Colony Lost

by Chris Philbrook

  Another snap busted his suit at the shoulder and spun his body. The force of the round passing through his chest near the collarbone took the strength from his hands, and his helmet tumbled away. He felt blinding pain, and his arm wouldn’t lift. He laughed out loud at his sudden plight.

  “Always laughing. Piece of shit,” a man’s voice said.

  Groggy and weak, Waren looked up and saw a ghost approaching. A man that once was Dustin Cline walked toward him. This dead Dustin Cline wore no armor and had come through the veil of the afterlife. Head to toe, the man’s skin and clothing glistened with a strange green substance that caught the light of the sky. He was iridescent; transcendent. As the ghost of Dustin approached, the lights that danced in the sky went dark, leaving gloomy clouds to blanket Waren’s soul.

  Dustin’s angry spirit had taken his rifle with him to the other side, and he held it up, aimed at Waren’s face.

  The revenant of Selva. The first legend made on a new world.

  “Ha. Killed by the ghost of my friend. Haunted too, I suppose. Justice. So far from civilization too.” Waren coughed. He tasted the coppery flavor of his doom at the back of his throat. He’d drown in his own blood. Soon.

  “Civilization isn’t a place. It is a way to live. Some of us brought it here,” the ghost of Dustin Cline said before the safety on his ghostly rifle moved. “Others abandoned it.”

  “And look what it got us.”

  Waren pointed weakly at the destroyed colony, with its plumes of smoke and piles of dead bodies. With great effort he looked back at his dead friend’s spirit.

  Dustin Cline pulled the trigger and obliterated Waren’s skull.

  Dustin walked to the dead body at Waren’s feet and removed its helmet. The mutant’s face had been wrapped in tape to shut its malformed alien mouth. He wiped the mushroom tree slime from his head and face then put the helmet back on his own head.

  “Vindicator One. Tango is down.”

  “You got him? Are you hurt? Are you good?”

  “No, I just killed one of my best friends and my armor is fucked. He shot a bunch of holes in it,” Dustin said, looking at the two holes in his plate armor’s back.

  “What an ass. Looking at the bright side, I think we’ve learned today that you don’t always need the suit. He’s dead though, right? No pulse, no brain activity?”

  “Roger that,” Dustin said, looking at the ruin of Waren’s head.

  “Feel better?”

  “No,” Dustin said, and then exhaled. He felt off kilter, sick. “I’ll be back to the tree as soon as I gather up this shit.”

  “Don’t forget my rifle. Good plan, man. Better to be smart than fast. The little man takes the gold.”

  “Strike hard. I’ve got your weapon. Let me know if anything approaches.”

  Dustin stood and looked up to the black sky. For a moment, the striations of light had disappeared, and the clouds had cleared away, leaving the star-speckled void of space above. A small green dot, bright as a candle, held out to ward against the darkness. He prayed his wife and baby were safe.

  Dustin returned to his grisly task with a heavy heart.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Medical habitat, town of Stahl, planet of Selva

  12 November 163 GA

  Dustin sat with his leg up as Anna examined him in the medical facility.

  “I don’t quite understand why you put the effort into burying him. He killed one of us, shot you, and shot someone he thought was you,” Anna said as she examined the healing wound on Dustin’s leg. “He didn’t deserve that dignity.”

  “Perhaps not, but once he was my friend, and for a long time, he served as a marine with distinction. Deranged as he was, he must have had his reasons for what he did. Call me crazy, but I want to be the better man in this.”

  “That I can respect. Thank you again, Sergeant.”

  “For what?”

  “For getting food, killing the traitor, being brave, all that jazz. Commendations will be coming your way once the return fleet arrives.”

  “Medals aren’t the thing guys like me care about.”

