by PN Burrows
‘Every system is worried you will all go nuts again and that they will have to waste valuable resources and effort incinerating this miserable planet…again. You do know the story, right?’ The look of glee in Timon’s face was sickening.
‘Doc has informed me about the two previous inhabitants of Earth and how your communication systems interfered with their brains, yes!’
‘Good, because if it wasn’t for the Protected Species label that the council have put on you, this planet would be a cinder again.’
‘Give it a rest, Timon, yes there are misgivings within the council, but they would never sanction such actions against a primitive and non-threatening world,’ Reb rebuked Timon.
‘Why do you hate Earth so much?’ Sam enquired while trying to keep his voice down, he was still examining the old wooden structures through Reb’s high-tech binoculars. A series of buttons on the right hand side grip altered the zoom spectrum frequency. He was currently viewing the blue looking building through the thermal setting. The only warm areas he could see belong to the randomly spaced animals roaming around and the silage pit as the grass fermented. None of the vehicles had been used for a while and even the parts of the house that he could see offered no warm glow.
‘I don’t hate your planet, it’s a highly prized resource which is sadly being destroyed by an idiotic ignorant populace. What you don’t understand is that evolution here has been extremely erratic, with two mass extinctions. It’s almost as if the planet or evolution is trying as many permutations as possible hoping one will survive. Even in your own species there are so many different traits and variations. You are all unpredictably dangerous and you will turn on the rest of the Universe once you discover space flight. It’s in your nature.’
‘Sam’s ability to think at an odd tangent to the rest of us, to be able to coalesce random facts into a working theory and to take leaps of faith, is what we need.’ Reb slid down alongside Timon and the heated discussion was performed at a loud whisper. ‘They could be a valuable asset and you know it, that what’s galling you so much. They’re primitives now, but they have the ability for greatness.’
‘Yeah, right. With their life span a very brief greatness.’ Timon looked at Reb. ‘I’ll scout further up the stream, see where we can come out near that hedge later.’
They waited until dusk was nearly over, but the darkness was not quite night time, to move out. The hedge had been properly maintained and trimmed to retain a decent height and thickness. They had to crouch none the less to prevent their heads from being silhouetted against the sky line. Timon took point with his carbine, Sam second and Reb taking the rear. As Reb hadn’t drawn his weapon yet Sam followed his lead, though he felt oddly naked performing a recon in unknown territory without drawing his firearm. The half a mile trek to the silage pit took less than ten minutes. After a visual inspection of the proceeding area they prepared to quickly jog across to the first wooden building.
Timon pushed the barrel of his MPAR in Reb’s back. ‘Keep your arms low and where I can see them, Reb. Same for you human.’
‘Timon!’
‘Stay still, this’ll blast a hole through that suit of yours and you know it.’
‘What are you doing?’ Reb slowly turned around and faced Timon, who stepped back.
‘This is not personal and I respect you enough to let you go when it is all over, but they want him!’ He didn’t wave the gun or even flick his eyes at Sam. He remained solid fixed on Reb.
Two large soldiers appeared from behind the silage pit. Even in the poor light Sam could make out that they were carrying a modified Atchisson Assault Shotgun with the 32 cartridge drum beneath. They pointed these at Sam and Reb, holding them casually near the hip. For a normal human the recoil would tear the gun from their hand. Sam didn’t think it would be an issue for these genetic mutants.
‘Why do they want him so badly, Timon?’
‘That’s not my problem, Reb, I didn’t ask.’
‘So you’re taking orders from these now?’ indicating the brutes behind him.
‘No, these are just the fruit of their endeavours. You were right by the way, the vermin that live on this planet do have abilities that are useful. They’re the quickest sentient breeders we have ever come across and their genetic code is apparently easy to manipulate.’ Timon stepped back again and started to walk around his captives giving them a wide cautious berth. Standing between his new companions he continued. ‘There is a war coming, Reb. Their masters are from beyond the edge of the ISPAW sphere. We haven’t expanded anywhere near their worlds yet, but they have found us. Can you imagine these in full armour with MPARs? Even our Shock Troops would crumble at the sight of them.’
Timon looked forlorn then. ‘I’m sorry Reb, I lied before, I didn’t want to be the one who killed you. You are my friend, but they promised to bring her back. I miss her so much.’ Tears of conflict ran down Timon’s face as he lowered his weapon. ‘Goodbye, Reb.’
