Planetside

by Michael Mammay

  “Situation unknown. Hit it like it’s hostile. We’ll march to our objective,” I said.

  “Roger, sir!”

  I sat down and buckled myself in while the lieutenant started barking orders into her mouthpiece. Down the ship, soldiers started checking their weapons, tightening their kit. They didn’t require much direction. These were pros who knew what to do.

  Mac looked at me and I gave him a confident nod. He’d have been listening in on the platoon’s channel and heard the word from the lieutenant. He offered me one of his grenades, but I waved him off. Nobody needed a colonel throwing grenades.

  “Fighters made their pass, sir,” called the co-pilot. “No movement reported.”

  “Roger.” I allowed myself a moment of hope. Maybe the diverted landing was legit. With twenty-two soldiers plus me and Mac, a short move through a reasonably friendly area was an inconvenience, not a major threat.

  “Plenty of room on the pad. We’ll land in a forward stagger, the other ship to our left rear,” said the pilot. “We’ll pop both doors for exit on either side.”

  I looked across at the lieutenant to see if she heard, and she nodded. “Roger,” I said. The staggered landing allowed our exiting troops clear fields of fire with minimum masking from the other ship. We’d still be easy targets in an ambush, but at least we’d get to shoot back without hitting our own people.

  The last minute before landing stretched with anticipation. We came in fast and hit the ground with a thud that jolted me in my seat. I popped my belts off but stayed seated to let the soldiers hit the ground before me. They’d have the battle drill down and I didn’t want to get in the way. Two or three troops went out each door before I heard shouting over the idling engines. Excited shouting.

  Bad shouting.

  I jumped up and forced my way into the line of exiting soldiers, pushing someone out of the way. The heat and light hit me as I stepped out, almost physically stopping me. As my vision adjusted I saw what had to be a couple dozen Cappans with their elongated yellowish faces and large, round eyes, thin rifles leveled at the human troops who escorted me. Soldiers hit the ground and took up prone firing positions, their rifles pointed back at the unexpected welcome party. It was a miracle nobody had fired a shot yet.

  I could hear the lieutenant yelling from the opposite side of the ship, but I couldn’t understand her. “Translate,” I said into my helmet, and after a brief hesitation the sounds resolved into recognizable words.

  “Lower your weapons.” The Cappan’s voice came across in the metallic sound of the translator.

  “You lower your weapons!” Lieutenant Baxter’s voice, loud, but under control.

  “Where did they come from?” I asked, using the ship’s frequency.

  “They were hiding inside the buildings, sir. There are at least eighty,” said the co-pilot. “Maybe more inside.”

  “Scan the buildings,” I told her. “How did the fighters miss that? Bring the fighters in low and fast, but tell them not to engage without my express order. I don’t care what happens here . . . not without my order.”

  “Yes, sir,” she responded. “Not without your order.”

  I walked around the front of the spacecraft and past the lieutenant. Mac scrambled behind me and I could hear him shouting, but I ignored him. “I’m Colonel Butler. Are you our escort?” I didn’t know which of the Cappans had command, but I made a guess based on their positioning and directed my comments at one near the front.

  “Lower your weapons,” the Cappan answered.

  “We’ll lower our weapons, you lower yours.” I turned and faced back toward the ship just as Mac got there and flung his head around, probably looking for an angle he could take to block fire from hitting me. It was useless. They had us surrounded, and more shooters on the roof.

  “Lower your weapons,” I said to the lieutenant.

  “But sir . . .”

  “Lower. Your. Fucking. Weapons.” I broadcast over her frequency so that every soldier heard me. They didn’t react quickly, but tension released, fingers came off triggers. Gradually they lowered their barrels, though they stayed in prone positions and could aim again quickly.

  I turned back around to find that some of the Cappans had lowered theirs. The scream of two fighters grew into a deafening roar as they passed overhead, low enough to kick up a cloud from the dirt road between the landing pad and the warehouses. A few more Cappans lowered their weapons. If somebody shot here, a lot of folks were going to die on both sides, and everybody knew it.

