When the Stars Fade (The Gray Wars)

by Korenman, Adam

  “Jesus,”Tim moaned.“What is happening?”He moved to sit up, to drag her out of the street and into his half hazard shelter, when her hand clamped down like a vice on his wrist. He yelped in surprise and pain, dropping down onto his ass hard enough to send shocks up his spine.

  The woman turned her head to face him, bones popping and grinding beneath the mottled flesh. Blood and saliva poured from her slackened mouth, dribbling between teeth that had grown longer and sharper than normal. She squeezed harder and Tim felt her nails biting into his arm. If he hadn’t worn the overcoat, she might have torn right through the skin. She growled, a rumbling terrible sound that hit him in the stomach. Then, without warning, she was on him.

  Fists came down like hammers, pounding at his face and chest. She clawed and bit, never finding much of a target in the heavily bundled man. Tim cried out, his arms crossed over his head trying to ward off the worst of the blows. She caught him across the jaw and stars exploded in front of his eyes. Nails dug into his neck as she brought her drooling mouth down toward his face to take a bite. Tim squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the end.

  Suddenly the weight lifted. He heard a wet crack, like a melon hitting the ground. When he opened his eyes the woman lay face down in the street, black blood pooling from her head. Standing over him, victorious, was Mary. She had wrapped herself in layers of gauze and tape to protect her skin, and held a brick in her right hand. As Tim leapt up and grabbed his daughter, he heard the screeches echoing through the town. More and more people were rising from where they’d fallen, driven by some unknown force.

  Back inside the shop, Mary and Tim barricaded the doors and windows as best they could. The dreadful silence had been replaced with something worse. Screams sounded every few minutes as the horde of infected found another victim. For now, the two survivors settled in for the night, praying they might make it through this living nightmare.

  Outside, the thralls brayed and hissed and began their hunt.

  * * * * *

  Hiro could only watch the horror unfold on his screen. As the spores fell from the skies, they burrowed into the flesh of any hapless fools left outside. Most died quickly, after suffering through minutes of unimaginable agony. Some, however, refused to go so quietly. The parasitic cloud infected their bodies, mutating and deranging them. As his crew watched the scene unfold, bodies began to rise and run at the survivors, clawing and biting and hitting. It was a nightmare. And, looking at his weary shipmates, Hiro knew it was only beginning.

  “They’re pulling back!”The voice cracked over the net, breaking up in bursts of static. Hiro’s crew jumped on the signal, amplifying until they had a solid lock.“This is Jerusalem, calling all stations. The Boxti forces are pulling back.”

  Hiro couldn’t speak. He looked over to the right, to where his executive officer stood. Earl had taken a beating during the worst of the fight, dislocating his shoulder. The war-weary captain smiled at his commander.“We made it,”he said.

  “Commodore,”the communications officer called out.“It’s the Boxti. They’re sending another message.”

  Hiro eased himself into his chair, careful not to show any visible signs of pain.“Get Domin Shodon on the line to translate.”

  “No need, sir. It’s in English.”

  What in God’s name?Hiro motioned for the young officer to play the audio. The voice that came next was anything but human. It’s inflection was all wrong, and it sounded like metal spikes grinding in dirt. But the words were terrifyingly clear.

  “Now that we have your attention...”

  Chapter Six

  Learn to Fly

  “When the history books are written, they will mock us. Our children will lament our mistakes as they will be the ones who pay for them. For when our species needed us the most, we were too busy fighting one another to face our true enemy. That is, of course, if we survive to write them.”

  Gordon Holst

  Professor of History,

  London University

  2240

  - I -

  February 15, 2237

  Josh woke up suspended in mid-air. Wind roared in his ears as he plummeted down toward the ground at terminal velocity. Something small and cold tapped against his wrist in time with his heartbeat. He tried to look down, but the force of the air around his head kept it locked in place. Squinting against the blazing sun, Josh watched the brown swamp below race at him like a freight train. A shrill whistle sounded, growing louder and louder with each passing moment.

