Dixie Ship Atlanta, orbiting planet Dix
1 November 2128
It was just past midnight and Admiral Toutant-Beauregard was still trying to digest the horror story reported by a young lieutenant on the planet. He immediately ordered that no personnel were to board either of the captured battleships or transport ships unless they were wearing full spacesuits. Full decontamination would be required before returning to their own ships.
“XO, have the marine commander and our surgeon report to me in half an hour in my stateroom.” The need for real intelligence meant a team would have to go to the surface. A medical team with marine guards should do the job, the admiral felt.
Exactly half an hour later there was a sharp double wrap at the door.
“Enter!” Toutant-Beauregard called out. As the two men came in, he said, “Please take a seat, gentlemen. At this hour, I’m not going to stand on formality. I’m sure you have both heard our Halloween story about zombies—oops, our lieutenant is calling them wobblers—taking over the planet. I want a medical team to go down to the surface and get a couple specimens to bring back to the ship. The specimens will be brought back in stasis pods to reduce the risk of contamination. Put them in isolation and find a cure, if necessary. I do not want any unnecessary risks to the team you send. That being said, I don’t want any innocent civilians killed, either. Since there’s already a scout team at New Mississippi, that will be the ground location to get the specimens. Any questions, gentlemen?”
“What do we do if we come across any trick-or-treaters?” the surgeon asked, laughing at his own joke.
“Doc, the only transmission I’ve been able to get from our home world says the planet is dead, and you sit there braying like a Jackas. You won’t find any trick-or-treaters because it is now 1 November. As soon as you have your team ready to depart, notify the bridge and you’ll be cleared to depart. Good evening, gentlemen.” The admiral opened the door to let the officers out, wishing each of them good luck.
Dixie Ship Georgia, en route to planet Dixie
1 November 2128
The occupants of US Special Operations Command Shuttle “Thunder” were all miserable. It was day three of being cooped up inside the shuttle, and there were still two days to go. To make it even worse, their NCOIC was determined to use every opportunity to give training to his team.
“Who can tell me how many forms the Spectrum Ocular Device— SOD for short—comes in?” Staff Sergeant Coyle asked.
Specialist White jumped up. “The SOD comes in three styles. The first style is made after glasses, for wear with the Optical Deflection Combat Suits. The second style is for attachment to beamers and other individual and crewserved weapons. The third style is a visor attached to helmets for vehicle drivers.”
“Good answer, White, but you just answered three questions. What are the settings on the SODs, Winters?”
“The three settings for the SOD are: infrared, heat, and night vision, Staff Sergeant Coyle,” Specialist Winters answered.
“How do the ODC suits work, Sergeant King?”
“The Optical Deflection Combat suits protect the soldiers who wear them by deflecting light. Caution must still be maintained when the soldier wearing the suit stops all movement, as the soldier can then be seen by the naked eye if an enemy is close and alert. Caution must also be used to observe noise discipline when wearing the suit,” Sergeant King replied.
Everyone is doing outstanding. Who can tell me the three settings on the beamer? Let’s see … Tanaka, wake Garcia.”
Specialist Tanaka lightly tapped Specialist Garcia, who jumped up and proceeded to answer.
“The beamer is the main infantry weapon for use off-world. The beamer weighs fifteen pounds and is thirty-six inches long. The power supply for the beamer is a self-charging solar battery that attaches to the beamer like a standard magazine.
“The battery can recharge itself either when it is in the beamer or when removed. Depending on the amount of light, it takes between three to eight minutes to charge.
“The beamer has three function settings. The first, which is a narrow beam, has the longest range but the narrowest point of impact. It’s the size of a silver dollar at its contact point. The second beam setting pulses out a beam encompassing a thirty-degree arc, left to right, to a range of three miles on full power. The final setting is the dead man’s setting. Once triggered it becomes a grenade that will vaporize everything out in the open inside a hundred feet, after thirty seconds, giving the triggerman marginal time to get away.
