by Richard Fox
“Torni?” Hale said into the IR.
“She was with some kids last time I saw her. Figure she’d bring them to the shelter?” Bailey asked.
“Makes sense,” Hale said. He jogged to his waiting Marines.
“We took out three around some kind of melon patch,” Standish said. “Damn things were eating. Eating! You believe that? Since when do Xaros need to eat?”
“Since when are Xaros anything but drones?” Orozco asked.
“Great questions for later,” Hale said. “Let’s get this shelter open.” He looked back at the approaching fire. “We may need it.”
Hale went down the stairs and knocked on the door. He heard a rustling within.
“Marines from the Breitenfeld,” he announced, knocking against rusted metal. There was no answer. “To hell with subtlety,” he said and reached for the handle.
“Sir!” Torni’s warning came before he could open the door. She was at the top of the stairwell, panting, a pair of Dotok children in her arms. “Sir, step back very, very slowly.”
Hale backed up the stairs, his rifle trained on the door.
“Kids say there are banshees in there,” Torni said. The children nodded as Caas nibbled on her fingernails and pointed to the door.
“Caas, no!” Ar’ri pulled his sister’s hand away from her mouth. “Momma said.”
“Kids say a lot of things,” Orozco chided. “I almost got my head blown off by an IED because some little Malaysian brat promised me his family’s shed was safe.”
“Cover me.” Hale pulled a magnetized disk off his belt and pulled out a few yards of thin wire attached to it. Marines used them as cams against a ship’s hull as an extra safety measure when working in the void. Flying off the side of a ship, “Going Dutchman,” was a harrowing experience and not one that guaranteed survival. Hale tossed the disk at the door and it snapped on. He gave the line a jerk and the door swung open with a squeal.
“I see bodies,” Orozco said.
The Dotok kids started whimpering.
A hulking shadow marched toward the open door. Standish snapped off a shot, then pulled a grenade from his belt.
“Flash bang out!” He threw the grenade through the open door and ducked aside.
Hale turned to the Dotok kids and saw Torni was already shielding them with her body.
Hale wrapped an arm over Torni and added his mass to block any shrapnel.
The ground shook as the grenade exploded. Standish rushed into the shelter and three shots sounded from within.
“Clear!” Standish shouted.
Hale pulled away from Torni, who held the children close to her, whispering into their ears.
“It’s OK. I’ve got you and I won’t let anyone hurt you,” she said to each Dotok.
Standish trotted up the stairs and brushed gray blood off the edge of his rifle. Hale tried to step around him to get into the shelter, but Standish put up a hand to block him.
“No, sir. You don’t want to go in there,” Standish said, his ever-cocky tone subdued.
“Got some civvies,” Orozco said. He took a hand away from his cannon and pointed at the plot of bushes. A handful of Dotok stood between the rows of bushes, staring at the Marines. All were filthy, covered in dirt and grime.
Hale pointed to the shelter. “It’s safe now.”
“You’re…humans, I presume. From the Breitenfeld?” a middle-aged-looking female asked.
“That’s right. Where is the rest of your village?” Hale asked.
The speaker shook her head. “I think we’re all that’s left.”
“We can get everyone out in two Mules,” Orozco said. “Maybe one Destrier if the life support can hack it.”
“Right now we don’t even have one Mule.” Hale’s gaze crept up the cliff face, the top obscured by haze and smoke.
“How’d these civvies ever get to and from their capitol? I don’t see any landing pads or airstrips,” Orozco said.
“There is, or was, a tunnel, leading from each settlement to New Abhaile,” Hale said. “Cut right through the planet’s crust, forty-five-minute travel time. Decent alternative when a hyper loop isn’t an option. Briefing I got said the Dotok blew all the tunnels after the Xaros hit the ground. Dotok were shuttling settlements back to New Abhaile. Looks like they couldn’t get to them all.”
“Sucks to be that guy making those decisions, huh?” Standish said. “Who lives, who dies …guarantee there’s no right answer.”
