Battle On The Marathon

by John Thornton

  “So, Bread is dead, and our plan is to give this biome an injection to cause a future resurrection?”

  “Succinctly put. That is the plan, yes. The human population will reside in the unused portions of Chicago, which are being readied for occupation. Then the humans will return to Bread years from now,” Lieutenant Gonzales stated.

  “If the Jellies are all gone.”

  “That is the plan. When it works to drive them out of Bread, we will do the same thing in all the other habitats. Well, that is my assumption.”

  That night I slept in a small apartment near the clinic. I did not see much of the town of Bransdale. I heard a lot of people who were packing, loading, and arranging things for their journey to the evacuation centers. I knew the egress door to the shell, which was just off the main street of Bransdale was one of those evacuation centers. Just before I dropped off to sleep, someone knocked at my door.

  It was a child of about ten years old. He was pulling an old-fashioned wagon. On that was a parcel which obviously had come through a gravity conduit as it was sealed and packaged in that specific manner.

  “Thank you,” I told the boy.

  “You are one of the heroes who will kill the monsters. I have brought you all that you need. Mommy says than when we come back, everything will be new and the monsters will all be gone.”

  “I hope so.” The package was lighter weight than I thought.

  The boy was looking at my odd arm, as well as my scarred face. He then said, “The monsters killed my dog.”

  I squatted down and hugged the child.

  After that he turned and pulled his wagon away.

  “A monster killed my dog too!” I called after him.

  He looked back and just nodded. I am glad he did not ask more about that, for I did not want to explain about Marie to a child. I had trouble enough just thinking about it.

  So instead of rehashing all those memories which were entangled with Marie’s death, I opened the package. Inside was a new set of reactive armor, a disassembled bullpup, a new version of the enpol, and a sealed box with “Ammunition” stamped on the side. I marveled that a child had been given this package to deliver to me. As I looked more closely, I realized that the sealed box was locked with a biometric latch. The energy weapon lacked its battery, so it was harmless as it was. Placing my hand against the sealed box’s lid, a green light flashed over me. The box unlocked.

  “I guess it recognizes my new limb.” I lifted my new hand and stretched out its fingers. Looking at the nails, they were different than the ones I had previously trimmed so many times. My hand clenched into a fist and then relaxed.

  I assembled the bullpup easily and quickly. I had three magazines, and enough rounds to fill each one. The box also contained four basic grenades for the launcher, and two amvex grenades. The enpol’s energy power-pack was at the bottom of the ammunition box. It had a battery for the enpol and a connection cable for my reactive armor. The enpol would recharge itself each time I put it into the holster. That would drain a bit of my reactive armor’s energy, but that was minimal.

  I considered putting on the reactive armor, but decided not to do so. The bed was too inviting, and I reclined back, propped my head on my hands, and fell asleep.

  I awoke to a clip-clopping outside of my room which I knew was horses. I quickly dressed, used the small toileting room connected to the bedroom, and stepped outside. I was eager to see a horse, since Kansas had a lot of horses, mules, donkeys, and some oxen who all were used in various manners on the farms and ranches.

  “Whoa Gold and Champagne! Stop here big fellows!” an elderly man called from the seats on a wagon. “You must be the hero known as Calhoun.”

  “Kalju, sir. My name is Kalju, not Calhoun. How may I assist you, sir?”

  “My team and I are here to assist you, big hero. Forgive me for messing up your name. That young lady, Rita, she asked me to come by and get you. The delivery of these barrels of chemicals came, you know about them, right? Right. Of course, you do. She said you were her right-hand-man. So, I came here,” the elderly man replied. He was very wrinkled and had a fairly large belly which jutted out in front of him. His coppery colored face was weathered and worn, much like the older men in Kansas I had known. His eyes were of an indeterminate color, but they met mine with confidence. He held the reins for the horses with practiced nonchalance.

  I looked from the man to the horses, as they were not like any horses I had ever seen before. They were beige, sort-of a creamy color, with short hair, except for the long, thick, white-colored, manes, tails, forelocks, and heavy hair feathering around their large hooved feet. As I walked up to the horses, I could see around their nostrils that their skin was pinkish, and they had soft, gentle, amber-colored eyes. The pair of horses was nearly identical and made me wonder if they were clones, but as I looked I saw subtle differences, so they were probably from the same sire, or dam, or both. I admired the horse’s broad chests, sloping shoulders and short, strong backs. Those well-muscled animals were natural for draft work. I earnestly wanted to tell our father about these horses and ask him if he knew what type they were. I felt like I was an eight-year-old again.

  “Hero Kalju? Did I say it right this time? Your name?” the old man interrupted my pondering and staring at his beautiful animals.

  “Yes, sir. That is my name. Your horses are fine, simply fine! Are all the horses in Bread like this? We have no horse breeds in Kansas this color or exactly this shape. Strong, powerful animals, so very fine. Oh, well, we have teams of horses, of course we do, it is just… that well… oh, I am blathering. I am sorry.”

