by T. D. Wilson
Sanchez laughed. He keyed his comms. “Understood, Watchtower.” He threw Maya a wink. “I’m in good hands. Icon Ferry One out.”
Cygni came into full view as Sanchez eased the shuttle into its approach vector. The view was even more spectacular when the shuttle began its descent. The glare of the Cygni sun made Sanchez squint, but he refused to look away from the beautiful image below. He wanted to savor it. Tomorrow, everything would change.
* * *
Ota! The voice screamed in Kree’s head. It had been several hours since Dr. Patton and the other humans had left him in his cave and departed the canyon for their ship in orbit. After they’d left, Kree had retreated deeper into the cave. The interrogation and subsequent hours of tests had taken its toll on him. He wanted to rest in the comfort of the blanketing darkness, but he knew his recuperation time would be short.
Ota! This time it was several voices he heard. Wake up! He recognized each voice. The elder Hal’ta of the N’lan were calling to him. The dizziness of sleep faded from his mind and he reached out to them. “This one hears you, Hal’ta N’lan.”
“Open the link, Ota. You must hear all of us,” one of the voices said in a much calmer tone.
Kree’s mind raced. Ut’liss was the chief elder of all Hal’ta N’lan, and he had never had the honor of listening to her call upon him. Now she wished to hear him! Kree knew he was part of one of her Orthesh, or birthing, but he was Ota. The Hal’ta only listened to elders, and Kree was not.
Kree knew what was expected. He calmed his mind and opened the link to the Hal’ta. Kree’s mind merged with the leaders of the N’lan and he found himself standing in the great Hal’ta council chamber. In front of him were the seven elders, each perched aloft their grand pillars, Ut’liss in the center. Behind the elders were many other members of the Hal’ta N’lan, as well as the elders of the Ota and Bal’ta N’lan. The Bal’ta N’lan warrior elders were adorned in ceremonial armor and each held their traditional pulse lances, their powerful arms grasping them mid-haft, while the butt of their lances rested on the ground in front of them. It was rare to see all of the elders together in one place and rarer still to have them all joined together in a link. Kree felt honored and overwhelmed at the same moment.
Ut’liss rose from her pillar and stared down at Kree. Her voice was soothing in his mind. “Kree Ota N’lan, you must leave the planet and return to us. This...” She paused and looked over at her fellow Hal’ta elders then back at Kree. “This experiment is over.”
Kree bowed low at Ut’liss. “This one offers you humble respect great, Ut’liss Hal’ta, but this one cannot leave.”
Several of the Ota elders flinched backward in surprise, and several voices in Kree’s mind began to murmur. Ut’liss herself was motionless. No one before had ever refused a direct command from the Hal’ta, let alone the chief elder.
Ut’liss lurched higher onto her rear legs, exposing her underbelly to Kree, a sign of extreme distain among the Cilik’ti. “Explain yourself, Ota!”
Kree didn’t rise or even look up.
The elder Hal’ta to Ut’liss’s left rose up in protest. “Ota! The Chi’tan are coming. If they discover you there, they will believe we are aiding the humans. The N’lan will be dishonored!”
Ut’liss motioned to the other elder, who then nodded and resumed his former posture. Ut’liss lowered herself, as well. “Ota, you have your ship. You must leave. You have enough time to reach safety before the Chi’tan arrive.”
Kree shook his head. “Great Ut’liss. The N’lan have always valued and respected life. When the conflict broke out with the humans once before, the N’lan and others protested. We hid our disdain behind our honor and watched. We watched as the Bri’tan and Chi’tan waged the assaults on an innocent species. And this was not the first time. The Chi’tan and other Shi have wiped out entire civilizations, yet those who value life do nothing. The N’lan have all learned, as this one has, that the humans are not a threat to our people. They came here seeking new life among the great stars as the Shi once did. The N’lan and the other Shi have much to learn from them, and they can learn from us. This one still believes in the N’lan. Why else would the N’lan deny K’rveen? It was not in defiance of the Chi’tan, but in reverence for life and the principle of truth.”
None of the other N’lan said anything. They couldn’t. He had shamed them and to admit it would admit their own failure.
