Sonata in Orionis (Earth Song Book 2)

by Mark Wandrey

  "Don't I know?" The Desert Tribe and Minu's Plateau Tribe were allies for many hundreds of years. "So, grab your knife and let’s go over a little?"

  Chapter 10

  Julast 14th, 514 AE

  Frontier Space, Unknown Star System

  Ten kilometers sounds like a short distance. Jump in a ground car, or a flier, and you’re there in as little as a minute. Zoom. Now try making that ten kilometers through an ancient alien world full of crumbling walls, dangerous and random holes in roadways, and hundreds of murderous snakes watching your every move. To make matters worse, the night was approaching.

  "How much farther?" Chriso asked a man next to him, who was looking at his computer.

  "Less than a kilometer," he replied, "however there is a broad avenue we must cross to enter the industrial complex housing the energy signal."

  "Almost there, boys," he told everyone else. "One more open dash and maybe we can find some cover." He still hadn't elaborated on his plan, not that he had a fully developed one anyway. It all depended on what they found one kilometer distant. They didn't need to know that there was no real plan, not yet. They trusted their leader completely. Some small part of him burned with shame at keeping them from the truth.

  A minute later they were all spread out along a shattered facade of a building looking across the hundred meters of inconspicuous openness.

  "Damn," one of his men said.

  "Ugly," another agreed.

  "Scouts across," Chriso ordered. Two blurs fifty meters away, one from either side, shot out from cover and raced across. They wore their only sneakfields and the men used them to good effect. Their outlines were blurred, as well as any thermal images they gave off. Even on a targeting scanner, their signatures would be indistinct and confusing. A tactical decision to send scouts across was a difficult one. You either send a couple hoping to minimize casualties and warn you that it was an ambush, or you send everyone in a huge wave guessing that all your men couldn't get killed at once. Chosen tactics were always small unit tactics, so Chriso preferred to minimize the casualties and chance of being observed by sending the scouts.

  Once the scouts were across without incident, he gave them five minutes to find high spots and set up their own spotter gear before sending the rest across two at a time. Chriso went last with Eric and was soon on the other side safe and sound.

  "Bring us in, Eric," he told the young man. His equipment was good and he knew how to use it. The Chosen took them on a meandering route through the dilapidated industrial complex, moving around collapsed structures and piles of debris. This area, unlike where they first arrived, showed hard wear and tear. Either from some harsh environmental effects, or perhaps a battle: it was far too long ago to know for sure. Time was gradually having its way with the city.

  As darkness fell, they were all relying on image-enhancing goggles, then they came across the first sign that Eric was right. It was a nondescript door control panel identical to millions of others scattered across the empire. The difference was a little red light glowed dutifully, informing everyone that it was locked. It was also the only sign of power they'd seen on this world besides that pile of mostly dead EPCs.

  "Damn good job, kid," Chriso said and slapped the beaming boy on the back. A second later, a blinding bolt of pure energy slammed into Eric's chest sending him flying backward into the wall. Tiny bolts of electrical discharge flew off of him, making all the nearby Chosen jerk and dive for cover.

  "Scouts report!" Chriso screamed over the radio as more particle beams splashed against the ceramic concrete walls sending razor sharp chunks searching for unprotected skin.

  "Two snake fliers, they came in with the setting sun, it masked their thermal signature," was the instant reply. It was accented by the distant roar of one of the scout’s rifles. Two more booms echoed in quick succession and the particle fire stopped.

  "They're retreating for the moment," the other scout reported, "their shields were fading."

  "What about Abel?" Chriso asked about the first scout, his chest numb with suspicion.

  "He's down," was the fateful reply, "I'm maneuvering to find his status." Chriso already accessed the privileged band of the radio though his computer, it showed the man lying face down on a roof, eyes wide in death.

  "Negative, he's dead. Hold cover and watch for another probe. I'm sending up another man to see if Abel's weapons are recoverable." The loss of the man was bad (taking them down to eight), the loss of the weapon as well would be a tragedy. The scout guns were twice as powerful as the ones the rest of his squad carried and essential if they were going to survive.