  “Hero Kalju, nothing to apologize for, but this load of chemicals needs to get on its way, and that lady asked me if I could be your drayman for this job. She was getting the other fighters from the clinic, and asked me to help by being the drayman. I said that, right? I told her I sure could, since the MDF did not see fit to allow me to fight. I was just a wee little kid when we launched, so long ago, but have been a drayman here in Bread since I was eighteen and finished my formal schooling. Nothing like being out in the biome helping my neighbors.”

  “Sir? You were born on Earth?” I asked in even further awe. If that man was born on Earth, before the launch, then he was more remarkable than the draft horses. “Were you born on Earth?”

  “Not that I remember, not that I remember. But my folks, they told me I was. My name is Evan, Evan the Drayman. Now, I am no hero, like you are, but I think you may be needing some equipment? From what the other fighters are wearing, they have that super fancy hyper-armor stuff, and weapons. You, my new friend, you only have just those clothing. Or, do I need to haul you somewhere to get your things? Are they at the clinic? I see you got a new arm on you, and wow, that is a big to-do. Seems like just the last ten years or so they got going on that growing of new limbs. Hot-to-trot that is. Why, I recall times, back when Bread was new—trees all short and crops still getting settled into proper rotations and such—and there would be some accident, some tragedy with a baler, or a hay-cutter, or something. Well, no new limbs grown back then. Amputees got a mechanical prosthetic limb, not some regenerated one. Of course, the harvester automacubes did most of that really dangerous work, but the farmers and ranchers still sometimes got hurt, yes, they did. But now, people getting arms and legs grown back. I read that was because of some breakthrough in medicine where they…”

  “Excuse me. Yes, you are right! I need my reactive armor and my weapons. Be right back!” I cut the old man off, and felt badly about that. “Sorry sir. I do not mean to be rude and interrupt, but as you said, my lieutenant is waiting for me and your load of enzymatic detergent. I will be right back.”

  “Hurry back and we will get going. I think hero Rita has those others ready. I can see them lining up in the courtyard of the clinic.”

  I slipped into the new reactive armor, but kept the helmet off. I put the weapons, grenades, and other gear in their respective pouches, holsters, and holde
rs. Then I came back outside. The sky tube was shining down on Bread, and the light made the horses look almost golden colored.

  “I am ready Evan the Drayman. I see the Bilokos getting into formation. Thank you for alerting me. Do I just drive the horses from here or what?”

  “Nope. I am driving them. The load of chemicals here needs to get to its destination,” Evan replied with a lopsided grin, “and who better than a lifetime drayman to finish this task. Then, I hear we are all leaving. Come on Gold and Champagne.” Clicking his mouth, he guided the horses with a gentle flip of the reins.

  I jogged over to the formation of troops where people were lining up. I slipped my helmet on and sealed it in place. The display lit up and showed me too much information, so with a few moves of my jaw and chin I rearranged the information feed to what was needed and left the rest in backup positions. My situational awareness and perspective was excellent. Maybe better than the old suit. I glanced at my new arm, and tried to push the memory of that arm as a ruined stump out of my mind. What the old man had said about amputees, sort-of haunted me.

  Auditory systems were functioning well, and I could hear all the other soldiers discussing general things. Then a surprise happened. Over my display flashed a message, “Encrypted From SN LT Gonzales: ACCEPT?”

  I indicated that I wanted that message.

  “Excellent Sergeant Kalju. We are now linked on a command-only frequency. Colonel Hayyon and Major Adams are part of this network as well. I see Evan found you. He is a likeable sort, and the best transportation of our detergent as I could arrange. He is far older than he looks, which is amazing. There are no automacubes available for our use. The MDF forces are using them to herd up the people of Bread,”

  “I can see why the Bakers of Bread would need the automacubes, but I was wondering about the animal life here. Surely some provision has been made to evacuate the animals of this biome as well.”

  “Kalju, that would be impossible. The needle ship is not a biome, and was never designed for as many people as we will fit into it. Chicago can house the humans, once we get them there, but the animals of Bread have nowhere to go. Let me rephrase that, there is nowhere to put them all.”

  “Kansas could take them all,” I said without thinking it through. As the words tumbled out of my mouth, I realized the impossibility of mixing two diverse biomes, even if they were as similar as Kansas and Bread. The homeostasis of Kansas would be threatened by a huge influx of wildlife, not to mention the associated bacterial and viral contaminations which would happen on such a large scale.

  “Decisions like that are not mine to make, nor are they yours, Kalju. I am switching to address all the Bilokos. The encryption alert will not happen now that we have made a secure connection on the command-only frequency. That is our defense against another sonic attack.”

  There was a distinct difference in the sound of her voice as it was on the full-unit frequency. I noted that there were ways my armor could connect to individuals or that I could make subgrouping for communications. I listened carefully to what was said.

