“You will have a new commander upon our arrival on Purgamentium,” the admiral said, looking defeated despite her erect posture and firm voice. “But you can rest assured that I’ll be with you in spirit. You have all done me proud.”
The brass that was with her in the conference room stood up and applauded while she slowly saluted them, then turned to the holo pickups. She held the salute for too long, then cut away before stepping off the platform. Brigadier General Reicker, the task forces’ second-in-command and senior Confederation military rep, stepped up and said, “Commanders, take charge of your units and carry out your orders.”
“So, we go get to do cross-training? For what?” Loren deSpiri asked, her voice bitter.
“So we can crush the Grubs,” BK said.
“Yeah, and how’re we gonna do that by cross-training? You saw what they did to us, and to the Klethos, too. No training’s gonna make us into super-Grub killers, you know.”
BK opened her mouth as if to answer, but kept silent. Hondo could feel the atmosphere in the compartment chill.
“The Capys, they seemed invincible,” he blurted out.
“What?” several voices asked at once.
“The Capys, when we first found them, they seemed invincible.”
“Bullshit,” BK said. “The fucking Capys?”
Hondo understood their incredulity. The Capys, or Trinoculars, were a sad testimony of what could happen to a species. Relegated to a few reservations on human worlds, there were probably fewer than 100,000 left alive. In popular culture, they were a dying race, owing their continued existence to humanity.
But it hadn’t always been that way. When the two species first interacted, the Capys had sent the humans packing.
“No, it’s true. On G.K. Nutrition Six, that’s where we first met. They wiped out a Marine battalion and almost a second. Ryck Lysander was there.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s where he got his first Nova, right?” Brute asked.
“Not quite. He got it on HAC-440, but yeah, it was against the Capys. Hell, he killed one of them with a freakin’ grappling hook.”
“How do you know all of this?” Sam asked.
“I read. Maybe you should try it.”
“If the Capy’s were so tough, then why are they all gone now?”
“They weren’t that tough. We just didn’t know how to handle them yet. Once we understood them, once we knew what made them tick, it was all over. They couldn’t stand up to us.”
“Or to the Klethos. That’s why they came into our space in the first place, right?” BK asked.
“Yeah, right. They were between two more aggressive races, and they couldn’t compete,” Hondo said.
“So how are the Capy’s and the Grubs related? I mean, look at the differences,” Loren asked.
“They’re not exactly related. But what is related is that the key is understanding the things. Once we do that, nothing can stand in our way.”
The small berthing compartment was silent as the Marines digested what they’d heard. Hondo knew that Marines like BK were hyped up to take the attack to the Grubs, to punish them. He knew that others like Loren were not as confident given what the battalion had just gone through. He understood those feelings. But he also understood why they’d been ordered to Purgamentium.
The Grubs were a threat to mankind. He was sure of that. They weren’t ready, they hadn’t been ready, to fight them. They couldn’t go into battle half-cocked simply for political reasons. The next time they faced the Grubs, and Hondo was sure there would be a next time, they had to be ready to kick some Grub ass.
PURGAMENTIUM
Chapter 6
Hondo
“Hell!” Sergeant Mbangwa shouted, his voice full of frustration. “There they go again. Keep up with them.”
“You heard the man,” Corporal Yetter said. “Let’s go round them up.”
The entire squad bolted forward at max speed, trying to run down the Klethos. They were in full berserker mode and running all out, so the Marines were just able to keep the eight Klethos in sight as they ran across the rubble-strewn ground.
“Don’t let them draw their fucking swords,” the sergeant passed.
Like we can stop them? Right.
At the base of the low ridgeline, six targets were waiting. They started firing, registering hits on the Klethos who never stopped their charge. At 30 meters out, the Klethos started dropping their disrupter rifles and reaching for the swords slung across their backs.
“Hell, no!” Sergeant Mbangwa shouted.