“There is always a correct answer to any tactical question.” Steuben walked over with Yarrow at his side. The medic saw the Dotok as they gathered at the end of the field of berry bushes and looked at Hale expectantly.
Hale nodded toward the civilians and Yarrow broke off from Steuben.
“‘You save the most,’ isn’t that right, Steuben?” Hale asked.
“A worthy answer,” the Karigole said with a nod.
“Philosophy aside, how’re we getting out of here?” Bailey asked.
“We can squat and hold…or we send up a balloon.” Hale looked at Torni. “Sergeant Torni, we did bring an IR balloon, right?”
Torni stood up and brushed dirt from her knees. “The IR balloon is specialist equipment, and I assigned Corporal Bailey to carry it as part of her kit.”
Heads swung toward Bailey.
“I was trapped in my turret, remember? You think I had room for anything but me in there?” she said.
“So the balloon is a non-starter,” Hale looked back to the fire, on the other side of which was the wrecked Mule.
“You mean this kit?” Steuben said. He slung a pack from his shoulder and handed it to Bailey.
“Crickey! You saved Bloke!” Bailey unzipped the pack and took out the two halves of her sniper rifle. She hugged the weapon like a child with a favorite toy.
Torni reached into the pack and found a rectangular box. “We’re in business,” she said.
“With Bailey unable to extricate herself from the pod, and our rather abrupt descent, it seemed prudent to grab whatever I could,” Steuben said.
“Prudent?” Hale asked.
“Timely. Apropos. Inspired. Serendipitous,” Steuben said.
“I know what it means, Steuben. Good work,” Hale said.
“Sir, you want to come see this,” Yarrow said to him over the IR.
Hale trotted over to Yarrow, who was wrapping a compression bandage on an elderly Dotok’s forearm.
“What is it?”
“Minor injuries, mostly. I can’t give them any drugs. Something as innocent to us as Motrin might send them into anaphylactic shock,” Yarrow said. He smoothed out the bandage and got a smile from the old Dotok.
“That’s not why you called me over here,” Hale said.
Yarrow touched his neck and switched off his translator. Hale did the same.
Yarrow held up a dirty swab with blood congealed against the tip. Gray blood. Hale’s mouth went dry as the implication became clear.
“I got that cleaning out a laceration,” Yarrow said. “I don’t have a DNA scanner, but I’d bet you a steak dinner that those banshees,” his voice lowered, “the banshees are Dotok.”
****
Torni entered a message onto her forearm screen and waited for it to upload to the communication balloon. A green light blinked twice, and she removed a wire that ran from her gauntlet to the balloon case.
“Ar’ri, Caas, come here,” she said to the two children who were doing a terrible job of hiding behind a wrecked cart. Caas led her brother over by the hand.
“He doesn’t think you’re ugly,” Caas said. “He’s sorry.”
“I’ve been called worse. You two want to do something fun?” Torni asked.
They nodded in unison.
“Here…put your finger on this button. When I count to three, push it. Ready? One…two…”
Ar’ri pushed the button and a balloon inflated from one end of the carry box. It expanded to nearly a yard in diameter and rose into the air. Ar�
��ri laughed and clapped his hands while Caas crossed her arms, brooding.
“Do you know what that was?” Torni asked. “It will float into the air and call for help. Our planes use special technology that…only we can use.” Ar’ri waved to the departing balloon while Caas kicked at the dirt.
Since the last banshee was killed, none of the other Dotok had come over to check on the two children. All the other survivors were children, women with babies, or the elderly.
“Caas, where are your parents?” Torni asked.
The girl pointed a finger toward the fire. “They sent us with teacher to the shelter, then the flying noorla used their lasers to start the fire. Can Mommy and Daddy run through the fire like you? They have the hard clothes too.”
Torni took the little girl’s hands in hers and squeezed her fingers.
“Oh, Caas…” Torni choked up, then forced her emotions away. She was a Marine and a non-commissioned officer; she wouldn’t look weak in front of anyone. “I…we’ll look for your parents when we get to New Abhaile, all right?” Caas’ pale green eyes looked on the verge of tears, but she nodded and looked up, watching as the balloon faded away into the haze.
