Outpost Hell

by Jake Bible

  There was light coming from his left. Possibly daylight. That was a good thing. The pile of metal and plastic had plenty of hunks that could be used as weapons. That was a good thing. His enviro suit and battle armor were still intact. That was a good thing.

  Hold on. No, that wasn’t right.

  He patted his face and realized that he still had his helmet on, but the faceplate was gone. Only jagged chunks of plastiglass were left around the edges.

  “Shit,” he snarled.

  The air on the planet was breathable, but not for long. He remembered that from the quick briefing before they set down on the sandy nightmare. How long would he last out in the elements? How long had he been asleep, and what effect was the atmosphere already having on him?

  Nothing he could do about that. Damage, if any, was already done. All he could do was push forward.

  The thought of pushing nagged at him as he stared up at the ceiling and the crystalline substance that encased his boots. Push. Push… Push?

  Pull.

  His boots were trapped, but his feet weren’t. They were only inside his boots. If he could figure out how to undo the clasps and loosen them, then he could possibly slip his feet out and fall free. It was only a two-foot drop to the floor of the cave, so not much risk there. Of course, he would then be without his boots, but maybe he could use one of the hunks of metal to chip away at the crystal and get them free as well.

  Only one way to find out.

  Nordanski fumbled at his left arm. The controls for his wrist implant were active, so he had that going for him. He tapped at the controls for a few seconds, hunting for the boot release protocols. Just like all Marines, he slid his feet in and clasped the boots by hand. Simple push of a couple buttons and they were snug as a Xevian bug in a Katoumian rug. He hadn’t had to use his wrist controls since his training days.

  “Submenu four, sub-submenu three… Damn. Okay, okay, submenu four, sub-submenu five?” he muttered as he scrolled through his suit’s systems. “Nope. A big nope. An Eight Million Gods damn nope.”

  He started from the beginning, accessing each menu, submenu, and sub-submenu one at a time. No boot controls. Helmet controls? Yes. General suit diagnostics controls? Yes. No boot controls.

  He hesitated at the comm controls and the distress signal submenu. Worth a shot. He entered the correct sequence of gestures, but nothing happened. Not even a squawk in his helmet. Comm was dead and even the backup for a distress signal wasn’t coming up.

  Back to the boot hunt.

  Nordanski almost gave up after a fruitless thirty minutes more of searching until he realized he had it all wrong. He was way overthinking it. Boot controls weren’t in any of the menus or submenus. They needed to be accessible quickly. He waved his hand over his wrist, resetting everything, and brought up a basic display. Blinking at the bottom was a small, red cube. Nordanski poked it and started to laugh. Boot controls. Right there with helmet volume and bodily waste disposal.

  Before activating the release, Nordanski took a quick look below him to make sure he hadn’t missed anything like hidden blades, spikes, broken plastiglass, or anything else that might make the two-foot drop very unpleasant at the end. Nope. Whoever had strung him up had confidence that he wasn’t going anywhere.

  Nordanski activated the boot release and laughed as the clasps came undone and the boots loosened instantly around his feet. Then he fell two feet onto his right shoulder and cried out as that distinct pain that only came with a dislocation wracked his body. Followed by a screeching protest from one of his ribs.

  “Fuck!” he yelled then clamped a hand over his mouth.

  It was an awkward move since he had to shove his gloved hand through his broken helmet. It was even more awkward since he only had one useable arm, and when he moved it to clamp his hand over his mouth, his whole body weight shifted entirely onto his dislocated shoulder.

  “Fuuuuggggggg,” he snarled behind his glove.

  Okay, no time for pain and panic. First, he had to get up. Second, he had to find somewhere on the cave wall where he could wedge his bad arm in for leverage. Third, he had to pop his shoulder back into place and try not to crap himself. Fourth…well, he hoped he would be conscious for a fourth.

  He shuffled around the piles of debris until he saw a nice little niche about four feet up from the cave floor that was just about arm width. It would be tight, but tight was what he needed.