Kree heard a new voice in the back of his mind, a private link secluded from the shared link with the Hal’ta council. Ilesh, the chief elder of the Ota N’lan, was on the verge of hysteria. “Kree! What are you doing? You are dishonoring the Ota. You’re threatening all the N’lan! You will be cast out, Kree.”
Kree continued his focus on the shared link and remembered his training to segment it and answer his elder. “This one is doing what is necessary. This one has...promised.”
“Promised? What are you talking about?” Ilesh answered.
“It is a human term. It is a solemn oath, and this one’s word was given,” Kree said. “The N’lan must remember who they are.”
“Kree don’t—” Ilesh continued to plead as Kree terminated the link.
Kree returned his full focus to the shared link with the council. He could sense the tension, the Hal’ta elder’s desire to expel him from the Shi, a high price for dishonor. There was no turning back. “If the Chi’tan come, this one will self-destruct the ship hidden in the canyon and end this one’s existence in the explosion.” Kree’s voice was solemn. “There will be no evidence remaining of any N’lan on the planet. The honor of the N’lan will remain intact and so will its cowardice.” Kree raised his head, gazed at Ut’liss and then to the elders of the Ota, especially Ilesh. They had sent him to the planet to learn and understand, but also to let the humans hear, as they had begun to hear.
“It has been this one’s honor to serve and fulfill the great task that was given, but that time is over now.” Kree rose before the elders. He bowed once again, presenting his colors in reverent umbrage. “Teribinam, N’lan,” his voice thundered as he ended the shared link. “Blessed are the N’lan.”
* * *
The early morning fog rolled over the edge of the finished defensive platform as the Cygni sun began to crest on the horizon. The orange rays of the morning fell upon Major McGregor’s head, and he stared eastward over the landscape toward the forest beyond. It was a beautiful sunrise. Bathed in the sunlight now, the fog felt cool on his skin. A flash and a clap of thunder erupted behind him. He turned to gaze at the oncoming storm clouds just on the edge of the mountains.
The incoming weather would be a boon and a curse. It might hinder the Cilik’ti if they tried to land, but it could limit his air support and make conditions on the ground very messy. He liked the odds. If his troops could hold their position, the Cilik’ti would have to slug over the terrain and that would give his troops time to pummel them in the process. The wind picked up, and he could smell the rain. It would be a grand storm indeed.
Many of the Marines were rotating shifts on the current defenses on the platform and below. He needed to keep them fresh. Every bit of sleep they could get would be beneficial. McGregor pulled out a smaller-looking data pad from his BDUs, pressed a button on the side and set it down next to the platform comm system. He turned the comms on to PA mode and listened. The high-pitched sounds of bagpipes filled the morning air. His spirit soared with the music and his mind filled with images of home. He was born a fighter. It was all he was ever good at. The sounds of home in the Highlands cleared his mind and gave him purpose.
Over the sounds of the pipes, McGregor heard a voice yelling for him on the stairwell. “Major, what in the world is that awful noise?” The voice belonged to Jonathan Hood, who reached the top of the stairs and ambled painfully over to where McGregor was standing. The Magellan’s commander was dressed in fu
ll Marine armor, and McGregor could tell it was bothering him.
“Good morning, Commander!” McGregor bellowed over the music. “Nothing like the sound of bagpipes to get your blood pumping on the morning of a battle. Don’t ya think? All I have is a recording, but the actual thing, now that is a beautiful sound.” Jonathan shook his head and pointed to his ears. Disappointed, McGregor turned off the music. “What can I do for ya, Commander?”
“Well, turning that off would be a start,” Jonathan replied, trying to clear the wax from his ear with his forefinger. “I just got a message from the Armstrong. The next round of shuttles is coming down, but weather may keep them grounded. I’ve already had my wife start to move people into the caves.”
McGregor could see the concern for his wife and the colonists in his eyes. “Good. They’ll be safer there for sure,” he reassured him. He studied Jonathan’s armor and noticed him continuing to fidget with the light plates around his shoulders and elbows. “The armor suits ya. We’ll make a Marine of ya yet.”
Jonathan pulled at his elbow again. “I’m not sure it fits. It pinches everywhere. How do you get used to it?”
“Bah. You’ll grow into it.” McGregor laughed. “A few hours running in your armor under fire and it’ll be part of your skin.”