Torni felt a tug on her shoulder. Ar’ri held a hand under her face.
“Hungry,” he said.
Torni reached into the cargo pouch on the small of her back and fished out a small box of chocolate-covered cracker sticks. They were her favorite, and possibly the last box in existence that had chocolate and almond sprinkles. She’d found it at the bottom of a sea bag when she moved into the barracks in Phoenix, and she didn’t have the heart to eat the very last of her pogey bait from before the Xaros invasion.
Torni tore open the box and made a presentation out of giving a single stick to Ar’ri. The little boy snatched it from her hand and devoured it. Torni tapped Caas on her elbow and gave one to her.
Caas sniffed at it and took a tentative bite. “What is it?”
“A Pocky stick, they were my favorite when I was your age,” Torni said.
Caas looked at the cracker like it was an ancient artifact, then gave it to her brother.
“Sarge, Yarrow said these are safe for us to eat.” Bailey walked over, carrying a handful of white berries. “And the others say they’re in season.” Bailey knelt down and held the berries while Caas and Ar’ri ate them one at a time.
“Let them eat. We’ve got ration paste,” Torni said.
“Umm, ration paste,” Bailey chuckled. “I’ve had vegemite that tastes better than that garbage.” The sniper smiled and tussled Ar’ri’s hair. “When was the last time you saw children, Sarge?”
“I saw a few in Phoenix.”
“You have kids? Before?”
“No. I had the Corps. You?”
Bailey’s mouth twisted. “Baby girl. Left her with my sister when I signed up for the Saturn mission. Plan was to send for her once we got settled, Titan station up and running.”
“What was her name?”
“Abigail.” Bailey sniffed and wiped a tear away. “She looked like her deadbeat father. Only thing that bludger ever left us were my Abbie’s eyes and her curls. Ah, look at me gettin’ all clucky.”
A high-pitched whine filled the air. Torni stood up and scanned the sky.
“Doesn’t sound like Xaros, does it?” Bailey asked.
The children latched onto Torni’s legs and whimpered.
“It’s OK. It’s OK.” Torni made out a Destrier heavy transport craft descending through the haze, the anti-grav thrusters whining like a bone saw. “They’re on our side.”
“Gall, this is Raider Six,” Hale said through the IR. “Thanks for getting here so quick.”
“We saw the wreck of Mule Eight and were looking for you on the wrong side of the fire,” Durand said. “Good thing you sent up a beacon. How many more transports do you need over there?”
“One Destrier is enough,” Hale said.
“I thought there were…roger. Load up and we’ll get the civvies to New Abhaile,” Durand said.
Torni hefted the children up in her arms and carried them to the waiting ship.
CHAPTER 6
Lieutenant Sam Douglas woke up and stretched. The single sized bed mattress must have been made of springs and tissue paper, but Douglas couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so well. Life at the Kilauea Rest and Relaxation station was a huge improvement over what he and his soldiers had in Phoenix. No constant calls for formation, head count, or being parceled out as labor to assist whatever civics project didn’t have enough robot workers that day. Still, even that was better than living aboard a space ship.
When their time came for a platoon R&R pass to Hawaii, morale picked up immediately. A transport ride across half the Pacific and their five day vacation began. Douglas took the first day to do nothing but sleep.
He swung his legs over the side of his bed and set his bare feet against the linoleum floors. The touch stung his feet like he’d stepped on a live wire. He jerked his feet up with a yelp and looked at the floor, half expecting to see broken glass. Nothing but an off-white tile. He pressed a hand against the bottom of his feet, they felt fine.
“Weird,” he tapped his feet against the floor with no ill effects. He stood up and stumbled forward, catching himself on the back of a chair. His legs felt like rubber, struggling to support his weight. He hadn’t felt this weak since his last twenty mile road march back at Fort Benning. A sudden headache pressed a vise against his temples.