  The others by the door were up again and listening through their own radios so when Chriso turned to one man and pointed, he was instantly up and running in the direction of the dead scout. The immediate threat stabilized, he knelt next to the young Chosen Eric, where their only qualified medic was tending to him. To Chriso's relief, the boy was still alive.

  "His shield took the hit," the medic said as Chriso leaned in. The small EPC that absorbed energy weapons fire was smoking ominously as another Chosen gingerly carried it away in case it suddenly decided to give up the ghost. The medic opened Eric's jump suit to show a nasty series of burns caused by tendrils of plasma splashed from the weapon hit. It looked painful, and the ashen color of Eric's face confirmed that.

  "You gonna make it, son?" Chriso asked. He got a confident nod as a reply. "Give him some pain killers," Chriso instructed the medic.

  "Not too much," Eric said through clenched teeth, "I don't want to be incapacitated."

  Good kid, Chriso thought as he leaned over the boy and patted him on the shoulder. He also made a mental note to commend the science team on adapting the microshields. That shot would have been lethal without it. At first Chriso was skeptical of the tiny shields purchased as junk and originally designed to protect aliens working around high power systems. Could it really be worth the additional kilo of weight to their basic kit? I guess that question is answered, he thought.

  "Work the door," he instructed one of his other men, "we need some cover." He prayed he'd find inside what he thought he would. The cost might still be worth what they'd paid, yet another dead Chosen. How many did that make under his watch? He knew the answer of course. Chriso committed every name to his memory. Sixty-two dead Chosen, more than died under all the previous three Firsts combined. Of course those previous Firsts never did what his Chosen were now doing. The humans were moving out of the nest, taking their first tentative steps in a dangerous galaxy. It was unavoidable that some of the chicks were being eaten by the predators in the woods.

  "I'm at Abel's position," the new report came in. "His weapon is wasted."

  "Understood. Assume a new lookout position, do not engage the enemy unless absolutely necessary. Be prepared to withdraw in a moment’s notice." Behind him, the door beeped and began to grind hesitantly open. "We'll know if there is anything here worthwhile in a minute."

  The door made it halfway open and ground to a stop with a screech. The interior was dark past where the small amount of starlight was cast from the outside. Chriso took out his flashlight and moved toward the door, another in his squad beat him through just as another followed behind.

  The interior was a dualloy and ceramic concrete structure common everywhere in the empire. A complicated series of hatches were fitted in the floor that left them all scratching their heads. It looked a little like cargo handling shafts found in warehouses. These were different in some ways. Why the hatch covers? And how do you open them?

  "Boss, look at this!" Chriso walked over to look at what his man found. It was a functioning computer terminal, its display glowing dimly in the near total darkness of the room.

  "I'll be damned," he said as he looked at the Concordia script glowing there. He knew right away this was in script one, because he could barely read it. Script one was seldom used, mostly in some tech files. It had left popular use in the empire so long ago there was no r
ecord. "Any of our squad know script one?"

  "Only Eric," said the Chosen. Damn, Chriso cursed silently, poor kid deserved better than to be depended on so much so soon.

  "How you doing kid?" he asked Eric.

  "Ready to help," Eric answered, standing in the doorway with one hand out to support himself. His jump suit was back on though scorched badly from the near fatal shot.

  "Excellent, then get to it." Chriso squatted on the filthy floor near one of the mysterious hatches and watched the young man work with the foreign script. So much about the numerous Concordia languages was a mystery to them, even after a century of working with them. His thoughts were interrupted as the lights in the room suddenly popped into life and the air was disturbed by the gentle hum of a fan somewhere. "Don't power anything up," Chriso warned as he got to his feet.

  "I can't stop it," Eric said through a grimace. Chriso thought he was in more pain until he realized that the boy was having to fight with the computer. Commands were flashing across the screen in blinding speed, so quick that Chriso doubted he could have read them even if they were in English. As each command appeared Eric replied almost as quickly. He could see that the kid wasn't getting them all.

