SENTIENT
WENDY L. KOENIG
Published through Lands Atlantic Publishing
www.landsatlantic.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2015 by Wendy L. Koenig
ISBN: 978-09857250-37
Library of Congress Number: 2015942857
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.
SENTIENT
WENDY L. KOENIG
DEDICATION
For my Dad. I know you can see everything I do, but I wish you were here to share it with me.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Special thanks to the various members, past and present, of Breathe Writers' Group for your concentration over the difficult parts, to Lisa Paul and the team at Lands Atlantic for your hard work making this story more than just paper, and to my friends and family, especially Vince, who tolerate me when I'm lost in a story.
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CHAPTER
1
Fist-sized birds, the color of tangerines, broke out of the bank of trees ahead of seventeen-year-old Cadet Marshal Pala de la Croix, snapping her attention to them. The bright orange birds milled about against the washed-out blue of the sky, their dense muscles lifting hollow-tube bones in the heavier gravity. When they saw the humans in the glade below them, they wheeled around and disappeared back into the trees, filling the sky with raucous protest.
The parameters of this Interplanetary Peace Coalition, or IPC, mission were clear: the battalion of 424 cadet rangers and 40 scientists had been split into eight base camp units, each one responsible for covering a portion of RK-197d, known as Colossus. Though not the highest ranking cadet, Pala had been assigned as Mission First, controlling the whole military side of the operation. The base camp commanders reported to her, while a civilian chief kept an eye on the scientists. Colossus had no sentient beings, so there was little threat except from the wildlife.
She scanned the area where the birds had come from, inspecting the images in her visor. She looked past the sharp white displays that showed the statistics of the other units and past the triangulated images broadcasting the location of cadet rangers as they moved all around her. The glare of the sun was replaced with blue-contrasted relief in the brush. The depth gauge adjusted, focusing further and further into the dense undergrowth. The cluster of birds was settling within the uppermost tips of what her men had christened gopher trees. Long branches from the trees arced into the ground, running in ridges, where shoots popped up along their path. Nothing else moved in those dark shadows. Other than the birds, it appeared Pala and her men were still alone.
Thick, green vines crunched under the feet of the cadets as they moved through a field of snakegrass. A soft billow of musk rose from the plant each time one was crushed. Pala frowned. Something about these vines disturbed her, but she couldn’t bring what it was to her mind. She needed to get her rangers out of the open.
In her visor, she watched the image of Cadet Marshal Cabot Isberg, her eighteen-year-old boyfriend and second in command. He was working close behind her, his Ellison electron cannon tucked against the shoulder of his blue-green camouflage fatigues. The cannon was a new invention, specifically made for the military. Instead of conventional bullets, it fired a burst of electrons which, depending on the setting, could either burn, pierce, or shock its target. For each setting, it emitted a different hum. Cabot and a few of the other rangers had learned to play music on their weapons.
Even now, his thumb caressed the settings, practicing songs in silence while he swept the weapon back and forth, pointing at the shadows under the trees and in the shrubs. His image lifted its eyes and winked at her. The shadow of his visor darkened his complexion and, for an instant, his ebony skin was almost as dark as hers.
Speaking softly into her visor mic to Cabot, she said, “We need to get out of here.” She’d leave it to him to pass the order to the rest. She adjusted her visor and scanned the surrounding jungle again.
Cabot’s low guttural growl sounded close through her visor. He enjoyed mimicking their military drill sergeants. “All right, Rangers, let’s get out of this field. Find me an exit.”
Pala grinned. His antics never ceased to amuse her.
The cadets fanned wide and searched for the quickest route from the glade. They crept as they moved, mindful of their steps. Still, the noise of snapping vines echoed harshly from the surrounding wall of bark, blossoms and leaves. The scientists moved with their designated rangers. One of the scientists leaned toward Cabot, whispering. Pala could hear his voice, but couldn't make out his words.
In her display, Cabot’s gaze turned to Pala. “He wants to collect some samples here. We’ll stay behind with him.” Cabot pointed to the closest ranger, who immediately dropped back to join him. They split apart, flanking the scientist as he squatted beside a large tuft of oat-like, blue-seeded plants.
Pala returned to her task, shifting her focus alternately from the ground, searching for a clear path out of the field, to watching for movement beneath the umbrella of trees. The bright sun glinted off the broad, flat leaves of the surrounding vine plants, and she again shifted her vision to look through the top part of her visor to protect her eyes.
One by one, Pala’s cadets disappeared into the canopied darkness beneath heavy greens, blues and browns. Reaching the shade herself, she turned around for one last check of the area behind her. Flaxen brush shivered along one side of the clearing and she focused her visor into the shadows there. The view extended deeper and deeper into the dim shade, stopping on one of the thick-legged, deer-like creatures that dominated this part of the planet. It stalked with a refinement that belied its size, dorsal spikes pointed at the sky in alarm. A male, judging by the girth of its neck. Two of the five spikes near its head were missing the top third, no doubt from a fight.