  “I am Senior Lieutenant Rita Gonzales, as each of you already knows. We went through a lot at the hanger bay, and we lost good friends and fellow Bilokos. Now is not the time to mourn. That time will come, although we each will grieve in our own way. Today, we have a job to do. Our numbers are small, but our cause is just. We will be taking the enzymatic detergent barrels to the bow and dumping them in the river there. This will....”

  She went on to explain in detail what was happening, and what our role in using these bio-chemical weapons against the Jellies would be.

  “Lieutenant? Why not just dump this stuff in the river near here?” a soldier named Stridell asked. His name appeared over his image on my display. “The locals say the river is just about a kilometer away from here.”

  “Our orders are to dump it in the river at the bow, which is about eighty kilometers from here,” Gonzales replied. She was not at all bothered by the question. “The scientists behind this plan believe the location at the bow is vital for the success of the mission. From my understanding, if the initial dump happens anywhere else, the concentration will be lowered as the enzymatic detergent enters the reservoir and aquifer. It would still be lethal to the Jellies and their toxins, but the process would be slowed down considerably. Reclamation of Bread would take years longer, if we just dump it nearby. And I tell you all, I want to kill these Jellies as quickly and as efficiently as we can. Our friends deserve that.”

  “Lieutenant? Why were the barrels not delivered to the bow after production?” another soldier, this one named Varbama asked. “I would think transport through the shell by way of slide-walks, or conduits would have been faster and easier.”

  “If we occupied those sections of the shell, that territory in between the bow and where the detergent was fabricated, we might have been able to do that. However, the Jellies flooded some of that, the gravitationally down areas, and other spots have been opened to space to stop the Jellie advance. No runabout shuttles are available to fly it over the biome either. Therefore, our best and fastest route is across this biome. We saw what the Jellies can do in a confined space, let us show them what we can do out in the open. Now, this wagon must be protected. So, I want soldiers on the wagon at all times. Your reactive armor will serve as shields against Jellie attacks. Set your reactive armor to Hernes-muster 47.”

  We all adjusted our reactive armor’s settings. I noted there were ten different camouflage patterns. Looking down at my armor, it had become more a collage of greens, tans, browns, and taupes. The pattern was tight and dotted in roughly pea-sized blotches. The holsters, belts, pouches, and assorted places to store weapons and gear remained unchanged in color, but they did not stand out in contrast, so the overall effect was good.

  “Excellent, you will blend in better that way. So, twelve soldiers on the sides of the wagon. Set your suits to hover mode so those poor horses do not have to haul more weight. Divide into squads, as per your assignments which will be appearing now. Sergeant Kalju and I will alternate point, and the squads who are not serving as shields will fan out to the side to watch for and destroy any Jellies which might be lurking waiting to attack us. Samuels, a word with you. Snap to it Bilokos!”

  The squad assignments showed up on my display, with me being in charge of one of them.

  I saw Samuels walk over to Lieutenant Gonzales, and then I was linked into their conversation.

  “Samuels, take the three soldiers assigned to your reconnaissance unit and scout ahead of us,” Lieutenant Gonzales was instructing. “Set up your special macroactinide capacitor enhancers with the encryption protection every five kilometers along our entire route. Something got into the command channels at the hanger bay, and I will not allow that to happen again. No sonic weapons hit us this time. Communication are essential for our success.”

  “Understood,” Samuels replied.

  I interjected, “What was that interference, that horrid screeching?”

  “Sergeant,” Samuels answered, “If I may, I believe that sonic weapon was the Jellies who jammed our signals. They used weird ways to do it. I designed these encryption systems to prevent outside attacks like that again.”

  “You designed that?” I was nonplussed, but beginning to understand who Samuels was.

  “Samuels is the best technician on the Marathon, Sergeant Kalju. That is why I recruited her. I trust her with my life.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant, I will not let us down.” Samuels rushed off, barking some commands to her recon unit.

  We formed up and moved out. The town of Bransdale was left behind us as we traveled the main road. The horses easily plodded along, while the squad who was shielding the wagon adjusted their suits and stepped onto the sideboards. Since those soldiers were in hover mode, the wagon did not drop on its springs at all. The barrels, all blue and yellow colored, were hidden by the soldiers in their reactive armor. The sight looked strange, but I could figure
no better way to protect the precious cargo.

  Evan the Drayman saw me assessing the soldiers and he gave me a knowing smile and a off handed salute. The beautiful horses seemed not to have a care in the world. They were fine with all the fuss about them, and just continued to pull their wagon.

  The road descended down from Bransdale and came alongside the river. That river was flowing away from this end of the biome, and its waters were about a kilometer wide, and shimmering in the light. I saw no traces of the brown sludge which was polluting the river, but the lack of insects, birds above or on that water, as well as the lack of any sighting of fish in those waters confirmed to me something was wrong. Every river or pond in Kansas had a swarm of bugs flying around it, and birds who would swoop over those waters to feed on the bugs. Water was life, and that was true for the fish in it, the birds who swam on it, and the insects who fluttered in around and through it. Yet, here in Bread, that balanced ecology was missing and that alarmed me. Bread was poisoned.