  "What's it doing?" Chriso hissed as he felt the floor vibrate. "Did you trip some sort of trap?"

  "No, I just queried the terminal for status and it started going ape shit!"

  "Can you just shut it down?" asked another Chosen.

  Eric typed furiously for a moment before replying. "I'm afraid if I do, it might take that badly."

  "Huh?" asked the other man.

  "Some Concordia operating systems use a 'passive' security protocol. Instead of passwords like we prefer, it just lets you in and start to use it. But if you fail to give a correct command, or just try to shut it down..."

  "Boom?" asked Chriso. Eric merely nodded in reply. The room was becoming quite comfortable and the air was crisp. Despite this perspiration was beading up on Eric's forehead. Chriso knew the boy's knowledge of Script One couldn't be as detailed as he was being forced to utilize. Suddenly he cursed and jumped back, shaking his hand. A few drops of blood fell away to land on the dusty floor.

  "Shit!"

  "What happened?" the medic asked as he grabbed Eric's hand to examine it.

  "Damn thing got personal," Eric said, casting a sidelong murderous look at the terminal which was frozen on the last display. A sterile wipe momentarily cleared away the blood from what appeared to be a circular puncture in his palm less than a millimeter across. Blood continued to flow freely so the medic sprayed it with a topical sealant. The bleeding stopped immediately.

  "Looked like a biopsy sample," the medic said as he finished clearing the wound.

  "Why would it biopsy you?" Chriso asked.

  "It asked for a identification, and I hesitated."

  "He who hesitates is lost..."

  "I'm sorry sir, what was that?" Eric asked.

  "Nothing, just old wisdom from an old man." The Chosen all smiled at the confused look on Eric's face. "Any sign it injected him with something?" he asked the medic who was consulting his kit.

  "No sir, clean scan."

  "Well, looks like a dead end," Chriso said after one last glance at the frozen computer. "Good try though." Eric looked dejected. "You gave it your best, we better get out of here before we're-" He stopped in mid word as the sound of motors coming to life reached their ears. "The doors!" he yelled without thinking. Doors were moving, and not the ones they came in through. On the floor, one of the huge hatches was rotating open, displacing a small avalanche of dust.

  Every Chosen in the room pointed their weapon at the opening as the door swung to a stop and something began to emerge. It was a spidery lift of the kind only rarely seen in use. Chriso knew right away because he'd studied them on long dead worlds and wondered what they would look like in operation.

  "Well I'll be," Chriso laughed at the conveyance. "Your work?" he asked Eric.

  "No sir, I never got past hello and please don't kill us." He looked back at the terminal and saw it was no longer frozen. It was showing an unlocked control interface screen that all of them were familiar with.

  "Snakes are swooping in," the other scout announced. "At least five killer squads are moving along our path. If we don't move now, we're going to be boxed in."

  Chriso looked from the door to the lift and made a decision. "Scouts in, we're going to throw the snakes a curve." The opening and the lift seemed almost to be glowing to him. This was it, it had to be. He'd finally found the end of his long quest. Now the real work began. Inside the lift with all eight Chosen, they could hear the drumming of powerful machinery somewhere below. As they slowly descended and the hatch closed behind them.

  Chapter 11

  Julast 8th, 514 AE

  Cascade Mountains, Desert Slopes

  Cherise complained quite a bit about the cold of the mountains and wished for warmer temperatures. She got her wish over the next two days as the bitter cold of the mountains turned quickly into a raging inferno as they descended toward the desert below. They left behind any sources of ready water as well and Cherise made them top off their canteens every time they passed even a tiny stream that looked pure..

  "Soon you will be happy for a sip of kloth piss," she warned them. The others were skeptical of this dubious claim, Gregg took her very seriously.

  Late afternoon on the second day they emerged from a line of trees and stepped into sand for the first time. "So fast," Minu said at the unfamiliar ground.

