Speed of Darkness

by Tracy Hickman

  She had cleared the lowering exit ramp before it even touched the ground.

  * * *

  Ardo tried to move through the barracks hatch, but he felt so confused. He couldn’t seem to concentrate very well on even simple tasks. His duffel bag got caught somewhere on the other side of the frame as he tried to enter the barracks. His face flushed red from the tittering laughter that rolled around the double rows of bunks. It spurred him to try harder, but his anger and embarrassment just managed somehow to keep him from turning the bag the right way. His mind seemed caught in some kind of a terrible loop—understanding what he was doing wrong but somehow not being able to correct it.

  “Easy, soldier,” said an older Marine from his top bunk. “Let me give you a hand with that.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself, mister,” Ardo grumbled. Some part of him was sure the old man just meant to embarrass him further.

  The older Marine snorted, then rolled out of his bunk. “Look, kid, it’s no trouble at all. Sometimes you just gotta let things slack off a little and they work themselves out. You’re just trying too hard.”

  The Marine gently rested his hand on Ardo’s arm.

  Ardo snatched back his arm angrily. The power armor protected his elbow as it slammed against the metal wall and left a rather sizable dent, but the shock of it numbed his arm. The duffel bag fell with a jumbled clank to the floor.

  The older Marine shook his head and smiled. Ardo could barely see the man through his own dizzying pain and embarrassment. He had iron-gray hair in long, unkempt strands, and the faint grizzle of a beard. Piercing dark eyes looked out of a scarred and twisted face. Ardo guessed that the man was in his late thirties, although the ravages of his face made that only a guess. That twisted face continued to smile at Ardo, however, putting his two hands up in front of him, palms out, in a sign of surrender. Then, slowly, the man reached through the hatchway, drew the bag into the compartment, and set it down in front of Ardo.

  “Easy, brother,” he said. “Looks like you’re fresh out of the resoc tank. They can scramble your head up pretty good for a while.”

  Ardo merely nodded sullenly. The electric feeling was subsiding in his elbow.

  “Jon Littlefield,” the Marine said as he extended his large, callused hand. “Glad to meet you, brother.”

  Ardo blinked. Something in the back of his mind screamed at him from a distance, but he could not understand what it was saying. The thought of being called “brother” somehow made him dizzy.

  The memories bounded and rebounded within his mind in a bewildering cascade.

  “Brother Melnikov!” His youth leader smiled brilliantly in the dawning light . . .

  His father’s voice: “All are brothers in God’s eyes, son. Brothers do not kill brothers . . .”

  “Brother?” Ardo blinked as he spoke, trying to steady himself.

  “Sure.” Jon sniffed. “We’re all brothers here— brothers in arms, brothers in combat. Face it, recruit, all we’ve got out here is each other.”

  Melani’s receding face, twisted in horror as the Zerg dragged her bleeding to the grass of the square.

  “Yes . . . of course,” Ardo said, his eyes looking down at the deck. “We’re all we’ve got.”

  Jon Littlefield deftly picked up the bag and tossed it onto the bunk beneath his own. “Don’t you worry, son. I’ve been ‘on the quick’ for most of my life as a Marine. Stick with me, boy, and you’ll do all right. We’ll straighten out your head and you’ll be feeling better in no time.”

  Ardo stared blankly at Jon Littlefield. If Littlefield was in his early thirties, then the man was old . . . older than any Marine he remembered seeing. He had seen older men before, of course, back on Bountiful. The Patriarchs of the colony were all gray-haired elders. He remembered that they all seemed so wise. It had been comforting at the time to have leaders who had survived so long. They had wisdom of their own instead of borrowed from someone else. Now that he thought about it, Littlefield was about the oldest man he had seen among the Marines who was anything less than a colonel.

  “Old at thirty” was not on any of the recruiting posters.

  What do I care? Ardo thought. I didn’t join up for the retirement plan. I owe the Zerg for what they did, and if I get my payback before they take me, all the better.

  Cutter deftly squeezed his enormous frame through the hatch. His bulk nearly filled the space between Ardo and Littlefield.

  “Well, Sergeant Littlefield!” Cutter’s sarcasm and disdain were evident in his tone as he looked down on the older Marine. “Wasn’t that Captain Littlefield when we last served together, sir?”