  “Don’t act like it doesn’t tickle you a little bit if you were to get a Colonial Service Cross, or a Medal of Honor out of this. Hell, they’ll give you both. Melt them together to make a super-medal. Best story they could get out of this. Medals are the kind of thing politicians care about. And you should learn that. Your father-in-law is a senior senator,” Anna said. “Your leg looks good. Infection is long gone. Stims knitted it shut well. You didn’t do your chances of having a small scar any favors being a hero.”

  “I kind of like the scar. Chicks dig scars. ”

  “That’s a myth.”

  “Hey, I was thinking and uh . . . How do you think Melody is doing? How the baby is?”

  Anna turned to him, amused. “Nervous papa?”

  “Yeah. I think about her and the kid all the time. What’s up with her now? Is she big yet?”

  “Melody was nine weeks on August twentieth. She would be . . . twenty-one weeks pregnant today.”

  “That’s crazy. Does she have a belly?”

  Melody smiled and nodded. “She should have a pretty good one by now. She’s pretty thin so I think she’d be showing in normal clothes by now. The gig’s up.”

  “Will she still be nauseous? She had some pretty terrible moments of morning sickness.”

  “Everyone is different, but I would say she’s fine by now. Feeling great, I would hope. Baby should be plugging right along. And if Melodys seen a doctor back on Pioneer 3 or wherever she is, she’ll know the sex by now.”

  “A boy or a girl, eh? I don’t know what I want more.”

  “A healthy baby and a healthy momma. That’s all that matters.”

  “True. Thanks Captain.”

  “Glad to help. And now that you’re on the road to recovery, what’s next, Sergeant? We’re still swarmed with an army of these creatures, we’re low on food, water is manageable, medical supplies are decent if we don’t suffer major losses or injuries, and we can’t reasonably expect reinforcements until February.”

  “Good news is the mushroom goop lets me walk around like I own the place. They won’t come within five meters of me. Some of the half-humans still attack me, but less and less every day. They’re learning.”

  “What’s the bad news?”

  “The slime at the base of the trees isn’t recovering as fast as I’d like. I’m having to range further into the peninsula jungle to get supplies of it. Eventually, I’ll have to stop moving around to let the trees recover their protective coating. We can’t afford to run out.”

  “We can work around that. We can plan better.”

  “True,” Dustin said, sitting up on the bed. “But we need to be aware of the mutant humans. I haven’t seen Theo in some time, but some of him is still inside his head. The last time I saw him, he recognized me, and they . . . I think they listen to him. The humans. If they learn from him and he decides to wage war on us, all bets are off. We’re only as safe as we are as long as the monsters remain dumb animals.”

  “So feelings aside, do we start taking them out?”

  Dustin tried to find a response, but wound up showing her his palms and shrugging.

  “Feelings aside?” She reiterated.

  “We should try and take them out. But Ping-Pong and I don’t have enough ammunition.

  “The marines have their carbines. You could use those.”

  “True. Can you have them take inventory of weapons and ammo on hand? I can get more from the armory containers near the command tent if need be.”

  “You have to stop doing these jaunts alone. All it’s going to take is one of them learning how to throw a rock off your head to end it all. Do you know if their blue spit works if you’re wearing the stuff?”

  “None of them have tried to spit on me since I started going out covered. Micah is working on it. He thinks it’ll protect me. I’ll go back to wearing my armor.”


  “I’ll have the infantry guys count up their stuff. You and Steve will work up a plan to take out the mutants and check back with me so I know what’s going on?”

  “Of course. As far as the long term plan goes . . . ”

  “Maintain?”

  “Maintain. We should have enough food if we ration it, and once the mutants are handled we can start thinking about firing up the hydroponics gardens. At this point . . . we just need to pray there are no more terrorists amongst us, and the bugs don’t figure out how to climb the trees, or how to get inside the structures. Maybe we need to think about relocating everyone to the forest. Build a ladder, or some kind of elevator to make going up and down the mushrooms easier.”

  “How would we get everyone moved?”

  “One of the Armadillos must still be operational. I think the one I hid in was abandoned, not destroyed. If I can get it up and running we can make trips with ten people at a time.”