  He sat up in his bed, drenched in sweat, heart pounding so loud it felt as though it shook the room. The empty sky had vanished, replaced with the cool blank walls of the barracks. Rows of bunks lined up along the wall alongside lockers and storage chests. Aside from a few posters and the bulletin board, no decorations gave life to the space.

  Like all Army facilities, the barracks were unisex. With such a small group there was little risk for any of the usual sexual issues that plagued the rest of the military. Peer monitoring, combined with more than a few visible cameras, kept the hormones in check. Fraternization amongst the troops was an inevitability, one the military had taken centuries to accept. Surprisingly, this has led to units working better in the field rather than worse.

  Josh swung his legs out from beneath his sheets and let his feet find the slippers under the bed. He stood and stretched out his sore arms and legs. Physical training had never been this hard. Even with the billions of tiny machines working his muscles and tissues, he hurt every day. Dr. Markov said this was normal and that the pain would continue to ebb over the coming months. So far he’d been right about the recovery process. Once he'd started walking again, his body had healed almost immediately. He imagined he could feel the nano bots flowing through his veins, checking his vitals and keeping him in shape.

  The days had run together. Laying in bed for months hadn’t done any favors for Josh’s internal clock. Following that with weeks of the most strenuous physical therapy and strength training he’d ever performed left the young soldier in a constant state of recovery. Not that he would complain, nor any of his soldiers. Along with the new and unique regiment came the realization that they no longer fit into the usual mold of Army grunts.

  Josh’s first few days had gone predictably terrible. His legs didn’t respond to his commands, seeming to act of their own accord. Walking was nearly impossible, let alone conducting a simple two-mile jog. Dax had the most trouble adapting and spent his first training sessions with some of the lab coats in a water tank. However, after many a miserable hour on the field, the soldiers’bodies began to comply. In fact, they each noticed improvements. Liane had been the fastest runner in the battalion before the operation, but now sprinted flat out without ever showing signs of fatigue. Dax could move a truck without aid before, and now seemed able to move a tank.

  As Dr. Markov explained it, the nanomachines in their bodies amplified natural abilities. Liane was running faster, but also moved at near perfect efficiency through the space around her. Though each of the soldiers shot with uncanny accuracy, Alexa’s talents outshone the entire squad. In every way, the experiment was proving a success. And since the nanomachines worked as extensions to their own neurology, the learning curve was thankfully low.

  In order to capitalize on the technology, Dr. Markov and Sasha put the soldiers through rigorous physical and mental training. Each learned to be masters with small arms, heavy weapons and explosives. They trained in hand-to-hand combat, practicing Shi-Ze-Nah Karate with Grandmaster Morris three days a week. Sasha even had them learn Kendo and advanced sword-fighting techniques, though few could understand why. Whenever they questioned the archaic weapons, the Mars veteran would put on his angry face—indistinguishable from his other expressions—and remind them that swords never had to be reloaded. They left each class bruised and exhausted, with more than a few welts.

  The classroom was as difficult as the training field, and Josh’s team went through university-level cou
rses in physics, chemistry, anatomy and biology. They learned how to use advanced quantum computers and the ins and outs of classified Naval technology. Sasha often remarked that it was like spraying a fire hose at a sponge and hoping it stuck, but the soldiers succeeded at every turn. In the short two weeks since the training resumed, the program was already making strides forward. Pierre in particular took to xenobiology like a fish to water.

  There were downsides. The Master Control Unit was the most unusual part of the transition. Acting as a liaison between the soldier and the machines, the MCU had an infused Artificial Intelligence that allowed it to make choices independently of the host. Josh found this somewhat troubling, as its first call had been to build a diamond shell for his bones and a carbon weave for his skin. Nothing felt particularly out of place, but it unnerved him.

  Josh left the barracks and stepped out into the cool night air. He still had another few hours if he wanted more sleep, but his body felt refreshed. An unseen side effect of the operation was the near incurable insomnia, but it didn’t faze him any more. He checked his phone and saw a new message from Cameron. Markov insisted on a media blackout, including all contact with outside sources. That rule had been broken early and often. Josh tapped the icon on his phone and the video played.