  Nordanski was about to head right for it when he distinctly heard the clomping of feet coming his way. Heavy feet. Powerful feet. He froze. Nordanski stopped breathing and cocked his head. The sounds were coming from a dark passageway he hadn’t noticed before. The passageway was definitely getting brighter and brighter as the footsteps got louder.

  Whatever had taken him knew how to use a light. That meant it had basic intelligence. That thought was almost worse than if the thing had been more of a wild animal. It sure had fought like one back at the drop ship.

  One…

  No, there had been a second. The memory of the second shadow attacker hit him like a ton of bricks. Dislocated shoulder and at least two captors? Time to run like hell. He turned to what he thought was the entryway and took off, ignoring the stabbing pains from jagged rocks and other debris that littered the floor and assaulted his bootless feet.

  ***

  The barrel of Kay’s carbine pressed into Taman’s temple while Chann and Ma’ha covered her, keeping the rest of the angry-looking people at bay. For the moment. None of them knew what weaponry the outpost inhabitants had, so the offensive could be over any second.

  “Start talking!” Kay yelled. “Tell us the truth about what the hell this place is or your head is mist!”

  “Please, Private Kay, the truth is not so simple,” Taman pleaded. “There are certain factors you will have to consider before—”

  He cried out as the tip of the H16’s barrel began to glow red-hot. Kay’s finger was slowly pressing the trigger.

  “Please!” Taman cried. “I will tell you what I can, just don’t hurt me or any of my people!”

  “I don’t want to!” Kay snarled. “Don’t you get that? I don’t want to hurt any of you! I just want to know where me and my teammates have found ourselves! Give me some answers and things won’t get ugly!”

  “Might be too late for that,” Ma’ha said as two doors down the corridor slid open and half a dozen men with various heavy tools in their hands stepped out, their eyes filled with rage. “Kay? We’ve got company.”

  “How many?” Kay asked.

  “Six. Big guys. Big like me,” Ma’ha said. “Span-hammers and jumble wrenches in hand. They look like they know how to use them.”

  “Chann?” Kay asked, her focus entirely on Taman.

  “Yep, big like Ma’ha,” Chann said. “They aren’t happy.”

  “Can you take them?” Kay asked.

  Chann glanced at Ma’ha. The two Marines shared a look.

  “We’re in a Horgnuk situation,” Ma’ha said.

  “You sure?” Kay asked.

  “He’s right,” Chann said. “Horgnuk all the way.”

  Kay growled low in her throat then eased the barrel of her H16 back. Taman took a deep breath and instantly relaxed a little.

  “Thank you,” Taman said.

  “We aren’t done here,” Kay said. “Call off your goons.”

  “Goons?” Taman asked. “That is highly insulting, and they are not mine to call off.”

  “You’re the leader here, so lead and tell them to put away the heavy tools and back the fuck down,” Kay snapped.

  “I think you’ve misunderstood my position,” Taman said. “I generally take point with newcomers because I have a way with negotiating, but we have no central leader.”

  “It’s a co-op, not a cult,” Chann said, making Ma’ha snort.

  “Oh, well, that’s so much better,” Ma’ha replied, the sarcasm dripping from his words.

  “Just tell them to back down and we’ll be fine,”
Kay said to Taman.

  Taman cocked his head and looked past Kay. He gave a brief nod and the six men encroaching on them slowed then stopped. They did not put down the makeshift weapons.

  “Chann?” Kay asked, her attention never leaving Taman.

  “Still armed,” Chann said. “But they stopped moving.”

  “Taman, I am only going to ask one more time,” Kay said. “Weapons down too.”

  Taman nodded again, and the six men crouched and set their weapons on the ground then slowly stood back up.

  “Can we talk now without a threat of violence?” Taman asked. “I would like to explain our situation here in more detail so we can avoid any future misunderstandings.”

  “If you’re not the leader, then perhaps I should chat with someone else and get the scoop from them,” Kay said. “You don’t have a problem with that, do you, Taman?”