He hadn’t been drinking. Food poisoning from the resorts robo-kitchens?
He picked up his Ubi from off a nightstand.
“Call Sergeant Black,” he said. Maybe he wasn’t the only one feeling like this. The call rang, but no answer.
“Call Sergeant Newell.” The Ubi slipped from his hand and clattered to the ground. Douglas flexed his fingers, unable to feel them. He looked down at the Ubi and saw drops of blood falling against its screen. He wiped blood away from his lips. Why couldn’t he taste it?
Douglas lurched over to the sink and let the blood drip down the drain. He wiped his hand across his mouth. Ribbons of flesh came away from his face. Douglas looked into the mirror and saw his cheeks drooping off his face.
He managed a ragged scream before collapsing to the ground.
****
Stacey watched the footage of Douglas’s final moments, her jaw slack.
“I told you,” Ibarra thrust a holographic finger at the probe. “Told you a six day grow was too fast for the proccies. Look at this mess,” his finger snapped to the screen.
Stacey turned away, unable to watch any more.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” she said.
“Thorsson, what’s the damage?” Ibarra asked.
The blond haired Icelander was on a screen, calling in from the procedural factory on Hawaii. He wore a hazmat suit, one that looked as if it had gotten a fair amount of use in the last few hours.
“96 percent loss on the batch,” Thorsson said. “The other four percent look to be stable—physically. Mentally, that’s a different discussion. Lab says their lysosome organelles are defective, which is why they…melted.”
Ibarra put his hands on his hips, “Can we fix that? If there’s an easy solution then we’re still in the game.”
“Jesus, grandpa,” Stacey said. “Men and women are dead. Can we take a break from the mad scientist bit for a second?”
“Time is the fire in which we burn, little one. I’ll put on a hair shirt for this later,” Ibarra said.
“It appears that nine days of gestation is our operating limit, for now,” the probe said. “Given the threat, it would be unwise to waste more resources until we can afford to fail in another experiment.”
“I never thought there’d be a day when producing fully grown and educated humans in two hundred and fourteen hours wouldn’t be fast enough,” Ibarra said.
“There is another option,” the probe said.
“No!” Ibarra shook his
head. “Absolutely not. We’ve already discussed—”
Ibarra froze mid word, like his hologram was on pause. The screen with Thorsson went dark.
“I’ve been with Marc for almost a hundred years,” the probe said. “I’m beginning to lose patience with him.”
Stacey backed away from the probe. “What did you do?”
“I suspended his matrix. He isn’t aware of what’s happened or what we’re going to discuss,” the probe said.
“Why are you and I going to discuss anything?”
“You are humanity’s ambassador. Our next choice will be of interest and discussion to the Alliance. What I’m about to show you is anathema to many cultures,” the probe floated from the central dais, its silver light spilling across the deck. “Please come with me.” The Xaros doors opened, deconstructing as tiny grains of the basalt colored material skittered away from the center to allow passage.
Stacey waved a hand in front of Ibarra’s face. She snapped her fingers next to his ears.
“Stacey.”
“Coming. Coming. Could you teach me to do that to him?” She asked the probe as she caught up to it. They walked side by side down the almost featureless passageway. Stacey felt her pulse quicken as she remembered being chased by Xaros drones around these same corners.
“No. Tell me, have you encountered the Yuun-Tai species on Bastion?” the probe asked.
“I don’t believe so.”
“The Yuun-Tai evolutionary path was very different than yours. Almost a pure predator species, you would describe them as bipedal alligators, but with fur. They give birth to litters of live young. Once the babies are a few days old, the mother consumes the runt of the litter.”
“What? That’s horrible!”
“To you. You have standards and expectations when it comes to child care. The Yuun-Tai consume the runt to rebalance the mother’s hormonal balance to enable lactation. Without this, the other babies will starve and the Yuun-Tai will end. Humans and many other species find this abhorrent, yet it must be done for survival,” the probe said.
“I assume there’s a point to this story,” she said.