Pala shifted her attention to the tiny superimposed image of the beast in the upper right-hand corner of her visor. Already tagged with a military chip from an earlier capture, a bright blue dot pulsed on the strutting image’s neck, sending information back to her base camp.
The image of Captain Quade Justiss, Pala’s third in command, was watching her through the visor. She, Cabot and Quade had been friends for the duration of their training. Quade was just six days younger than her, but so big that Pala's lean five foot and seven inches always felt small next to his six foot two height.
He puffed out his pale cheeks and rolled his light blue eyes. He held his cannon across his massive chest, standing just on the edge of the glade, where the blue of the brush melted into the snakegrass. His head followed the movement of the three remaining scientists exiting the clearing. “I hate babysitting,” his voice rumbled softly into her ears from the visor speaker.
Neither Pala, nor her cadet rangers, liked escort missions. Though their average age was seventeen, they were trained in military advancement and tactics. Their place was in a conflicted zone, even if only to rescue trapped citizens.
Pala switched her attention back to where Cabot waited in the center of the field. He was kneeling on the ground beside the scientist, holding a piece of equipment. The other ranger stood a short distance away, pivoting slowly, cannon directly in front. Cabot lifted his head and stared at Pala in the visor. He said nothing at all and the moment seemed to stretch into forever.
A shiver of worry crawled across Pala. What was he trying to say? She was on the verge of asking when Cabot smiled at her and returned to his work.
She’d have to find out later what that was all about. Pala traveled further down her intended pa
th, leaving him behind, at the whims of his assigned scientist. There shouldn’t be any danger for those three, the area had checked clear except for that deer creature, which was harmless except to others of its kind.
Ahead, a blonde and spectacled thirty-year-old researcher named Denten, paused to inspect a pale green lichen growing in front of a thicket of spiked blue-green blossoms. Pala looked for his assigned rangers and saw them, both new recruits, huddled nearby in conference, their hands over their visor mics. One caught her looking and nudged the other. They separated and swung their cannons to their shoulders.
Pala scowled. She’d given her cadets orders to keep on a constant lookout. Those two were finished in her advanced unit. Second chances wouldn't happen, even if this was a simple escort mission. She needed to trust her men. At this point, she doubted she’d even recommend them for any other ranger unit. The IPC would be better off without them.
As the two remaining scientists, a middle-aged man named Laramie and an older, grey-headed man named Bardef, moved ahead with her men, she squatted beside Denten. This lichen explained the deer-like creature she’d seen. The stuff was like candy to them, once they got past the long crusted edges and into the fuzzy center. Plenty of samples were back at the base camp. He produced a knife and scraped away a small cluster of slug-like grubs. He pulled off his glasses and examined a brown, curled section at the center of the plant.
“It looks sick,” Pala observed.
Denten frowned and stood. He looked around. “This plant usually grows on trees. It needs the constant moisture that’s trapped beneath the bark. But, I don’t think that’s why it isn’t doing well. Look there.” He walked two hundred feet further on and pointed to a gross, brown deformation of the lichen covering two branches of a thick, dark tree. Some of the lichen’s leaves were curled, as in the first one, but some were an oozing mush.
He scooped the soft lichen from the bark with his knife. From his pack, he withdrew an apple-sized silver box. Squeezing it, he set it on the ground, and it began to unfold into a multi-faceted bowl, glinting in the tiny dapples of sunlight that filtered through the trees. As the bowl continued to grow, it rounded and became an MR-201 collection sphere. He pulled a remote control from his pack and slid his thumb across the surface. Small sections of the sphere folded back. When the opening was wide enough, he lifted his thumb from the control.
Denten dropped the sample, scraping knife and all, into the sphere. When he’d finished, he again moved his thumb on the control, and the opening in the orb became solid once more. He shifted his thumb, and the sphere picked up a low-grade hum. The sonic pressure increased and the sphere rose from the ground. It sped toward base camp where other scientists could immediately begin an analysis.
He dropped the control in his pack. Pala prepared to move on. Behind her, a few straggling rangers were coming. Farther behind them would be Cabot with his scientist. She glanced at the viewing screen and saw only blackness where her boyfriend’s view should have been.
Twisting her head, Pala tried to catch Cabot’s signal in her visor, but nothing appeared. He wouldn’t have turned it off. “Cabot, report.”
She looked up at Quade’s image. He also shifted his visored head back and forth, up and down, and then he pivoted and started back, pulling his Ellison cannon tight against his shoulder.
Pala raised her hand. The moment all the triangulated images of her cadets were focused on her, she pinched her forefinger and thumb together, and then flattened her hand with fingers splayed. In silence, her rangers fanned out in a circle beneath the trees, aiming their cannons into the surrounding brush.
Falling in behind Quade, Pala also tucked her cannon against her shoulder. It only took a moment to join him at the edge of the field. No sign of Cabot, the scientist, or the other ranger could be seen in the snakegrass and vines. Nor were they crouched in the shadows at the edge of the glade. She pivoted her head back and forth again, trying to catch a signal. Still nothing.