  Taman grimaced, but didn’t respond.

  “That’s what I thought,” Kay said. “Whether you own it officially with a title or not, you lead these people. Where can we talk, just me and you?”

  “There is a room down this way,” Taman said. “It is small, but comfortable.” His eyes went to Kay’s carbine. “Would it be too much to ask if you leave your rifle here?”

  “Not at all,” Kay said. “I’ll set it outside the door. You aren’t armed, are you?”

  “What? Oh, all the Heavens no,” Taman replied. “Most certainly not.”

  “Just a simple no would have worked,” Kay said.

  “Then no,” Taman said.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the two Marines that still covered the rest of the crowd.

  “Keep the peace,” Kay said. “I mean it. Horgnuk was bad, but we sure as shit don’t want a Bgru on our hands, got it?”

  “Got it,” Chann said.

  “Not a problem,” Ma’ha agreed.

  “Good,” Kay said and motioned for Taman to start walking. “After you.”

  ***

  “Okay, I lied,” Manheim said, his body drenched in sweat. “I can’t take pain like I thought I could.”

  He wiped at his face with a towel and took several deep breaths.

  “Did I pass out?” he asked. “I feel like I passed out, but I have no idea. That pain took me places I have never been. It was out of body, to be sure.”

  “I warned you,” the AI said. “To attach the field prosthetic meant intense and constant nerve retrofitting and attachment.”

  “And knocking me out wouldn’t have been an idea to consider?” Manheim asked.

  “No. Not in the timeframe you wanted the job completed in,” the AI replied. “I needed accurate and immediate nerve feedback. That must be done without anesthetic. I am sorry for your discomfort.”

  “Discomfort? Discomfort is getting the tip of my dick caught in my zipper,” Manheim said. “That was way more than discomfort.”

  “Again, my apologies, but I did warn you,” the AI said.

  “No blame, just saying that you may have undersold the pain level,” Manheim stated.

  “The job is completed,” the AI said. “You are wasting time by rehashing the experience.”

  Manheim chuckled then groaned.

  “You’ve been around too many Marines,” Manheim said. “You’re starting to develop an attitude.”

  “If you could please try standing, that would help me finish diagnostics,” the AI said.

  “Not going to respond?” Manheim laughed. “Yeah, way too much time around Marines.”

  “Sergeant Manheim, if you would please—”

  “I’m standing, I’m standing,” Manheim interrupted as he slowly swung his legs over the edge of the med pod and lowered his feet to the floor.

  “Take it slow, please,” the AI said. “All I need you to do is stand up and stay standing for five seconds.”

  “Five seconds?” Manheim asked. “Not a problem.”

  He pushed away from the med pod and stood on shaky legs. Even his intact leg was weak from the procedure.

  “One second, two seconds, three seconds…whoa,” Manheim said as he put a hand back to steady himself.

  “Please, I need you to remain still,” the AI said.

  “Yeah, that’s easier said than done,” Manheim replied. “Five seconds feels like forever.”

  “Take a few deep breaths and let’s try again,” the AI suggested.

  Manheim took the AI’s advice, leaned back against the med pod, took several deep breaths, steeled himself, then pushed off and stood as still as he could.

  “Very good,” the AI said after five seconds.

  Manheim collapsed onto the floor.

  “Sergeant?” the AI called in a concerned voice.

  “I’m good,” Manheim replied, his shaky voice sounding anything but. “Just give me a minute.”

  He sprawled out on the floor and rested for a couple minutes before rolling over and pushing up onto his hands and knees. One knee being a brand new piece of tech.

  “It doesn’t feel any different than my real one did,” Manheim said.

  “Good. That means the nerves are communicating properly,” the AI responded. “Any tingling or numbness in your foot? The toes are the hardest to connect to, being furthest down the limb.”

  “Toes are wiggling like normal,” Manheim said, wincing as he moved his toes. “A little tingling, but like my foot fell asleep and is now waking back up.”