  I walked further forward, my rifle hanging from a strap, my sidearm still holstered. “Stay back, Mac,” I said, as he made to follow. I didn’t look to see if he complied, keeping my eyes on the Cappan leader. He was a good fifteen centimeters shorter than me, which was about average for his race. He wore a brown tunic and lighter brown leggings, nearly identical to all his companions.

  “We got diverted from our original landing location. We’d appreciate your help getting to Colonel Karikov’s headquarters.”

  It took the Cappan a moment to answer. I didn’t see a transmitter or a receiver, but I assumed he was talking to his leader. Cappans never put the real leader out in front, and whatever they’d expected when we got off the ships, I didn’t imagine it was someone asking for an escort. I treated them like they were friendly. No reason not to. If they weren’t, this had only one ending anyway.

  “Come, follow,” said the Cappan after what seemed like five minutes, but was probably closer to one. Sweat dripped down my back under my armor, and not just from the Cappan heat.

  We walked along a dirt road wide enough for two large ground vehicles to pass, every step kicking up dust that the light breeze didn’t have the energy to clear. A full five dozen Cappans escorted us, keeping to the outside, weaving their way around the low scrub brush and a few scraggly trees, making it abundantly clear that we weren’t free to deviate from the chosen route. I didn’t care, as long as it got me to Karikov without anybody getting shot. I’d put us in the situation. Nothing to do but to play it out. The fighters continued to orbit above us, high enough that I couldn’t see them, but I heard them talking on the ship’s frequency. They’d get back quickly if I needed them.

  The shuttles checked in with me before they took off, roaring overhead and back into space. They were too vulnerable on the ground without support, and I didn’t want to split our force to defend them. I hoped we wouldn’t need them in a hurry.

  I walked close to the lieutenant in the center of the formation. “When we get there, no matter what happens and what you see, keep your people alert. Don’t relax, even if you see humans. Don’t trust anybody.”

  Lieutenant Baxter looked at me and her eyes grew wide inside her dark face. She started to speak, then stopped and nodded.

  “Listen, Baxter. Everything is fine. I just don’t like when things deviate from plan, so I’m not taking any chances. Got me?”

  “Yes, sir.” Her voice sounded slightly stronger. It made me sorry for lying to her. Nothing was fine about this. I should have aborted the mission.

  I walked on.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  We approached what looked to be Karikov’s camp along the same packed dirt road. They’d cleared away the trees around it, leaving only a bit of scrub. Nothing that could provide cover for someone approaching. Four poles marked the entrance to the camp, two on either side of the road creating a sort of entryway in the dust leading up to the gate. Something hung from each pole, heavy and not moving in the light wind. I didn’t recognize them until we drew closer.

  Cappan corpses.

  Mother of Planets . . .

  Three of the four blue and yellow splotched bodies had darkened to a brownish bruise color, as if they’d hung there a while. Two of them had had their eyes gouged out, leaving sockets caked with old blood. The freshest corpse had blood vessels bulging out in its sclera, as if maybe someone had choked it to death.

  I stopped for a moment, as did several
of my human escorts. If the Cappans walking with us noticed, they gave no indication, and only slowed when they realized we’d stopped following.

  “Come, this is the camp,” said the Cappan I’d first spoken to upon arrival. He was the only one who’d communicated with me during the entire operation.

  “What are those?” I asked, gesturing toward the bodies with my head, so I didn’t have to point with my hand and be obvious.

  The Cappan glanced up at his dead brothers. “Enemies.” He started walking again, not waiting to see if I followed. After a few more seconds I gestured to Baxter, and walked into camp through the gate that one of our escorts opened. I scanned up and down the fence line, looking for human guards. From the look Mac gave me, he’d noticed the absence too.

  Most of the Cappans remained outside; maybe a dozen led us into the compound where the road widened into a dirt courtyard with six or seven buildings on either side, mostly prefab military polymer, but with some added construction out of a gray, local wood. Our boots crunched on thin gravel, providing the only sound beyond the low hum of generators that ran outside each building. The military facilities had small armo-glass windows, but the tinting reflected light and blocked any view inside. I’d have felt much better if I saw a human anywhere.

