by Mark Harritt
Mike watched through the foliage. What he saw was interesting, an aircraft of a type that he never could have imagined. Mike couldn’t figure out how the hell the thing stayed in the air. It looked like a brick with turbine engines. Gun metal grey, it didn’t have wings like an airplane or rotors like a helicopter. It was quiet, disturbingly so. With so little noise, Mike didn’t think it was a VTOL jet, or Vertical Take-Off and Landing. The engines were pointed in the wrong direction to keep it in the air, anyway.
The light was distorting around the aircraft, though not like heat plumes thrown off by a jet engine exhaust. This wasn’t a heat distortion. The colors of the air and mountains behind it shifted subtly. It reminded Mike of oil spreading across a puddle of water. Kaleidoscope rainbows danced across his retinas. The colors were beautiful, but the effect was nauseating. The warped colors, combined with the buzzing in his skull made him feel sick.
If it was a military aircraft, it was probably a scout. It was a small aircraft and probably couldn’t hold a lot of passengers. There were windows at what he thought was the front. The proportions reminded him of a hovercraft. The bottom was solid, though, not like the inflatable curtain of a hovercraft. The door was open and one of the grey men was secured with a strap, leaning out, rifle at the ready, looking for Mike and the team.
The aircraft hovered for a moment, then moved across the valley. It stopped at another location, hovering, looking. This continued for thirty minutes before the nose of the strange aircraft pointed back up the valley toward the necropolis.
It lifted higher as it turned and slowly headed towards the necropolis. They waited for ten minutes to see if it came back. The stop turned into a security halt as they looked and listened for anybody else that might be out there hunting them. They finished their halt and started down the valley again. They walked for hours. They didn’t stop for food. The team ate pemmican as they walked. Mike felt like he was back in Ranger school. Combat driven adrenaline for two days. They’d been on the move for twenty-six, twenty-seven hours the day before and all day today.
Mike studied the mountains on his left and his right. They could expect more attacks if they didn’t get out of this narrow valley soon. Mike was pretty happy when he saw a cut in the mountains to his right, back to the west. They weren’t going to take the cut into the other valley, but it would give the grey men more area that they had to cover. Mike was hoping for multiple valleys, routes that a team could use to move out of the area, to increase the search area.
As they moved further down the valley, the ground leveled and spread out. The valley broadened out to a large bowl. Other passes and valleys opened up to the west and northeast. Trees thinned and open fields appeared. Ponds of standing water appeared through the vegetation. The open fields were danger zones that they had to avoid. They traveled through the concealment that the trees provided to avoid ambush.
Finally, after they’d put enough distance behind them, Mike felt they could take a break. The other valleys and routes would hopefully throw the grey men off of their trail. Mike halted the patrol and called the team in closer. They still needed security, so Tom moved some distance away to keep watch. They hadn’t seen any signs of he grey men lately, so Mike felt comfortable talking in a low voice, “What do you guys think? Think we’re past the cordon?”
Everett nodded, “yeah, I think we probably left them behind.”
Mike looked at Matki, “Well, are we on the right track?”
Matki looked around him, looked at the position of the sun in the sky, “I think we are going in the right direction, but I’m not sure. I was more interested in getting away than keeping track of where we were traveling to.”
“Do you think you can find some food for us?” Everett asked.
Matki hesitated before he answered, “I can, but I don’t think we should hunt right now. I can bring down an animal here, but we would have to make a fire to cook it.”
Roberto sighed, “Another cold camp then?”
Mike, Everett, and Matki nodded.
Mickey chuckled, “I guess you won’t mind my big ass when you’re looking for some warmth.”
Rob stared at Mickey, “Do you even hear what comes out of your mouth?”
Mickey’s cheeks colored, “I didn’t mean it like that.”
Everett pressed, “Is there something you might want to tell Tracy?” Everett held his hand out, palm up. He proceeded to flip his hand so that the palm was down, then back up.
Mickey grinned, “You could tell her, but she’d never believe it.”
Rob turned to Mike, “So Mike, think it was worth it?”