  Cameron’s face popped up on the screen.“Hey there, buddy. I figure you’ll be opening this at some ungodly hour, so I’ll skip the pleasantries. I’m already missing Irwin Cove, but the war needs me out here. Primus was hurting for a good ace, and a hero has to oblige the people.”He laughed. The camera shifted as the pilot moved to a different vantage by a window. Behind him, small motes of yellow light flashed in the distance near a gold and blue planet.“That’s the clean-up. We have to blast most of the derelicts out of the sky. The Boxti let their broken ships drift around and they're falling over population centers. It’s like they don’t care at all about survivors. We spend most of our days in recovery, but it’s been two weeks. We all know we’re in a body count now. At least the fighting is stopped, but who knows how long this little cease-fire is going to last.

  “I’ve done a few bombing runs down there, trying to buy the troops more time. I'm not even targeting the aliens, it's mostly the monsters they made.”He looked worn out. Dark circles hung under his eyes.“It's been hell out there. So much flak left from the fighting. If you don't watch your path you'll shred your ship. I’ve watched a lot of good people die, Josh. A lot of friends. It’s hard to climb into that cockpit anymore. I feel like I’m just waiting to punch my ticket out. If it weren’t for Kaileen, I don’t know how I’d do it.”His face brightened at the thought.“She tells me to focus on the positive.”

  “Hi, Josh,”Kaileen said offscreen. She popped her head in, smiling wryly. Her hair was wrapped in a towel and she wore her flight uniform. The blue jumpsuit was only half-on, the sleeves from the top wrapped around her waist. A tight gray tank top clung to her torso.“Guess who’s back on duty?”

  Cameron smiled genuinely.“I don’t know who she had to sleep with to get back in a Seed, but she’s on the line. I know, Lord have mercy, right?”Kaileen leaned in and punched Cameron hard on the shoulder.“Ow, this is abuse, woman!”

  Josh laughed, his breath fogging in the cool morning air.

  “Listen,”Cameron said.“I’m about to head back out into it. Command keeps talking about a parlay with the aliens, and we’re needed to make a safe area.”He paused suddenly, taking on a conspiratorial look.“Speaking of aliens, have you seen any grays down on Eden? There are a a dozen ships out here with us, and they’ve started acting strange. Yesterday I saw two cruisers flashing their weapons back and forth, like a show of force. Weird, right?

  “Anyway, drop me a line when you’re free. Let me know if that spore cloud has reached you guys yet. You’ve been lucky so far, so let’s hope it skips you altogether. Stay safe, Josh.”A tone sounded, signaling the end of the transmission. Josh tucked the phone back into his pocket. He regretted the lies he told his friend almost as much as he worried about his comrades on New Eden. The planet held one of the largest military bases in Terran space, but it had been remarkably vulnerable to attack. Against an enemy like the Boxti, it was hard to imagine the Army was making any headway.

  “Can’t sleep?”

  Josh turned around and smiled as Dax emerged from the building, donning a long-sleeved shirt and pulling a thick jacket around his shoulders. He was a native of warmer climates and didn’t enjoy the bitter winter of Omega. As he looked at his friend, a digital display appeared to his left. Dax’s military folder, as well as a recent picture, displayed in mid-air by the hulking soldier. Josh found it disconcerting, but was slowly getting used to the automated features of a mechanically enhanced brain. He thought hard for a moment and the images disappeared.

  “I’m getting better,”Josh said.

  Dax laughed, rubbing his arms against the cold.“I am sore today. I swear, this is worse than any PT we did back on Kronos.”

  “It was warmer there.”

  “Don’t I know it.”Dax breathed on his hands to heat them.“‘Mild winter,’they said. I’m freezing.”He shivered.“Was that Cameron? How’s he doing?”

  Josh looked off to the far side of the parade field.“The message is a few hours old. I figure he’s out in the middle of the shit right now.”He bit his lip, looking over his shoulder at his friend.“It doesn’t sound good. He sends me muster reports. They've emptied the reserves from Kronos. Everyone is on New Eden trying to take back the ground. That bioweapon the aliens used caused some pretty freaky mutations.”