  We approached the largest of the buildings, a boxy two-story thing maybe forty meters along the front. Karikov’s headquarters, probably. We stopped and the first Cappan walked up to the door and punched a code into the old-fashioned keypad. The door slid upward. The Cappans had unescorted access to the headquarters. I hadn’t seen that before. Either the humans completely trusted Cappan security or there were no humans. Regardless of trust, I’d still prefer my compound guarded. The door shut behind the Cappan, leaving us standing out in the sun. Even early in the day it caused sweat to bead on my forehead.

  Baxter circulated among her milling soldiers, talking to each one quietly. More than one glanced around afterward, checking the surroundings. Over the next couple minutes they casually drifted apart some, spreading out. If the Cappan escorts noticed, they didn’t react. Neither side raised a weapon, but nobody exactly let one fall, either.

  Maybe five minutes later the Cappan came back out with a human captain. He had no headgear and an ill-fitting uniform, and sported a two-day growth of beard. He waved a lazy salute at me as he approached.

  “Sir, glad you made it.” He held out his hand, which I considered ignoring, but shook.

  “What’s with us not landing here?” I asked.

  “Transmitter’s out, sir. Fried. Lightning. Two big storms this week. Contract techs are due in today to work on it.”

  Bullshit. “But you knew I was coming.”

  “Yes, sir. Sure did.”

  “And you didn’t think to let us know the transmitter was out.”

  He looked puzzled. “We published it in the air order, sir. We thought you knew.”

  I wiped a drop of sweat out of my eyes. “So what was that with the welcome party?”

  “The Cappans, sir?”

  “Yeah. The Cappans.” I tried to keep the edge out of my voice, but I’m pretty sure I failed.

  The Captain—Benton, according to his name tag—gave me the same puzzled look. “They secure that area, sir. We’ve only got twenty people here. We don’t go out except on mission. The Cappans do everything.”

  I bit back a nasty reply. I had to remember that Special Ops did things their own way. Blowing up on a captain wouldn’t help, anyway. “Where’s Colonel Karikov?”

  “This way, sir.”

  I expected to go into the headquarters building but instead we walked to the next structure down, a small, wooden building with a low polymer-panel roof set well off the road near the back corner of the headquarters. The door had a hand pad, but Benton ignored it, knocking instead. We stood for half a minute or so before something inside scraped toward the door. After a few more seconds a lock turned with a click and the manual door swung open.

  I waited for the captain to go in before me, but when it became clear he intended to stay outside, I stepped through into the darkness. The room smelled of sweat, urine, and dust. It went dark when the door closed behind me. Shapes took a moment to resolve as my eyes adjusted, but even in the shadowy darkness I could make out Karikov walking with an exaggerated limp, like one of his legs didn’t work. It dragged on the dirt floor, caught on a small carpet for a moment, bending up the edge of it.

  “Colonel Karikov?”

  He sat on something that might have been a cot, but I couldn’t tell without lights. The only illumination came from small cracks between the weathered boards. “Yeah. You Butler?”

  “Yes.” The shadows grew more distinct as my eyes dialed in, showing me shapes, if not colors.

  “Didn’t think you’d make it.” His voice had a rasp, like he’d been drinking dust.

  “I tried to get here a week ago. My convoy got hit by Cappans.” I kept my voice neutral. I thought I’d feel anger when I met Karikov face to face, but I found my curiosity held it in check.

  “Haashaaw!” He made some half-laugh, half-cough noise. “Figures.”

  I waited for him to explain, but he sat quietly in the dark.

  “You know why they did it?” I asked.

  “Haashaaw! It’s what they do. Fuckers.”

  I didn’t understand him. He sounded like he meant something specific, but it could have been anything. “I saw the bodies. On the poles by the gate. What’s that about?”

  “It’s a warning.”