“The beamer has power settings of one to five. In a pinch, the beamer can be used to drill a small hole or tunnel. On setting one the beam will go through a foot of hardened steel from up to three miles.
“The lower settings use less energy, so they can go longer before needing to be charged. At this time, when a beamer is carried in the field, a soldier usually carries three batteries, at a pound each.
“The beamer has no moving parts other than the power selector and the function switch. It requires no field-level maintenance—”
“All right. Point taken. I believe you all know your new gear. That concludes our lesson for today.” Coyle wondered how much longer until someone cracked from cabin fever as he watched Specialist Tanaka crack his knuckles annoyingly for the third time in the last hour.
Gray Panthers headquarters, Arizona
1 November 2128
Dan mulled the plan over a last time and decided it was already past due to take action. Pressing the comm button in his ear, he called Grub.
“Grub, the day has come. I want your ship to be repaired and for the cavern to be opened. I have plans that only the Grub can do. How long will it take to repair the Grub so it’s space worthy?”
“The Grub actually is space worthy. I have had droids performing repairs since the day you discovered me. With the number of mining tunnels we have created around the Grub, it should only take two days to make an exit,” Grub’s avatar replied as it appeared to be searching for fleas. The avatar looked like a groundhog, except it was six feet tall and had fangs.
“I’m going to need you to arm the Grub to the maximum possible. I plan on taking a trip to League of Planets space, and we are going alone—so you will need to have another AI take up the responsibilities you have been handling.” Dan waited, remembering when he first met Grub, He knew that Grub was resistant to anything having to do with war or weapons, and now he was going to arm the Grub.
“That will not be a problem. I am anticipating that it will be a diplomatic mission and that the weapons are for last resort. By the time the exits are completed, I should have a dozen batteries of beamers installed.”
“Grub, do you have any terraforming abilities as part of your original design for colonizing planets?” Dan asked as he tried to figure out how it would assist in his plans.
“I have limited abilities and assets for a project like that. That was part of the reasoning behind the Flem wanting to find a new home that would be underground.”
“I would like to turn the planet Glory from being mainly semi-arid wastelands into a land that can support a larger population. I think if I could bring that to the bargaining table it would help my fight. Are you familiar with the problems there?” Dan asked half-expectedly.
“The Flem had evaluated the problems the Jacka had, and they’d come up with ideas to solve those problems. They didn’t follow through because they were concerned that the population would become too large and would need to expand, especially since the Jacka are so militant. There are plants and grasses that could be transplanted to their world that would thrive in their deserts and make it possible for other crops to grow afterward. There are also areas that have large deposits of bentonite clay that could be mixed into the sand with microbes that would promote growth and water retention. These areas would also need to be irrigated. It would only take a year for the planet to be noticeably greener, and every year larger tracts of desert could be reclaimed f
or farming or even growing forests and improving the ecosystem.”
“Looks like a lot of things can be done there. I want you to examine all of the different options and their pros and cons. The increase in population is not to be considered a negative factor the way the Flem viewed it,” Dan made a point of reiterating.
Outside New Mississippi, planet Dixie
1 November 2128
Scotty once again climbed up to the top of the hill to monitor the main thoroughfare into New Mississippi. The ground was cool and a little damp as he lay down on his stomach, bringing his binoculars up to his eyes.
The streetlights of the city were still on, so he could easily see where he had been earlier. He forced himself to see if they were feeding on the scouts still or if they had moved on. The bodies of the scouts were gone. Scanning the rest of the wobblers, he finally saw what seemed to be one of the scouts. One of the wobblers was in the unique camouflage uniform worn by the scouts. Enhancing the magnification of the binocular made it appear as though the wobbler were only a few yards away. The front of his uniform shirt was black from where it had been drenched in his own blood. His face and neck, while spotted black with dried blood, showed no injuries or damage.
Scotty put down the binoculars for a second to confirm with his naked eyes that it was one of the scouts. Putting the binoculars back to his eyes, he zoomed in again on the wobbler scout. It was the same young scout who had not been able to fire on his wife. The scout’s eyes were white, with no sign of color in his irides.