The light played off the polished blades as they slashed through the air, decapitating or slicing bodies in two, bodies that cost the UAM over 120,000 credits each. As the last automaton fell to the dirt, the eight Klethos stopped, neck frills extended, while they screeched their victory cry.
“Sergeant Blue!” Sergeant Mbangwa shouted over his externals. “I told you to wait for my orders.”
He ran to the Klethos he’d designated as “Sergeant Blue” for the exercise, almost chest-bumping the warrior.
“Why did you charge off like that?”
“We won, Sergeant Mbangwa,” the Klethos said in her normal voice, which to Hondo, sounded like a mother explaining the obvious to a child.
“Of course, you won, you idiot. Those were training aids, not a real enemy.”
A Marine in a PICS massed 800 kg; the Klethos had another 400 kg on top of that, and that sword was both sharp enough and tough enough to cut through a PICS armor, but Sergeant Mbangwa seemed unconcerned that with one flash of Klethos temper, he’d be cut in two.
“We won,” the Klethos said again.
“God help me,” the sergeant passed on the squad circuit before taking two deep breaths, then saying, “Look, Sergeant Blue. We are trying to learn how to work together. We are trying to teach you Klethos tactics. Melees went out more than a millennium ago.”
“A warrior defeats the enemy by force of will,” the Klethos said, and for the first time since the battalion had been integrated, Hondo thought he detected a note of what had to be scorn in the Klethos voice.
“If all it took were force of will, then the Grubs wouldn’t be kicking your ass all around the galaxy.”
Each of the Klethos heard the accusation, and Hondo instinctively tensed for a fight, but they each stood passively while Sergeant Mbangwa lit into them.
“Let me try this, Sergeant,” Mbangwa said. “The Klethos-lee came to us for help not because we are bigger or stronger than you are. You came to us because you are losing the war, and you want new ways to fight. You put your honor in the ring with Sally Mae and the Purple Sledgehammer . . .”
At the word “honor,” each of the gathered Klethos’ neck crest twitched.
“. . . to ask for our help. And as honored opponents for 120 years, we agreed. We agreed to become blood brothers and sisters to defend your honor. And now that you are rejecting our help, you give us dishonor.”
Oh, nice tack, Sergeant, Hondo acknowledged.
A change came over the Klethos, a slight shift in posture. One of the other warriors said something in their whistling language, and two more responded back in kind. Hondo kept an eye on their crests, knowing if they raised, that a fight was probably in the making.
It wouldn’t be the first fight. Two Brotherhood hosts had been killed in what the Klethos explained was a “friendly” fight over honor. That had almost killed the experiment of a mixed Klethos-Human unit, which due to the losses suffered by 3/6 and the survivors’ 100% vote to remain with the brigade, had fallen to the battalion.
The twelve remaining Marines and Doc Pataki slowly shifted positions to protect their squad leader if it came to blows.
“This is a matter of honor?” Sergeant Blue asked.
“Yes, it is.”
Hondo took a step closer to his sergeant. He didn’t know what the Klethos would do when honor was at stake.
Sergeant Blue turned to the other seven Klethos. Whistling and clicking
filled the air. Hondo thought he felt the tension in their tone, but as they’d been briefed ad nauseum before the Klethos joined the battalion, he couldn’t assign human characteristics to the alien race. “Anthropomorphism,” the scientists called it.
The big warrior spun back to Sergeant Mbangwa and fell to her knees, all four arms outstretched, her neck exposed.
“I am shamed I took your honor. I offer myself to you.”
The Marines and Doc stepped back, looking at each other in confusion.
“What is the correct way to restore honor to where it belongs?” Sergeant Mbangwa asked in a firm but calm voice.
“Honor is restored when you restore it.”
“And if I kill you?”
Shit, sergeant. Don’t push it.
“Honor is restored when you restore it,” she repeated.
Sergeant Mbangwa slowly placed his PICS foot on the Klethos’ neck. The Klethos-lee were large and powerful, but a good stomp in a PICS would break it. Hondo looked at the other Klethos, but he couldn’t make out any change of expression or posture. Their neck crests hung limp.