Two flesh rending sounds punctuated Timon’s sentence as a red hole appeared on the each of the brutes foreheads. They stood there for what seemed an eternity. Sam watched bemused as a trickle of really thick blood seeped out of the wound. Almost with slow motion grace the legs of the brutes gave way. The command to stand rigid was no longer being sent to them. Both fell forward onto their knees, their arms sagged under the weight of the seven kilogram weapons and they finally fell face down into the short grass. Sam realised he was becoming immune to viewing the inside of someone head as the two gapping maws steamed into the night air.
Timon brought his weapon up to bare and just as quickly it fell to the floor. He looked down horrified at the bleeding stumps where is arms had been. His hands still cradling the MPAR as it lay by his feet.
‘Staff Sergeant Timon, it is my solemn duty to inform you that you have lost the right to bear arms, pun intended. You are hereby stripped of your service name and will henceforth be known as Aeschylus.’ Neither Sam nor Reb had drawn their weapon yet, but Reb pointed his fist at the non-Timon as he spoke and shot him with a quill. At this distance Sam assumed it would have had enough force to pass straight through a body, even one as muscular as Timon /Aeschylus. He could only surmise that as it stood out proudly from Aeschylus’ chest, Bob had fine control over the amount of force he used. He really must spend some time getting to grips with the BEE suit. He thought to himself, what am I to call him? I can’t call him Bob as well.
Aeschylus looked at Reb with a pained query in his silently weeping eyes.
‘Something to stop you going into shock and a coagulant to prevent you bleeding out until the medics arrive. Old friend, I do not envy what lies ahead of you now, but know this, Nikomedes says the fire at your house has a temporal signature similar to Urser’s remains. They caused it, probably by accident as they were trying to send Urser through years further on.’
The now Aeschylus fell to his knees and sobbed, broken and alone.
Apate stepped silently between Sam and Reb and struck the kneeling figure in the face with the butt of her sniper rifle, breaking his nose. ‘I told you last time I broke your nose that if you threaten him I would fricking kill you. Enjoy your stay in Hell little man, for where you are going you will crave for a swift exit.’ She was wearing her BEE suit, only on her it looked amazing, accentuating her natural lithe curves. For some reason Sam thought of the suit leaving her body smooth and hairless.
He forced his gaze away and became aware of shadow clad figures carrying MPARS creeping past them. Sam counted at least a hundred in small squads making their way to the farm. A medic appeared alongside the prone figure and sprayed the slowly weeping stumps with a foam that formed an emergency bandage and moved onwards with the rest of his comrades.
‘You could have forewarned me about this,’ Sam said, looking at Reb and gesturing with his hands.
‘I wasn’t sure and part of me wanted to be wrong. P
artly because I wouldn’t wish what’s going to happen to him on anyone. The interrogation techniques that will be used, even if he freely confesses and tells us everything will need to be verified and that can only be done with a scour. It’s a process that compels the subject to narrate their memories. It’s slow, it hurts and you never really come out of the process the same.’ He placed a hand on the fallen’s head. ‘I am sorry old friend.’
Somewhere, somewhen a strong female hand gently caressed the bald head of a tired-looking warrior. He was lying prone behind a weapon designed to propel the Spica Sagitta. The floor around him was strewn with corpses dressed in a blood-red uniform. Not the bright, cheerful red of normal, healthy blood, but the dark hue of deoxygenated dying blood. They had all fought bravely, all from a multitude of species but all genetically engineered, each race having a particular trait that was enhanced by their masters, be it brains or brawn. The majority of the soldiers looked similar to the one on the other side of the Dia Kuklos, though clearly the process had been refined and perfected. Not once did the enemy seek clemency and no quarter was offered as the two figures had fought their kind before and understood that they were conditioned to obey orders until death.
He had just fired the last arrow in a body of one of the fallen. The fire in the tunnel partially obscuring his view.
The scene they were viewing was chaotic and yet comical at the same time. The Dia Kuklos through which they were watching was dilating time just as Nikomedes had predicted all those years ago.
Watching the naked body of a man being unpinned from a large metal block, the female commented with a grin, ‘You’ve done all you can, love, we need to move. I remember that hairy chest, how cute!’