  "It happens that way on our world," Gregg replied. He was by far the most traveled among the group, even more so than Cherise. "You go from desert to mountains, from mountains to plains, all in a blink of an eye." The others were nodding in agreement and again Minu found herself realizing what a sheltered life they lead in Plateau, especially on Tranquility.

  As they continued on, sand quickly took over as the dominant terrain. Trees became smaller, then less common to be replaced by intermittent clumps of grass or an occasional stand of stunted trees with only a tenuous hold on the ground, their roots often exposed to the savagery of erosion. This middle area was once barren, even here the earth transplants were moving into new niches. Hundreds of flora varieties brought to the world by survivors were thriving and pushing boundaries everywhere. As the sun dropped behind the mountains they got a respite from the gathering heat of the afternoon.

  Cherise offered them some caution. "With the darkness comes another kind of cold."

  "Cold would be preferable to the heat," Pip said. As with most physical adversity, he was the most challenged in the growing heat. He was so soaked in sweat someone might think he'd just climbed from a lake.

  "This is a more stark contrast," Cherise added simply. In an hour of gathering twilight, the others understood. In that short span of time it went from hot, to pleasant, to cool, and on to cold. "There is nothing to hold the heat," she told them as they trudged onward. "The sand gives up it's heat in minutes leaving us exposed to the cold of night. Pip just pulled out a poncho and slipped it over his head with shivering fingers. All the sweat his body gave off to cool him was now a betrayal and a threat of hypothermia.

  Their first night in the desert fell hard and fast. The sun, now long below the tops of the mountains behind them, quickly gave up the last of its glow and threw them into near total darkness. Romulus was farther to the East than Minu had ever seen it, so far that the tips of the mountains just touched its lower edge. The pale light it cast was barely enough to see the ground in front of their feet.

  "Anyone know how long until Remus rises?" Gregg asked after he stubbed his toe painfully on a root hidden in shadow. The shoes were really nothing more than foot coverings. They offered no protection against impact. Likewise they felt almost every pebble and rock under their feet.

  "About three hours," Minu said after consulter the memorized orbit table. It wasn't hard really; Remus' orbital rotation only deviated from one and a half orbits
per day by a few minutes. If you knew what day of the month it was, the rest was easy. "Too long to stumble along like this. One of us is going to break an ankle."

  Gregg gave a woof, then a grumble. "Too late," he said. Minu didn't worry, she'd learned enough first aid to know that if the tall guy actually broken his ankle he wouldn't be able to joke about it.

  With the little light remaining the group managed to find a tiny stand of stunted trees to huddle up against. It wasn't as cold as the mountains so when they grouped together to share warmth, they kept their clothes on. Minu was glad for this. While she 'understood' what happened between Cherise and Gregg wasn't wrong, she didn't want to think about trying to ignore a repeat performance. Despite herself, the last few mornings she'd watched them carefully for any hint of late night shenanigans. The whole thing still caused confused emotions to swirl in her stomach, so she was glad they stayed in their own separate bed rolls.

  In the middle of the night a wind came up from across the desert as Remus rose, it's slightly green hued light casting an eerie glow across the face of the desert. The wind was not bitterly cold, and seemed to carry some remnant of the day’s heat with it. Minu shortly realized that everyone was awake from the wind and decided to get up to look around.

  "It wouldn't be a bad idea to continue on," Cherise suggested.

  "At night? Isn't that dangerous?" Minu asked. While she hadn't said anything after entering the desert territory of the kloth, she found it impossible not to think about the huge reptilian monsters.

  "Slightly," he agreed, "but we're many hundreds of miles from the common range of the kloth, we'll have a good six hours of light from Remus, and it is cooler than walking in the day."

  "In the morning we can make a shelter from the sun and sleep," Cherise agreed. Moving at night and sleeping during the day didn't make sense to Minu, or a trek across the desert for that matter. She deeply hoped they found a clue to where they should be going soon before they died of thirst. Her canteen was half empty already.