“Damn! Lieutenant Semmes, you’ll want to see this,” Scotty called softly. The lieutenant popped up from his sleeping bag, and the rest of the scouts followed.
Scotty pointed to the wobbler scout and handed his binoculars to the lieutenant. “I don’t know if that’s good news or bad, but there’s your scout. I couldn’t see any injuries. They seemed to have healed, but you can see all the blood on his front,”
“We’re going back for him! Keep your eyes out for Kim, too. Stay the hell away from everyone else. No shooting. We’re going to use speed and maneuverability. Let’s mount up now!” Semmes ordered.
Scotty grabbed the lieutenant as he started toward the scout vehicle. “What are your plans to keep him from attacking us? He looks like a wobbler, he walks like a wobbler, and I have a feeling he’ll bite like a wobbler.”
“I’ll figure out something when we get there, if need be. Now let’s move before we lose him!” Semmes urged as he tried to break free from Scotty.
“You mean like you figured out something on the fly when we lost your man after Kim went down? Your man is gone. Don’t throw away any more of the living for the dead. You need to stand down!” Scotty released the lieutenant as the two continued to glare at each other.
Realizing that Scotty was speaking the harsh truth, Semmes conceded. “Everyone stand down. I’m not going to lose anyone else,” he ordered. Then he walked over to the scout vehicle and fired it up. “Captain Culpepper, if I don’t come back, please assume command of my team,” he called out to Sam.
Not waiting for a reply, he gunned the engine, causing the vehicle to fishtail, the wheels throwing dirt and grass everywhere. Minutes later, the team saw the scout vehicle exit from the forest and rocket toward the city of wobblers, a long trail of dust in its wake.
The foul smell of the wobblers made Semmes shudder as he realized that he was once again about to enter into a nightmare. The wobblers were attracted to the noise of the vehicle as he swerved around them. The closer he got to where he last saw his scout, the more numerous the wobblers became, and he was forced to slow down. Hands started to grab at him as he slowly passed by. Thirty feet ahead he saw the uniform of his scout, and he held down the horn on the steering wheel. The scout turned and wobbled quickly toward him.
The vehicle bounced as Semmes hit an unseen wobbler. When he swerved to keep the vehicle from flipping over, he overcorrected and went flying as the vehicle tumbled in a cloud of dirt and grass.
Semmes lay still for a moment, thankful he felt no pain. Then he looked over and saw the boots and camouflaged combat pants. A pair of uniformed arms reached down to him. Looking up, Semmes stared into soulless white eyes just before the scout-turned-wobbler began to feed on his neck. Shock kept Semmes from feeling any pain. Acknowledging that he would soon be dead, he softly cried to himself at his failure to save his man. Within moments a floating sensation came over him and everything went black.
“The stupid son of a bitch! I told him not to do it!” Scotty tucked his head into the crook of his arm, not wanting to say anything else. His other hand, shaking with frustration, still gripped the binoculars.
Dixie ship Atlanta, orbiting planet Dixie
1 November 2128
Lieutenant Lemons watched as the medical team cinched down the two stasis chambers. The shuttle for this mission was configured for rescue and extraction. The configuration would allow for eight patients and four medics. Four marines were augmenting the team for security.
Lemons would be in the chase shuttle, in the event anything happened to the lead shuttle and an extraction was needed. The chase shuttle only had fold-down seats from the wall. Only six marines would be on the shuttle with him. The configuration would make it easy to fit everyone from the first shuttle, in addition to the marines, if the first shuttle were damaged.
After reviewing the last-minute items with the two shuttle pilots, Lemons decided it was time. It felt weird having to plan a mission to their own planet’s surface.
“Okay, let’s go downtown. Medic One drops first. Medic Two will fly chase. Let’s do what we need to do, and everyone comes home.” Lemons worried about what more he should have planned, since like everyone else in both shuttles it was his first actual mission.