  Dax nodded.“The videos Pierre found were horrible. All those people turned into...whatever the hell they were.”

  “Division isn't making a move on those hives yet. Some political bullshit.”He turned toward Dax, biting his lip.“A lot of the casualties are Black Adders.”

  Dax let out a breath. He closed his eyes, putting a huge mitt on Josh’s back.“Lord, we ask that you look after our brothers and sisters in arms. That you welcome them into your warm embrace and grant them peace at last. In Jesus’s name we pray. Amen.”

  “Amen,”Josh said softly.

  The door opened and three more soldiers walked outside. Liane led the group, with Pierre and Cho behind her. Cho rubbed sleep from his eyes with his right hand, as his left arm was still in a sling from the day before. Dax had been a little overzealous during combat training.

  “Can you two keep it down?”Liane asked.“Some of us were trying to sleep.”

  Pierre grumbled.“Not that we’d get much anyway. They’re slave drivers here.”

  Josh looked at his watch and sighed.“It’s only three, guys. Let’s get what little rest is available.”

  “Once I’m up, there’s no going back down.”Dax began to stretch his legs.“What’s on today’s schedule? More class?”

  “Advanced modular avionics theory,”Josh said.

  Cho laughed.“And that means what exactly?”

  “Shit if I know.”The lieutenant shrugged.“Something boring that we have to know for whatever reason.”

  “Are we going to New Eden yet?”Alexa asked, jogging over to join the group.“I’m losing my mind with the waiting.”

  Josh shook his head.“Doc says we aren’t ready to deploy. In our condition, we’d hurt more than help. Another few days, I’ll bet.”

  A strange sound caused them to look toward the sky. A spark flared high overhead, followed by a small pop. It took them a moment to realize it was a ship entering the atmosphere. As they watched, the object began to grow in size and conduct a figure-eight landing pattern. The maneuver burnt off excess speed and allowed the surface engines to take over. Each soldier, without realizing, guessed that this was a fuel hauler on a routine drop-off. The tankers came and went every few days on what appeared to be a randomized schedule, but the candidates had become experts at pattern recognition.

  Josh figured, based off the angle of descent and the low vibration over the hull, that this was a Type-X
227 Linebacker. He almost imagined that if he squinted he could verify his thought. His eyesight had become sharper as of late. It seemed the machines inside had yet to reveal all their secrets.

  Looking around, the squad leader realized he couldn’t get these soldiers back in their bunks. It was better they spent their time planning tactics and reading up on their subjects.“Uniform is Black and Red today. Get changed and form up by 0345. We’ll work on our drills in the classroom until the instructors show up.”

  - II -

  Alexander hated the makeup. It made his face feel thick and hot, and it smelled like burnt plastic. Arthur insisted he wear it during interviews, and even Jerry admitted it was necessary. Alexander fought back, saying the artists always messed up his skin color. He’d end up looking like coffee with too much cream. It made him feel like a clown. Given the state of things, the High Chancellor was remiss to allow any mistakes.

  Election season began with a shock, though not terribly unexpected. Brent Kerrigan received the nomination for Attachéof Earth by Counsellor Fogwell. Despite Alexander’s adamant and heated warnings, the rest of the local Council had approved the appointment. Now, if the incumbent Doreen Paylok failed to win her seat again, the ownership of the Human Homeworld would be a heartbeat away from a terrorist agent. And the people of Earth seemed content to let it happen.

  It didn’t help that Doreen had never been a particularly good replacement for the fallen AttachéRogan. She didn’t have the charisma needed for such an important post, nor the political wherewithal to gain and hold her constituency. Alexander had tried, with Jerry’s careful guidance, to build her reputation among the other politicians. But she managed to step on herself every time. It was honestly embarrassing. Ambassador Jordan had separated himself from the spiraling diplomat on various occasions, which only bolstered Red Hammer’s campaign.