawn. Turn on the comms in the cockpit and listen to our channel while you’re awake. I think we’re going to try and find the remains.”

  “They’re . . . lost?”

  “Something like that. I love you.”

  Dustin leaned down to kiss Melody. She kissed him back.

  As he exited Beagle’s starboard airlock he drew his pistol from the holster on his thigh and racked the slide, chambering a round. He thumbed the safety on and returned the pistol to its home, but his hand stayed near.

  The sudden chill in the air of the Selvan nighttime wrapped its arms around him. He shivered, and he wasn’t sure it was because of the temperature.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rasima Plains, planet of Selva

  21 August 163 GA

  Despite the late hour, it seemed to Dustin that everyone on Selva surrounded the colony’s massive operations tent. Hands minced and feet shuffled. Suspicious eyes searched out guilt in every corner as he made his way past the marines and scientists who were awake when the news started to spread. Some had sleep-thickened eyes from the dreams they had been torn from minutes before.

  Most of the marines on Selva weren’t issued their firearms for everyday use. A single squad in rotation pulled armed security for the colony. Only the elite expeditionary men were issued side arms and only they were allowed to carry all the time. To be issued a weapon was a mark of distinction. It set you apart as a marine and warrior; you were a protector.

  More than one set of eyes stared at Dustin’s handgun in its holster as the crowd parted. He walked past the two armored infantry marines with their service carbines on their shoulders and pushed inside the tent entrance.

  Despite its dirty and unsophisticated exterior the command tent’s interior was clean and technologically advanced. The tent had carbon fiber grating for a floor as well as heating and air conditioning piped in from humming machines. Soft indirect lights bounced off the tent’s roof and lit the space with a warm and homey feel. At the operations center a cluster of officers and scientists surrounded a bank of flat monitors and countless pieces of command and control equipment. Radar screens, flight control equipment, weather monitoring equipment and more were among the devices Dustin could identify at a glance.

  Presently, those gathered were watching as numerous video feeds played. Dustin walked around to Hauptman and Waren on the edge of the group.

  “Thanks for getting here so fast,” Hauptman said.

  “Of course. Hey, Waren,” Dustin said.

  “Sup,” the other sergeant replied.

  Waren chewed on the inside of his cheek and shuffled his black synthetic boots on the slate colored grating.

  “What’s the story?”

  “We’re suiting up in five and we’re going to track down the trail of blood,” Hauptman replied.

  “Trail of blood? What are we dealing with here?”

  “Get your full armor on. Helmets, too. I want you on point. We’re going to look first hand. Bring a full tactical load of ammunition. I’m not t
aking any fucking chances.”

  The three marines left the operations center as one and headed to their tent to get ready for a war with the unknown.

  Dawn approached, casting a dim ribbon of blue along the horizon.

  Encased head to toe in their obsidian carapace armor, the three marines walked across the now empty colonial landing field in a loose delta formation toward the vehicle maintenance tent. The same place Private Christian Stahl met his end. Dustin had point in their triangle with his rail gun primed and charged. It thrummed inaudibly and that sensation of power gave him courage.

  The interior of his visor bristled with data from his gun sights and suit sensors. Dustin’s practiced mind digested the details as fast as they came, and without so much as a hiccup he continued toward the open flap of the ten-meter wide green tent. Below his feet the sun-bleached, trampled grasses made his approach silent. The long blades of grass looked as white as ivory in the solitary moon’s glow.

  “Dustin, Waren, swing wide and approach carefully,” Dustin heard his lieutenant say in his ear.

  “Hoo-ah.”

  Dustin led the approach from the left side of the front of the tent and he moved to his right, angling for a direct view of the front of the tent and the armored personnel carrier within. He noticed a swath of coagulated blood leading away and through the parked ships heading south. Dustin slowed his gait and motioned his rifle along the trail of blood so his optics could record what he saw.

  “What you got?” Waren asked.

  “Blood trail. Wide at the tent and fading as it goes. Heads south. Oh, hell. I see a piece of intestine.”

  “Snap an image and move on the tent,” Hauptman said. “We need more video for operations. The other fire team is already south of the landing field keeping an eye on the forest waiting for us.”