The mood in the chase shuttle was optimistic. Dixie had kicked ass saving Earth. Then they had headed back to Dixie and kicked ass again in orbit. Now all they knew was that they were playing it safe before coming home. Lemons worried about the risk of biological warfare being used against them all.
Scotty was the first to hear the shuttles coming in and wondered what they thought they were doing. He was impressed by the pilots’ formation flying as Sam dropped to his side.
“What are they doing? Semmes reported the danger. I listened to him give the report,” Scotty exclaimed angrily.
“I’m sure they want to send in a team to verify and get samples. No senior officer is going to say they did something based on what a lieutenant told them,” Sam replied.
As the first shuttle stopped in midair and prepared to drop down, a red laser beam from the city’s self-defense battery sliced it in half. Miraculously, it didn’t explode or catch fire. The two halves crashed to the ground, spilling out the occupants. The second shuttle dipped and charged toward the laser battery. Four lines of red lasers shot out from the shuttle and merged on the self-defense battery, causing it to explode. A huge ball of fire rose and filled the sky with dense black smoke. The shuttle made one more pass over the city before turning back to the downed shuttle.
Six injured survivors were trying to help each other out of the rubble, none of them realizing that the wobblers were almost upon them.
“Damn! What’s that smell?” one of the marines asked. Though the air already reeked of fuel, scorched metal, and burnt insulation mixed with blood and other bodily fluids, a thick new stench overpowered the rest—a putrid combination of excrement and rotten meat. Two of the injured marines looked up in time to see the horror in front of them. They reached for their pistols, since their carbines had been lost in the crash.
“I can’t do it!” The corporal reversed his grip on the automatic and punched a woman in the side of her face with it. As the woman fell, he stepped on her and swung again, making contact with an old man wearing a hospital gown. When the old man hit the ground, the corporal stepped on his soft stomach and propelled himself clear, congratulating himself for only getting a few bites and scratches in his dash to freedom.
The wounded medic pulled a metal rod from the meaty portion of his thigh and quickly tied off his leg with a rag bandage. Nodding to the remaining survivors, he picked up the metal rod and swung it in the air.
“Okay, you guys go the same way the corporal did and I’ll bring up the rear. since I can’t move as fast,” the medic shouted over the moaning sounds coming from the wobblers.
The first marine picked up the flight helmet that had rolled away from the dead pilot and pulled down the visor to cover his face.
“Follow me, you guys, and keep moving,” the marine yelled as he bent over and charged through the crowd, using his speed and power to make a trail behind him. The first wobbler in front of the powerhouse was a teen-age girl, who flew a half-dozen feet from the marine’s rush. The next wobbler, a heavyset man wearing a peacekeeper’s uniform, only slid a little to the side as the marine bulldozed through, blocking for those behind him. The next marine clubbed the peacekeeper alongside his head with his automatic, dropping him to the ground. The wounded medic was able to keep up but had to keep using the rod on those who had been knocked down and were clawing at his legs from below.
The survivors caught up with the corporal about a hundred feet farther away from the city. Now that his fight-or-flight instinct had subsided, the corporal’s training kicked in and he mentally kicked himself for his cowardice. He wasn’t going to fail his comrades again.
“Everyone, let’s bring it together,” he shouted. “We got the advantage on those things. We’re fast and can use our weapons. All we need to do for now is just stay tight and keep moving till the shuttle returns for us. Let’s clean up and patch those wounds. If you see something you can use as a weapon, grab it,”
He pulled his med kit from his belt, trying to keep an eye on the crowd slowly making its way toward them. He grabbed a wipe from the kit and cleaned his face and neck, ignoring the burning and stinging. After using the last of the wipe on his hands and wrists, he gave himself one last inspection, amazed that he had no serious injuries. Tossing the wipe, he went to assist the medic, who was trying to work on his leg and was in major pain. The corporal handed his med kit to the medic as he eyed the approaching crowd. The rancid smell was growing stronger, and the corporal decided to move another hundred feet out.
Gray Panthers: Dixie Page 8