  “That is how it should feel,” the AI said. “These are good signs. You will be ready to leave the drop ship shortly. Once you learn how to walk.”

  “I know how to walk,” Manheim said.

  “No, you do not,” the AI replied. “You think you do, but you are mistaken. Your brain must establish a report with your body’s new limb. It will not take long, due to the programming of the prosthetic, but if you thought you would be up and running instantly, then you are mistaken.”

  “Fine, let’s walk,” Manheim said as he pulled himself upright using the side of the med pod. He grunted and pushed away. “Here we go.”

  He turned and made it three steps before his balance began to fail him and he had to crouch down on the floor, head between his legs. Manheim had seen plenty of prosthetics. Marines were notorious for getting limbs blown off and needing cybernetic replacements, but seeing one on his own body was almost too much for his mind to handle.

  “Sergeant? Are you alright? Your stress levels are elevating rapidly,” the AI said.

  “I’m good as can be,” Manheim said as he slowly stood back up. He waited to make sure he wouldn’t fall right over then took a few careful steps towards the med bay’s door. “Easy does it. Easy does it. Easy does it.”

  “That is excellent progress,” the AI said. “There is a spare uniform in the locker to your right. You should put it on and descend to the fitness room. I would like you to use the treadmill for ten minutes before you attempt to leave the drop ship.”

  “Wasting time,” Manheim said, but his voice lacked any conviction. “I can’t spare ten minutes.”

  “Ten minutes is not even the minimum time required after a procedure like this,” the AI said. “It would be best if you spent the rest of the day on the ship so I can fine-tune the calibration of the limb. But I do not believe you will cooperate with that suggestion.”

  “Ten minutes will be fine,” Manheim said.

  He opened the locker, found the spare uniform, which was a size too big, and left the med bay. His legs felt like rubber despite one of them being made of plastic and metal alloys. It took him a lot longer than he liked to make it to the lift and descend one deck to the fitness room.

  “How am I looking?” Manheim asked.

  “Your stride is becoming more natural,” the AI said. “But it will be months before you are able to move without a slight limp.”

  “Months?” Manheim exclaimed.

  “Months,” the AI replied. “At this point, we are merely trying for mastery over the new limb so that you can achieve optimal combat funct
ionality. I am currently outfitting new battle armor for you that will assist with that functionality. Once you are done on the treadmill, I would like you to report to the armory to be suited up.”

  “Now you are talking my language,” Manheim said as he stepped onto the treadmill.

  “We will start at the lowest setting then gradually increase the speed and incline,” the AI said. “Are you ready, Sergeant Manheim?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied.

  “Then let us begin.”

  3

  The air was breathable, yes, but for how long?

  Nordanski stumbled and bumbled his way across the sandy landscape as the system’s sun rose in the sky. The wind had picked up considerably, and he spent more time trying to keep his hands in front of his eyes than he did trying to keep his hands out in front of him for the inevitable falls and trips to the ground.

  Which happened often.

  All that he wore on his feet were his heavy combat socks. They were a thick polymer designed to wick away sweat and also compress his lower extremities in case of injury. They were not designed to be subjected to the rough terrain he was currently trying to traverse.

  The planet may have been covered with sand, but under that sand was a layer of rock carved by a sadist. Nordanski’s feet felt like hashed meat.

  Which meant he was leaving a trail of blood behind him as he tried to flee the scene of his incarceration.

  Nordanski glanced over his shoulder as he clambered up a short sand dune. The entrance to the cave he’d crawled out of was halfway obscured by drifts of sand. He could still easily see the trench he’d created as he scrambled out of there, but as far as he could tell, there were no pursuers on his ass.

  As far as he could tell…

  Before he turned his head forward, the sand under him shifted, and he found himself falling head first over the other side of the dune. He’d been climbing the soft side of a small cliff, not just another dune like he’d thought. Nordanski tucked his bad shoulder, hoping to flip onto his back and avoid a painful impact, but he couldn’t get the momentum right and he landed directly on his injured arm.