“What?”
“Killer robots, grey men.”
Mike nodded, “We know more than we did.”
Rob didn’t buy it, “I don’t know. I’m thinking dealing with the dragons may have been the better choice.”
Everett shook his head, “Better to know what’s out here instead of it sneaking up on us.”
“What if there’s a whole lot more of them?” Rob asked.
Mike grinned, putting his hand on Matki’s shoulder, “Then we may need to emulate MACV-SOG, and enlist some help.”
Everett smiled and looked at Matki, “So want to be a Montagnard?”
Matki looked confused, “What is a Montagnard, Everett?”
Everett explained, “Montagnard means ‘Mountain People.’ They were people that fought with our ancestors during the Vietnam War. Jennifer’s people, the Hmong, was one of the mountain tribes.”
Matki’s face turned serious, “Were they bad asses like Jen?”
Mike nodded, “Dude, you have no idea.”
A grin lit up Matki’s face.
----------------------------------------------------
Lord-Caon Ranthon stood over Sub-Caon Mikton, now bloodied and unconscious on the ground. The Lord Caon had beaten the Sub-Caon into submission. The younger officer had been impertinent to Ranthon, and he’d paid for his transgression. Ranthon had given Mikton one mission, and he’d managed to lose eight men with no indigenous hominid bodies to show for it.
Ranthon motioned to Carthar Jarni Mig, “Remove this trash. He’s no longer a Caon. You will put him with the sub-Carthars. Let him fight for his right to be a warrior.”
Jarni Mig bowed his head. He pointed at two of his sub-Carthars, “He will face both of you tonight. Take him away from us.”
The two burly grey men indicated walked over, picked up the semi-conscious Mikton, and took him away, his feet dragging in the dust.
Ranthon turned away from Jarni Mig. Ranthon motioned for him to follow, and started walking. Jarni Mig quickly moved to a position slightly behind the Lord Caon. Four Dinshani assassins, his bodyguards, shadowed Ranthon, keeping him in the center of a diamond formation. Ranthon paid no attention to them. Jarni Mig, no stranger to dangerous adversaries, had a lot of respect for the Dinshani.
Lord Caon Ranthon spoke, “Sub-Caon Mikton has been removed from command. You’re in charge of this sub-caon now.”
Ranthon glanced over at Jarni Mig, “Do you accept this?”
Jarni Mig bowed his head, “Lord.”
Ranthon accepted Jarni Mig’s compliance. Ranthon looked around, decided that he was far enough away from the other men in the sub-caon, and stopped. Jarni Mig stopped far enough away from Ranthon so that the Dinshani didn’t judge him a threat.
Lord Caon Ranthon motioned back at the sub-caon, “That fool has a big mouth.” Then the Lord Caon made a startling admission, “Sub-Caon Mikton was correct in his assessment, though.”
Jarni Mig was astonished by the statement from the Lord Caon, though he didn’t let it show. Lords Caon never admitted to mistakes.
“He was sent to this mission unprepared,” Ranthon stopped, looking at Jarni Mig for a reaction. Jarni Mig’s face was impassive.
Ranthon nodded, obviously satisfied with what he saw, and continued, “His mistake was to tell me this in front of the men.” Ranthon turned to Jarni Mig, “Do you und
erstand this, Carthar?”
Jarni Mig bowed his head, indicating his submission to the Lord Caon.
Ranthon turned and walked toward the mine, “I’ll give you more men. I’m going to give you a biological as well, a tracker. You’ll find these warriors, you’ll kill them, and you’ll destroy their tribe. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Lord Caon.”
They walked to the mine. The remnants of the maintenance robots lay shattered on the ground in the narrow opening.
“You will find out how they did this. They managed to destroy all of the hunter killers, a warrior class robot, and destroyed these maintenance robots.”
The Lord Caon motioned towards the necropolis, “Whoever these interlopers are, they seem to have an industrial base that we haven’t encountered on this world before. There are indications that they have an advanced understanding of chemistry, as well as ballistics. I want to know where these thregari come from.” Thregari was the name used to reference the lower hominid races.