“I say honor is restored,” the sergeant said, lifting his foot.
There was the slightest twitch in the Klethos’ left minor hand, the only indication that she might have been stressed. She rose and stood silently as if nothing had just happened.
“So, if we can go back to the start, can we do this envelopment again? No melee?”
“As you suggest, Sergeant Mbangwa,” Sergeant Blue said.
“Holy shit,” BK passed over the fire team net as they all marched back to the range starting line. “I thought we were about to rumble, but Sergeant Mbangwa . . . holy shit!”
“That was pretty intense,” Corporal Yetter said.
“Does everybody have balls those big on Paradhiso?” Sam asked Hondo.
“If they do, then what happened to yours, Hondo?” BK asked to the laughter of the other two.
“Eat me,” he replied with a smile they couldn’t see.
He and the sergeant came from different strata on their home planet, but still, he felt the warm glow of pride. Sergeant Mbangwa was one hell of a Marine.
Chapter 7
Skylar
“That’s total bullshit, Sky, and you know it,” Knight said, kicking back from the table. “I mean, it just makes no fucking sense.”
Sky took three deep breaths, afraid of blowing up at the arrogant asshole. Doctor Knight Hastert was a preeminent organic chemist, something he was never hesitant to remind people. The worst thing about the man was that he was, in fact, brilliant, maybe even to the degree his ego led him to believe.
That doesn’t mean he’s right here.
“The lack of a nervous system does not automatically mean that the Dictymorphs are colony creatures,” she said. “We’ve got to look beyond the obvious.”
“Then why their name. Think of it. And have we ever run across advanced life without a nervous system of some sort?” Knight asked as if that should end the argument.
“Dictymorph” was the accepted term for the enemy, “Dicty” for Dictyostelida, the slime mold that lived independently until a chemical reaction caused them to gather into a singular supermold, and “morph” because they could change their shape. Skylar thought it an unfortunate term. The creatures were far, far advanced beyond the primitive slime molds. The name implied a more basic organism, and that was a dangerous mindset when trying to understand an enemy.
“Knight, we need to consider all possibilities,” Peyton said. “Please listen to what Skylar has to offer. She has quite an impressive mind behind her pretty looks.”
Oh, God help me! she thought, trying not to roll her eyes in frustration.
Hastert resented her presence on the team, but Janus was trying to get into her panties. Between the two of them, she didn’t know what was worse.
Focus on the mission!
The Dictymorph samples had revealed a treasure trove of data, but they were so different from known science that they created more questions than they answered.
Humanity had long thought that science had uncovered most of the universal truths. Sure, there were unanswered questions, but those were only tiny gaps in the total picture. Science had unlocked the secrets of existence.
Humanity had also “known” that the Earth was flat, too, and that rocks didn’t float because they “wanted” to move to the center of the universe. And now, with the Dictymorphs, science was having its current Earth-is-not-flat moment.
Even the residue taken from her arm and from other victims defied analysis. It had properties of an acid, but there was more involved in there, something the best AIs were still trying to decipher. There had been molecular damage, whether to armor or tissue, and that caused the initial injury or breach. Beyond that, something kept wounds from healing properly. Sky had gone through the three days of regen the doctors had said she needed, and her wounds had closed, but her arm remained scarred despite the medical team’s best efforts.
Luckily, she had been touched by only a tiny amount of splatter. The weapon could take out a PICS, and she shuttered to think of what a full hit would have done to her.
“OK, Sky,” Knight continued in the smarmy, condescending tone that made her want to . . . well, she wasn’t about to hit the man, but she wanted to do something to him. “Give me five points of analysis that leads to you to conclude that the Dictymorphs are single sentient agencies.”
“I don’t have five,” she admitted. “Sentient, well, I think we’ve already established that. But for the rest, I just don’t think we know enough to arbitrarily dismiss the possibility.”