  “Work the solution on that. I’ll see if we have any motor pool people in the group. Maybe one of them can help get the tank running.”

  “Perfect,” Dustin said. “I should get back. It’ll be light soon, and the bugs are ornery when they can see me.”

  “Get going,” Anna said, picking up the small mess left behind from his visit in the med bay.

  Dustin got his gear assembled and opened two of the glass jars filled with gel. After smearing his clothing and skin, he chambered a round in his rail gun, and went to the airlock.

  “Be careful, sir.”

  A corporal assigned to the door saluted. Dustin returned the salute.

  “Always,” Dustin replied. He stepped into the airlock and the door closed behind him. A moment later the exterior door slid open, and he stepped into the fresh air of Selva.

  He checked his vicinity and started off to the south toward the peninsula. As he told Steve he was on the move, his friend lit the fire atop the tree.

  On the opposite side of the medical building, skitterers shuffled busily about. With sharp talons they dug beside the big synthetic structure. Brown, wet earth piled up as they dug, and they dug.

  Soon they’d find a home suitable for their masters.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Pioneer 3 trans-orbital vessel hangar in Gharian orbit

  17 November 163 GA

  “I’m sorry sir, but Beagle is debris in orbit until we get those parts. I wish I could do something, but all the red tape is in the way.”

  The docking control officer sitting behind his desk stared at Andy and Melody as if his brain was pushing against the back of his eyes. His face went an interesting shade of red.

  “You will get that ship, out of my hangar immediately. I will bring down righteous fury on your entire crew if you don’t depart on time for your change of station. Do you understand me?”

  “Ensign Moribelli, please. I understand your frustration, but I can no more clear my ship for flight than I can say you’d survive reentry wearing your birthday suit. We need the replacement thermal panels on the nose, we need those induction parts, and if the gasket on the rear loading door isn’t repaired or replaced . . . we can’t go anywhere. All your huffing and puffing at me and my crew won’t make my bird fly.”

  “Beagle needs the parts,” she said, putting her palm up in resignation. “Andy wouldn’t be here if we could get them ourselves. We can’t leave port until we get them. Now you can work the problem, and step on the supply chain people to get us the parts, or you can yell at us to maybe, I dunno, make them out of thin air? Jump out of the airlock with a parachute and hope we land on Sota? Which do you want us to do? Plummet to our deaths, or do your job and see to it we get the fixes?”

  “Some of these parts can be printed on Pioneer. There has to be a schematic and raw materials on the station,” the older ensign insisted. With his receding hairline and raw drinker’s nose he had to have been a late enlistment.

  Melody put him back into his place. “Thermal panels are highly advanced layered composites. Too durable and complicated to 3D print. They’re made on Ares. The induction systems might be printable if you can find the raw materials, but Andy and I have sourced the whole ship and found nothing. The gasket . . . that’s gotta be found. Can’t print the silicone layers the way they should be made. Not safely, at least. I don’t think you want to muscle a pregnant lieutenant into space on a ship with a faulty airlock gasket. Won’t get your family any acres for retirement.”

  He huffed. “Fine. Get your orders to me in duplicate, and I’ll get the dock commander to look at it. He can pressure ground authorities on your behalf. But as soon as those parts get here, you get help to get them installed, and you get gone. We need your facilities to prepare for the return journey to Selva. Another crew wants to do their job and you’re keeping them from that.”

  Melody and Andy thanked him, and left. They hid their laughter until they were both down the hall, around the corner and far out of earshot.

  “That’ll buy us fifteen days.”

  “You’re sure of that?” Melody asked him.

  “Of course. I already checked the parts databases on all four moons. There are no TOV induction systems anywhere. The manufacturer is backlogged for ten days, then there’s shipping time to here. Gaskets are on Phoenix, panels can come from Ares. We’re third in line for those. At least fifteen days. Positive.”