“I understand, Lord.”
Ranthon turned to look him in the eye, “Mikton underestimated the thregari. They understand how to fight. Our men have been on this planet too long, with no real battles to test them. They’re used to slave runs, cowering locals soiling themselves when the electric whip hits them. They haven’t faced real warriors that fight back in a long time.”
Ranthon pointed a finger at Jarni Mig, his eyes boring into the back of Jarni Mig’s skull, “Don’t make the same mistake again. Our patron, Om Varee, paid very good money to bring us here. I will not lose this contract. I will not go back to the Zongon Rathur and have to explain to him why I cost him platinum. Understand?”
Jarni Mig took a knee, “Lord, I understand. I’ll beat the men until they understand what being a warrior means again. I’ll make sure that the next time we cross paths with these,” he paused, using a derogatory term to describe Mike’s team, “zonceurs, it will be the last time they see the sun rise. When you arrive back on Turinzon, you will have many tons of platinum to give to our father, Zongon Duu.”
Ranthon nodded, and indicated that Jarni Mig should rise. Ranthon turned and walked toward his command hopper, the small aircraft just big enough for him and his Dinshani. Jarni Mig assumed that he should follow, and walked towards the aircraft, following Ranthon. Ranthon walked to the cargo hold and opened it. A snarling snout was held back by the wire of a cage. About forty pounds, the biological was buff colored and looked like a cross between a rat and a razorback. This was the tracker that Ranthon mentioned.
Jarni Mig turned and yelled back at his men, holding up four fingers. Four came sprinting at top speed. After seeing what had happened to Mikton, the last thing they wanted to do was displease Lord Caon Ranthon. The beast snarled as the men pulled it from the belly of the hopper. They ran pole handles through the cage, and took the beast away. Ranthon climbed onto the hopper. The Dinshani climbed in behind him. The pilot fired up the electrical plant.
Jarni Mig bowed once more to Ranthon, “I will not disappoint you, Lord Caon.”
Lord Caon put his hand on the handle of his short sword, “Make sure you don’t, Carthar Jarni Mig.”
Jarni Mig knew full well what that gesture meant. Failure meant his death. That didn’t bother him. He’d faced death many times before. But now, there was no one to claim his success. He felt elation as he realized that this was the chance that he’d hoped for. He was tired of seeing well connected fools succeed because they stole the accomplishments of their soldiers as their own. Jarni Mig’s success could bring him the title of Caon, something that a foot soldier like him rarely accomplished. Once he dealt with these thregari, he would hopefully be put in a position where he could claim his Caon.
He shook his head. The thregari on this world bred like zonceurs. Sometimes they even tried to fight back. Gods forbid that they start mining metals again.
“Must be something in the local genetic sample,” he thought. He’d been on other planets where the locals almost put the chains on their own necks.
He backed away from the hopper, uneasy as the gravity wave generator kicked in. No matter how long he was around aircraft, that thing still made him queasy. The pilot hit the engines as the aircraft climbed, propelling the craft forward.
When it was far enough away, he turned on his heel to go back to the sub-caon. He would have to shoot Mikton. Mikton was one of the well connected, but he wasn’t entirely a fool. The sub-Caon was a capable man, and Jarni Mig didn’t need to constantly look over his shoulder, waiting for Mikton to slide the dagger in. The tracker needed to eat anyway.
----------------------------------------------------
The thin light of the mountain morning slowly turned the black shadows to blue. The sunshine slowly revealed the details of the world around them. Mike was hoping for a better day. No grey men, no necropolis, no killer robots. He just wanted to get Matki home and find a new route back to their home, preferably one that avoided the necropolis and the valley it was in. When they were back, the team would look around the area for place to move the compound to.
The team prepared for movement, another cold bivouac behind them. They rucked up and headed out. They didn’t relax completely, sticking to the shadows under the trees to travel, still worried about the quiet aircraft they’d seen. Matki thought they were traveling too high up, so they looked for a valley or pass in the bowl to the southeast that would take them lower, towards Matki’s tribe.