“Arbitrarily? You are accusing me of being arbitrary?” Knight said, looking around at the others with a condescending do-you-hear-this-naive-young-thing-in-over-her-head expression on his face.
OK, maybe I do want to hit him.
“Yes, I am. I think, Doctor Hastert, that you are so stuck in your past research that you lack the ability to push beyond that. You lack the ability to delve into the unknown, and that, given our situation, is dangerous,” she said, rising to her feet, her eyes glaring.
Knight Hastert’s mouth dropped open in surprise, and it took a moment before his face flushed red, surprise being replaced with anger. He sputtered as he rose as well, nothing intelligible coming out.
Finally, he managed a “How dare you, you little unimportant, jumped-up piece of nothing. I’ve done more ‘pushing’ into the unknown than you—”
“Doctor Hastert,” Executive Counsellor Baker, who was heading the meeting, interrupted. “Sit down. You, too, Doctor Ybarra. Both of you, this is not how men and women of your accomplishments act. I’m surprised at you, acting like children.
“In case either of you haven’t noticed, we are at war, and we, those of us in this room, are the real tips of the spears, if I can co-op the Marines’ phrasing. We are the tip, because until we can figure out the Dictymorphs, we cannot devise weapons to defeat them, and unless we get those weapons into the hands of the Marines, Host, Legion, and whomever, the Dictymorphs will work their way through Klethos space and into human space.”
Sky continued to glare at Knight, leaning forward, hands on the desk in her most aggressive posture. He glared back. But the Executive Counsellor was right. This was bigger than a simple clash of egos, of course. This could be life or death for humanity.
She didn’t think she was letting her ego get in the way of rational thinking. She knew she could sometimes carry a chip on her shoulder, she could sometimes be defensive, but she was sure Hastert was blinded to the possibilities.
She took her three deep yoga breaths, and putting the mission first, said, “I am sorry, Knight, if I insulted you. That was not my intent. Of course, I admire your contributions to chemistry.”
Hastert glared at her for a few more moments, then said, “I accept your apology.”
Oh, you piece of shit, Sky fumed. That’s how you’re going to play it? You’re not going to off
er an apology, too?
She wanted to scream at him, taking back what she’d said, but she could feel the executive counsellor’s eyes bore into her. With an extreme effort of will, she sat back down and remained silent.
Across the table, Janus winked at her.
God save me from these idiots, she prayed as Executive Counsellor Baker got the session back on track.
Chapter 8
Hondo
“Hondo, keep an eye on Mr. Perkins,” Corporal Yetter passed.
He gave a quick glance to the left, but Mr. Perkins, named for the berserker serial killer in “Death Comes A’Knocking,” was dutifully in his position as the Klethos rifleman.
If anyone were going to break, it would be her. After six weeks of training, most of the Klethos finally seemed to realize that they couldn’t simply rush off in a mass assault. The Grubs were simply too powerful for that. If the Klethos-Human military alliance were going to succeed, then they would have to rely on tactics to defeat them.
Hondo wasn’t completely sure that the Klethos fighters bought into human tactics, only that the d’solle had determined they would try out the concept. The decision made, honor required that the warriors comply.
Much progress had been made, he had to admit. “Their” squad, except for Mr. Perkins, was reasonably disciplined, and she hadn’t broken into an outright melee mode for three days. Still, this dog-and-pony had all the higher-ups in attendance, and the exercise was being live-streamed to every government of man. The stress was bad enough down in the trenches, but the brass must be about shitting bricks, just waiting for the exercise to break down in chaos.
Lieutenant Silas had pulled Hondo and Lyle Masterson from Second Squad, assigning them to bird-dog Mr. Perkins and Boudica, their two biggest liabilities. If either of them so much as twitched wrong, the two Marines were to tackle the Klethos and hold them down. Staff Sergeant Aster, Sergeant Mbangwa, and Corporal Yetter were continually on his butt reminding him to watch Mr. Perkins.
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