  “It’s barbaric,” I said. “You work with Cappans, but you display their dead like that?”

  He coughed. “Those are bad guys.”

  “They look the same, though. How can you tell?”

  “They know. The Cappans. They know.”

  “It’s not right, putting them on display.”

  “No, it’s not,” he agreed, his voice trailing off a little. “There’s a chair if you want.”

  “Then why do you do it?” I found the crude wooden chair in the dark and sat.

  “It’s not us. It’s them.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “The Cappans. They put them up there.”

  “They strung up their own people?” I asked.

  “Haashaaw! Shit. You don’t know the half of it. They do worse than that.”

  “The Cappans.”

  “Listen, Butler.” He paused. “The Cappans are a brutal, ruthless people. You don’t know. I live here. I’ve seen what they’re capable of doing. And they’re a hell of a lot smarter than anyone gives them credit for, too.”

  “So tell me.” If there was a chance the Cappans conducted the attack on my convoy without his knowing, I wanted to hear it.

  Karikov didn’t answer for a moment. “The Cappans would kill every one of us if they had their way. Every human they could touch.”

  “You’re still alive.”

  “Pfft. Because they need me. And they know if they took us out, we’d come in stronger. Scorch the earth and then dig through their bodies to get the silver.” His head slumped, and I wondered if maybe he’d somehow fallen asleep.

  “What happened to your leg?” I took a different line of questioning to get him speaking again.

  “Huunh. Old injury. Robot leg stopped working.”

  “Elliot came here.” I didn’t ask, because I didn’t want to give him a chance to deny it.

  “Fuck Elliot!” He nearly stood up, and his sudden shout jarred me.

  I sat for a moment, waiting for his rage to subside. “I’m not a fan of hers either. But she’s a good doctor.”

  “Kwwwaaaha!” He wailed, then broke down into a fit of coughing.

  I waited, this time, letting the silence drag out more than a minute until he spoke again.

  “You don’t know, Butler,” he whispered. “What I had to go through, what she wanted me to go through again. You don’t understand.”

  “I do understand,” I said. “I don’t have it as bad as you
with a full leg, but I lost a foot. Above the ankle. I know what the therapy is like.”

  He sat silently once again and I thought he may have fallen asleep until I heard him, either giggling or sobbing, his body shaking slightly. “You don’t understand.”

  “Then help me fucking understand!” I didn’t know what to do. I felt like I was so close to answers, but I didn’t know the questions. I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that, but Karikov threw me. I dug my fingers into my thighs to regain focus and bring myself back under control.

  His sobbing grew louder, clearer, wracking his body, his head in his hands. After a moment he reached out with a shadowy, trembling arm and hit a switch. Four globes lit up from the wooden ceiling, bathing the room in a harsh light.

  The furniture consisted of the small cot, the chair, a wooden stool that he’d converted into a nightstand, and a wobbly-looking square table. Bits of trash lay strewn about the dirt floor, but not enough to clutter the small room. But the man himself drew my attention more than the room.

  Karikov’s hair flew from his head in a wild mess, his beard unkempt, shot through with gray. His eyes sucked back into the worn leather of his face with black circles under them so pronounced it looked like someone had punched him in the nose. His skin had an unnatural yellowish tint, hanging off of a frame that might not have seen nutrition in days.

  His eyes grabbed me. His pupils didn’t contract in the light, nearly filling his irises. His pupils . . . they weren’t round. They were oval . . . like a Cappan’s. “What happened to you?” I whispered.

  “Haashaaw! Haashaaw!” He threw his head back like someone laughing maniacally, but the sound he made didn’t match. I began to wonder if he might be mad. Two and a half years planetside . . . but if he was insane, surely someone would have reported it. He didn’t leave, but others rotated in and out. Didn’t they? They had to know. His head stopped and he seemed to focus on something off to the side.

  “Karikov?”

  He brought his head slowly around until he faced me again. “Elliot.”

  “Elliot what? What’s Elliot got to do with this? Your eyes . . .”