  Ardo was shocked for a moment that a private would be so disrespectful of an officer, even a noncommissioned one.

  Jon apparently chose to simply ignore the obvious insult as he smiled back his response. “It’s nice to see you in my squad, Private. You’d all better get on the quick now. Lieutenant Breanne has a bee up her butt and won’t stop until she’s spilled a little blood on one side or the other. You’ve got the config, so let’s get prepped and get out!”

  CHAPTER 5

  MISSION ELAPSED

  TIME

  THE WIND WHIPPED ACROSS THE CRAGGY, DESOLATE landscape. Ardo could almost feel the grains of sand digging into the joints of his Powered Combat Suit. There was no help for it. The squad was at attention. If he even contemplated making a move, Ardo felt sure that Lieutenant Breanne would make it his last. Even though the combat suit carefully controlled his body temperature to keep it at its peak performance, he felt a rivulet of sweat start to make its way between his shoulder blades toward the hollow of his back. Maybe Sergeant Littlefield was right. Maybe something was still scrambled in his head after his resoc back at the starport. He was having a little trouble concentrating, and there was a sense of foreboding that seemed to hover just at the edge of his conscious thoughts. His father had often called such notions the “promptings of the Spirit,” that still, small voice that came to men to give them divine direction. “Heed that voice,” his father had said, “and it will never lead you wrong.”

  Where was that warning Spirit when the Zerg had torn his parents apart limb by limb?

  A sharp, blinding pain shot through the back of his right eye. Ardo winced as a wave of nausea followed. The image of spraying his breakfast hash across his battlesuit visor flitted across his mind. Littlefield said it would pass, Ardo thought as he struggled to regain his mental balance. Just hang on for a moment and it will be all right.

  He tried, instead, to concentrate on Lieutenant Breanne. She stood before them, the polarized field of her bubble helmet deliberately turned down so that everyone could see her face clearly as she spoke. Everyone in the squad faced rigidly forward. No one wanted to risk catching her eye as she strode before them.

  “With everyone pulling out, they’re sending us in, my beauties,” her voice sounded before them, only slightly distorted by the helmet she wore. Aural directional enhancers in the suits made both transmitted and external sounds seem to come from the direction of their source. “The entire Confederacy force is jumping off the surface of this rock.”

  But what of the colonists? Ardo thought. Is the Confederacy leaving them as well?

  “Before we join our brothers in abandoning this dustball of a planet, we’ve got a job to do.”

  “Burning to burn ’em, ma’am!” Cutter interrupted enthusiastically in a crisp, military voice.

  Breanne smiled like a wolf in response. “You’ll have plenty to roast with that toy of yours before we’re finished, Mister Koura-Abi. I would suggest, however, that we get the present job done first and get off this rock while we still have a way out.”

  “Ma’am! Yes, ma’am!” Cutter sounded a little disappointed.

  “Your new home—if any of you are wondering—is Bunker Complex 3847. A week ago it was an outpost settlement. Folks used to call it Scenic, God knows why. It’s all ours now. Enjoy it while you can ’cause I don’t intend to stay
here one moment more than we have to for this mission.

  “There’s an old pumping settlement in the bottom of an impact crater just northeast of here. It’s a collection of scrap called Oasis about three clicks out on a radial of thirty-five degrees from the command transmitter. Set your navigational transceivers to those coordinates. Captain Marz here”—the pilot stood squinting in the blowing dust, managing to wave his hand slightly in reluctant identification—“will be flying cover and directing us below.”

  “Flying cover?” It was Sejak, the young kid. “In a Dropship?”

  “The Vixen has been fitted with a special receiver, Mister Sejak, to help us locate this thing we are looking for. Do you have a problem with this, mister?”

  The tone in her voice should have frosted over Sejak’s faceplate from the inside. “No, ma’am!”

  “We find this thing, we pull out and bring it with us. Clean and quick. Corporal Smith-puun will lead First Squad on Vultures with Bowers, Fu, Peaches, and Windom. Littlefield?”

  “Yes, ma’am!” The old Marine’s voice sounded loud in Ardo’s helmet. Littlefield was standing right next to him.

  “You take Second Squad—that will be Alley, Bernelli, Melnikov, and Xiang. Cutter and Ekart will give you heavy support in the Firebats.”