  “And we’re stealing enough food and fuel for our trip?”

  “Roger that. No one’s the wiser. And Captain Kingsman had the exo-loader team install both parts of the sanctum last night during the graveyard shift. Our techs are doing the final assembly work on Titan. Everything is coming together.”

  As they entered the hangar, Melody slowed to a walk.

  “Man, pregnancy sucks. I get over being sick, have like, two good weeks, and I’m uncomfortable now. I feel like I’m smuggling a bowling ball in my bladder.”

  “All for the love of family, and a few extra acres of land. Are you sure you want to do this? Selva? I can’t imagine a trans-planet flight is a good idea five months pregnant.”

  “Stop dad-ing me. I’m going to my husband, and if all goes well, I’ll give birth on Selva. Better than giving birth on Sota. Who the hell wants to have a kid there anyway?”

  “In Melody we trust,” Andy said.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Atop a mushroom tower, Dampier Peninsula forest, planet of Selva

  21 November 163 GA

  From their perch at the top of their tree, Steve and Dustin watched as something unimaginable happened.

  A shepherd tended his flock.

  For three days Steve and Dustin worked in careful concert with the marines holed up in Stahl to take out the mutated human population. The First Expeditionary Marines provided over watch as small teams of infantry, covered in the green spore, herded their former brethren to their deaths.

  After three days of their combined efforts, two dozen of the mutants remained. Led by the new Theo Wendell.

  Head adorned with a crown of spikes, recreated by the world he had come to settle, Theo headed north in the expanse of the Rasima Plains. At his back–loyal and attentive–the remaining mutants walked with defeated purpose, heads and shoulders slumped, off-kilter legs dragging. They marched like the terrified citizens of an occupied nation, like they were fleeing the murderers that wanted to eliminate their kind. They marched to escape genocide and extinction.

  Dustin and Steve had the half-men in their rifle sights. Neither fingered the triggers of their weapons.

  “Um, I’m open for suggestions,” Steve said.

  “Are they running away because they’re aware that we are killing them? Are they migrating because of some alien DNA reprogramming? Have they been excised by the slavers as unworthy mistakes? Are they retreating to regroup for an offensive?”

  “What’s the minimal decision we can make for our safety?”

  “If we shoot at them now we might kill five, six. It’ll take us twenty rounds to do that. We
need to save our ammo for slavers and let the infantry guys do the heavy lifting with their carbines. I think they’re fleeing. I think Theo has enough brains left to understand that we’re killing his kind off, and he’s leaving so we lay off. That’s my gut.”

  “Are we putting everyone’s lives on the line, based on your gut?” Ping-Pong asked.

  “Don’t be dramatic. And yes, we are going on my gut. There’s a good part of Theo left, and if he wanted to do damage to us, he would’ve.”

  “I hope not.”

  “I’m not wrong.”

  When the sun set that day, the tiny speck of a distant Theo still led his people, but to what, Dustin didn’t know.

  Back in Stahl the slavers that gave birth to the new breed of humankind remained, and a new plan was formed to deal with their presence.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Pioneer 3 transorbital vessel hangar in Gharian orbit

  25 November 163 GA

  Melody sat on a crate beside the landing gear of a transorbital. They’d just returned from the mess hall for lunch and her lower back hurt, as did her pelvis. She leaned against a landing strut and propped her feet up on a second crate to get the swelling in her feet down, but it didn’t seem to be helping. This was a new development. Just yesterday she’d been fine, but today her feet and ankles looked like someone had hooked an air pump to them. She had affectionately begun to refer to them as her “hippo feet.”

  She wouldn’t say that out loud near anyone else, but she thought it.

  Andy, Dan and Melody had been removed from the flight rotation when their change of station and status orders came in. When Andy had reported Beagle unable to fly, they’d been assigned short term to the hangar repair teams, which was duty they relished. Without the upper echelon flight officer nonsense, they were left to their own devices, and that meant they could work on the Titan departure at will.