Tom found a trickle of a stream flowing away from the ponds in the bowl. They followed it, heading further south than they wanted, but it was the best route available to them. The confines of the valley narrowed, and the slope of the ground in front of them decreased taking them to a lower elevation. The trees were thicker, and the moss and lichen was replaced by grass as they moved further down. Mike was behind Matki as they walked.
“Recognize anything?”
Matki shook his head, “No, nothing yet. I have not been here before.”
As they followed the stream, it thickened, deepened, and grew swifter. Other small streams trickled into it. Eventually, another deeper stream joined up with the one they were following. Tom held up his hand to indicate that they should stop.
Mike walked forward, past Matki. He slapped Matki on the shoulder as he passed him. Matki grinned around the canteen he was drinking from.
Mike walked up to Tom, “What’s up.”
“You hear that?”
Mike listened, “Sounds like a waterfall.”
Tom winked at him, “Let’s go do a little exploring.”
Mike signaled for the team to take a break. He and Tom walked forward, cautious. Mike stepped into a puddle that was deeper than he thought it would be. He cursed as the water soaked his socks.
Tom looked back and grinned at him, “those fancy water proof boots are great until the water goes over the top.”
Mike nodded, “yeah, and then it takes longer for the socks to dry out.”
The stream suddenly dropped away as they walked forward. They walked as close to the edge as they dared. They didn’t want to get too close to the edge. The waterfall could have eroded the land underneath. Tom looked at Mike. He had to speak louder to be heard, “What do you want to do?”
“Grab a rope. I don’t like the idea of looking over the edge unless we’re strapped in.”
Tom grinned at Mike, “What, you don’t trust the edge?”
Mike shook his head, “I hope I’m not that stupid.”
Tom eyed Mike like he was studying him closely.
“Screw you, Tom.”
Tom slowly shook his head, “No, don’t think so. Not a good idea. I mean, you ain’t a bad lookin’ fella, but Jen and Latricia might get a bit upset.”
Mike shook his head. He dropped his backpack and started taking out the rope, “I’ll go.”
Tom nodded, “I’ll let ‘cha.”
He helped Mike tie off the rope around his waist. They found a sturdy tree, and wrapped
the rope twice around the base. Tom pulled out his gloves and belayed Mike as he walked to the edge of the cliff.
Tom had to yell to be heard over the waterfall, “What do you see?”
“There’s a way down. It’s on the other side though.”
Tom grinned, “I guess you’re not the only one who’s going to get their socks wet.”
Mike walked back. They stowed the rope, Mike picked up his equipment, and they walked back to the team.
Everett and Matki were pulling security at the head of the trail. Rob and Mickey were pulling rear security.
Everett watched them approach, “What’s up?”
Mike hooked a thumb over his shoulder, back towards the waterfall, “Waterfall back there.”
“Steep?”
“Well, where the waterfall is, yes. But there’s a trail on the other side of the main stream,” Mike pointed at the stream they’d been following. “It shouldn’t be a problem. May have to do a little sliding on our butts to get down.”
Mike waved for Mickey and Rob to join them.
“What’s up?” Mickey asked.
Everett pointed at the stream, “We have to cross here. There’s a waterfall downstream, but Mike found a path around it.”
They crossed the stream and they walked to the head of the waterfall. Tom was the first down the path. It was a steep, talus littered slope. The loose scree making it too dangerous for more than one person at a time to use it. Tom used a side step to get down, sliding more than walking, his left hand out to touch the slope of the trail for balance. Rocks tumbled and slid as he made his way down. When he got to the bottom, he looked up and yelled over the sound of the waterfall, “Piece of cake.”
One by one, the rest of the team followed. Mike went after Tom, and then Matki followed. Mike was so intent on watching the others come down the path that he wasn’t paying attention to Matki. He turned when he felt Matki’s hand on his arm.
He turned to look, “What is it, Matki?” The sound of the waterfall was louder here, so he had to yell.