  Ardo took in the names of his squad as best he could. Bernelli, Xiang, and Ekart were unfamiliar to him. Cutter was still a very dangerous mystery. If they needed a squad leader, though, Littlefield gave him a little more hope than he might have had otherwise.

  “Ma’am! Yes, ma’am!” Littlefield barked back enthusiastically.

  Breanne barely took notice. “Jensen, you’re boss of Third Squad. That’s Collin, Mellish, Esson, and M’butu. Wabowski gives you Firebat support.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Jensen replied without much enthusiasm. Ardo hoped the man fought better than he talked. He looked as though he were about to fall asleep where he stood.

  “The Dropship will fly high cover and sensor support until we’ve got the prize. Then we dust off and get off this rock. Any questions?” When Breanne said it, it was a dare, not an invitation.

  Ardo could not help himself. He stepped forward and saluted as he spoke. “Ma’am! Yes, ma’am!”

  “Yes, Mister . . . Melkof, isn’t it?”

  “Melnikov, ma’am. Begging your pardon, ma’am!”

  “What’s your question, Melnikov?”

  “What are we looking for, ma’am?”

  Lieutenant Breanne looked away from him, her eyes focusing into the distance.

  “A box, Private. Just a box.”

  Ardo felt wonderful. He loved running in the power armor. It seemed effortless as he bounded across the ground. The clicks rolled under him, the salmon colored dust trailing behind him and his companions.

  He switched the visor of his battlesuit to navigation mode. Wherever he looked, the visor superimposed the map of their surrounding terrain and labels of the more prominent landmarks. Despite what the lieutenant had said, Scenic had been aptly named. The settlement’s primary job had been to maintain the upper pumping station for the aqueduct pipes coming up out of Oasis. As such, it was situated on the sheer drop-off that marked the edge of the Basin—the remains of a major impact crater that had gouged a magnificent long bowl out of the surface. The remains of the crater rim had eroded somewhat over time. His visor labeled the razor peaks to his left as “Stonewall” and the embarrassingly appropriate peak to his left as “Molly’s Nipple.” The crater itself was a barren landscape, like so much of the entire world of Mar Sara, but there was a stark beauty in its ruggedness that pleased Ardo’s eye.

  A road snaked its way in switchbacks down the steep incline of the crater edge. Ardo smiled again at the thought of the local civvies slowly winding their tortured way down that treacherous road before reaching the valley floor. The Marines were not constrained by such weakness. His entire squad had bounded over the steep edge of the mesa and had galloped straight down to the crater floor. The battlesuits were designed to take a lot more punishment than a little tumble down a cliff face. And the Marines inside them were, he thought smartly, tougher than the suits they wore.

  “Hubris . . .” It was his father’s voice. “Pride cometh before a fall . . .”

  Ardo frowned. His headache threatened suddenly to return. Better not to think about it and concentrate on his job.

  First Squad floated off to his squad’s right on their four hover-cycles. Normally, mobile units in siege tanks or even a pair of Goliath Walkers would supplement the platoon. Ardo rather thought that First Squad had arrived hoping for such heavy equipment. They were destined for disappointment, being issued local Vulture Hover Bikes that had recently been “liberated” from the local militia. They were fast, light, and highly maneuverable, and they gave their riders about as much protection as a paper hat. The squad leader, a corporal named Smith-puun, was having some difficulty holding back the cycles to stay even with the two other Marine squads beating feet across the floor of the crater.

  Third Squad was running flank off to his left while Ardo’s own Second Squad was taking point for the group. They all ran in a line, the slope of the crater floor gradually flattening out. Above them all, the Valkyrie Vixen howled, her downward angled jets churning a wall of dust behind the platoon’s own.

  Lieutenant Breanne ran slightly behind Third Squad. That was surprising. Ardo had expected the lieutenant to stay aloft in the Dropship and run the entire show from up there. He had served under other commanders who preferred to backseat-drive their platoons from a pleasantly remote location. His own estimation of Breanne went up several points.

  The ground shook underfoot with each stride Ardo made. The oxygen in the suit poured into him, making him feel alive, ready and anxious to do his duty for the Confederacy.

  We are tough, Ardo thought. Everyone says so . . . although he could not recall just who had said so or where he had heard it ever really said.

  All he knew was that the outskirts of Oasis were coming up fast before him, and he would finally be able to exact justice for what the Zerg had done to him.