Quade shifted beside her, and when she looked, he tapped his nose. She lifted her visor and sniffed. Acrid smoke trickled on the breeze from the clearing.
Jutting her chin to the left for Quade, Pala turned to the right, fading into the blue of the shadowed bushes, rolling her feet silently from heel to inside toe. Halfway around the field she topped a small hillock where a fallen gopher tree gave rise to a family of young scrubs.
Pala reached for the nearest and shook it. Like most everything on Colossus, the heavier gravity forced it to grow more thick than tall. It should hold her. She slung her cannon over her shoulder and reached up, clasping her fingers on the other side of the smooth, taupe trunk. Shifting her weight to lean against her hands, she lifted her left foot and then ‘walked’ up the tree on her toes. She had a clear view of the field. Her heart thudded against her ribs. A charred dottle of ground marked where her boyfriend had been.
Pala scanned the vegetation around it, but saw nothing except an abandoned pack. No bodies. Whatever had happened, the three had left in enough of a hurry to not even take that pack with them.
Quade’s face in her visor was tense, watching her, waiting for her command. He would have seen the burnout echoed in his own visor, as would have all her rangers. The images caused her men to shove the three remaining scientists into a huddle on the ground. Pala’s fifteen-year-old Cadet Master Sergeant, Physe, mimed commands to the rangers. Though one of the younger members of her unit, he was one of her most valued men. He kept his dark brown hair barely within regulations and his attitude was often too relaxed for the military, but he knew when to buck up and he could carry any responsibility she gave him. Now, her men read his commands and took positions on point. Some slowly faded into the shadows.
Pala dropped to the ground again and unslung her rifle. She glanced at the image of Quade. He shook his head: nothing there either.
Pala resumed her path along the edge of the clearing. As she twisted through the trees, the acrid smell grew stronger. Near the far end of the glade, something hissed and sputtered from within the subdued blue-green shadows. The depth gauge in her visor followed her line of sight and adjusted its focus into the brush, but she still saw nothing.
Pala crept forward. In her visor, Quade was rapidly weaving through the trees on his side to meet with her. Behind a cluster of gopher saplings, she found a sphere three feet around, sparks popping within it, tendrils of smoke curling into the air. It had been ripped open by electron cannon fire, the mass of fittings and ammunition spilling onto the ground. An MR-405 Gunnery Sphere.
She lunged behind the trees and cast about for more spheres in the sky above and around them. She saw none, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. In the muted light of the shadows, Quade approached from the other side, ducking behind the protection of tree to bush to tree clump.
The disabling shot that destroyed the sphere had come from the direction of a green-purple grouping of bushes clustered by a fallen log. Pala again wagged her visor back and forth, searching for a click or something from either rangers’ visor. Still nothing. Were they running dark so as not to draw more fire?
Pala inched backwards and angled toward the fallen log. Opposite her, Quade did the same, a duplicate ghost in the shadows. Suddenly, he stopped and snapped off his visor, but not before she caught a glimpse of Cabot’s body.
CHAPTER
2
Trgyl settled deeper into the cluster of leaves. If he stretched, he could break his head through the rustling shelter above him. This tree was the tallest in the forest. From the top, he would be able to see all the way to the river and beyond, to the great sand hills. If he stretched. But, if he did, something might see his movement from below. And that something might be the food that his barrio needed so much.
He flushed his skin dapples darker blue to match the changing shadow patches. It took almost three times as long for his skin to change color. The thin overlayer of white scaley powder that covered his body wasn’t holding the color pattern wel
l. He was getting too dry. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to hide himself at all.
Often he’d waited, perched in a tree like this, for days for just the right creature to happen on the trail below him. This time, though, was different. The slice of hunger in his stomach reminded him that he didn’t have any more days to wait. He’d been here too many days already. And he’d begun the hunt hungry.
He shifted to look through a hole between the thick leaves. He could easily see the gap in the distant forest bank where the strange new creatures made their barrio. That used to be a lush feeding ground for many animals. He couldn’t see any of the new creatures from this distance, but he knew they were there. There were the soft ones that were twice his size and walked as he did, on two feet. Giant hardened ones swallowed the soft ones and carried them inside. Smaller hardened ones carried the soft ones on their back. And the smallest hardened creatures, close to his own size, flew through the forest by themselves.
They were reasoning creatures. They often traveled in careful packs, not risking any lives. The only exceptions were those smallest hard-shelled beings.
The ancient ones hadn’t warned Trgyl’s barrio about the arrival of these creatures, nor did they give advice. Rym, the barrio father, tried to keep his people far away. There were so many, it was hard to avoid them when out hunting. Their presence frightened the game into retreat. Trgyl resisted the urge to click his claws in agitation.
He pulled his attention back to the forest around him. Trgyl heard no movement, no animals of any kind. Earlier, he’d seen bright orange whistle birds startle into the sky off to the left. They’d abruptly doubled back on themselves, circled, and resettled in the trees near where they’d started.
Sentient Page 1