  * * *

  TRANSCRIPT / CONCOM417 / MET:00:04:23

  LC: Lieutenant L.Z. Breanne, Commanding

  3 Squads 1:a-e (Mech/Cycle); 2:a-g (M/Inf) / 3:af (M/Inf)

  Support: DS (Dropship Valkyrie Vixen / Tegis Marz, Pilot)

  BEGIN:

  LC/BREANNE: “Okay, grunts! Time for work! First Squad, give me a circle pass on the outpost perimeter.”

  1A/SMITH-PUUN: “. . . again? Say again?”

  LC/BREANNE: “First Squad . . . circle Oasis and report!”

  1A/SMITH-PUUN: “Yeah, I got it. . . . Fu, break left and take it high, man, and stay tight. If you go buggin’ out on me again, I’ll cash you in this time, I swear!”

  1B/BOWERS: “Yeah, I love you, too, Corporal!”

  LC/BREANNE: “Second Squad, cover Third Squad at that barricade.”

  2A/LITTLEFIELD: “We’re on it! Go!”

  LC/BREANNE: “Third Squad . . .”

  3B/WABOWSKI: “Hey, we’re already there, lady!”

  LC/BREANNE: “. . . move up and recon the . . . Cutter, you’ll wait for my command or I’ll be tacking your hide up on my office wall!”

  3A/JENSEN: “Roger, Lieutenant! We are at the breach.”

  MET: 00:04:24

  3C/COLLINS: “Hey, Sarge! What is this stuff? It’s all over the ground!”

  3B/WABOWSKI: “That’s Zerg shit, Ekart. They spread this crap all over the place when they come through.”

  2E/ALLEY: “Lordy, that’s nasty! Looks like them bugs just coated the whole town with their black vomit!”

  2A/LITTLEFIELD: “Shut up, Alley . . . and keep your field of fire clear! The way you’re wavin’ that rifle around, you’d think you were conducting a parade!”

  MET: 00:04:25

  2E/ALLEY: “I’m watching their back, Sarge. Don’t get your panties . . .”

  3A/JENSEN: “Lieutenant, this
is Jensen. I’m at the breach. There’s a lot of Zerg creep in here. There’s got to be a colony nearby.”

  1A/SMITH-PUUN: “That’s bullshit, Lieutenant! We’ve just made our circuit and there’s no hive here.”

  1B/BOWERS: “Yeah, you tell ’em, Smith-puun!”

  3A/JENSEN: “. . . all you want, Corporal, but this is Hive creep and it’s flowed down the length of the main street and around the buildings. I can’t tell where it’s coming from.”

  1A/SMITH-PUUN: “That’s ’cause it ain’t coming from anywhere, Jensen! I’m tellin’ ya there . . .”

  MET: 00:04:26

  LC/BREANNE: “Knock it off, Smith-puun. Jensen, any contact?”

  3A/JENSEN: “Just this creep, Lieutenant. Otherwise, negative.”

  LC/BREANNE: “Very well. Marz, how about it? Is there . . .”

  1A/SMITH-PUUN: “Fu, I’m tellin’ you for the last time, take that cycle higher. Windom! Tighten it up, will ya? And watch out for those aqueducts! You hit one of those and it will ruin your whole day!”

  DS/VALKYRIE: “Say again, Lieutenant?”

  LC/BREANNE: “Any sign of what we’re looking for?”

  MET: 00:04:26

  DS/VALKYRIE: “Negative, Lieutenant. Sensor’s still clear. No indication yet. I think you’re getting too much interference from the buildings. You’ll have to get . . .”

  1B/BOWERS: “That close enough for you, Smith-puun, or do you want me to ride your cycle for you?”

  LC/BREANNE: “Shut up, Bowers! Marz, say again?”

  DS/VALKYRIE: “Your squads have to get closer. Send ’em in.”

  2E/ALLEY: “In there? You gotta be kiddin’ me!”

  LC/BREANNE: “Roger, Marz. Second Squad, move up. Third Squad . . .”

  2A/LITTLEFIELD: “Roger . . . moving up.”

  LC/BREANNE: “. . . and recon eastern buildings up to the . . .”

  3A/JENSEN: “Say again? Say again?”

  LC/BREANNE: “I said spread your squad out and recon the eastern buildings up to the transmission tower. Second Squad, you . . .”