Jonathan didn’t seem convinced. He ignored his armor for the moment and stared out over the ground to the east of the camp. The fog was beginning to dissipate and he pointed to several light posts following the main road away from the camp toward the forest beyond. “Major, when did those get set up?”
McGregor used his hand to shield his eyes from the morning glare. “Oh, those. I had them placed last night before sunset. I wanted to install some extra lighting along the road for our nighttime surveillance and I had them set for grid locations. Perfect spotters for our artillery, don’t ya think?” McGregor knew the Cilik’ti would target the orbiting satellites first and then try to silence his ground-based sensors in an effort to keep him blind. The grid gave him a low-tech fallback and it was the last thing the Cilik’ti would be concerned about.
“I guess so,” Jonathan mused.
McGregor slapped a large hand on Jonathan’s armored shoulder. “Why don’t ya get some shut-eye? It’s going to be a long day.”
Jonathan shook his head. “I’m all right, but I should make sure my people get some rest.” He smiled at McGregor. “Thanks, Major.”
McGregor watched the leader of the colony descend the stairwell. The man has heart, that’s for sure. But heart wasn’t the only thing he needed from the colonists today. In battle, sacrifice was often the price, and he hoped they had the coin for it.
* * *
Hood waited for the elevator lift. Impatience worked its way in, and he found himself tapping his left thigh. He’d managed a few more hours of sleep but needed to get to the Command Deck. At most they had only a few hours left before the Chi’tan would arrive.
The doors opened and in the lift was Henry McCraken. Running into McCraken was something he didn’t need—not now. Hood tried to ignore the Epherium executive and stepped inside. The ship’s computer asked for a destination. Hood selected the Command Deck from the lift terminal and continued to ignore McCraken.
“Captain, we need to talk.”
“Not now, Henry.” Hood’s level of annoyance was thick in his voice. “I’m quite busy. We all are.”
“You don’t understand. We need to leave.” McCraken’s voice wavered.
Hood tapped the hold button on the elevator lift and it slowed to a halt. He wheeled on McCraken and stood a few inches from his face. “We can’t leave. You know that,” he said emphasizing each word. “Now, if you want to get off, I’m sure I can find an EVA suit that would fit to your liking, but we’re not going anywhere.”
“But Captain, I...I, uh...” McCraken was timid, his normal posture subdued. “I don’t want to die.”
Hood slammed his open hand on the side of the lift just beside McCraken’s ear. “Listen up. I’ve put up with a lot from you, but enough is enough. Everyone knew the risks of coming out here. Death is a possibility, but this entire crew is determined to not let that happen. We’re doing everything we can, and all you can do is stand there and snivel!” Hood could see the fear, the shame in McCraken’s eyes. “We have a job to do. Those colonists we’ve brought on board are your responsibility too. So I suggest you grow a pair, get down to their assigned quarters and help them instead of just thinking about yourself!”
McCraken slid down the wall and started to weep.
Hood sighed. He disabled the hold button and the elevator lift continued to the Command Deck. As the doors opened, he stepped out and selected the deck where the colonists were being housed. “Go help them, Henry. They need you, and maybe you’ll figure out that you need them too.”
Hood turned around. The doors closed, and he heard the lift move away. He stopped and surveyed the Command Deck. No one paid him any attention and everyone was busy. Pride swelled within him. Hood knew most of those here had never faced the Cilik’ti in battle, but they went about their jobs liked seasoned veterans. Ever since his announcement of the inbound Cilik’ti forces, he’d thought about another speech to bolster the morale of the crew. But the time for speeches had passed and his silence now kept them focused on their jobs and not the coming battle.
He walked past a few of the stations and was about to settle down into his chair at the Command Station when he noticed someone already there, watching the overhead monitors. “Jillian, why aren’t you below decks helping with the colonists?”
She looked up at Hood and jumped out of his chair. “Sorry.” She moved to the seat to the right of Hood’s. “There were so many people helping, I felt like a fifth wheel.” She paused for a moment. “I feel at home here. I know I’m a bit out of step with all the new equipment, but I think I can make a difference—if you let me.”
Hood understood how she felt. She was a pilot and also a skilled navigator. The colonists on board needed a place to stay and reassurance. That wasn’t Jillian’s strong suit. “Of course you can make a difference, Lieutenant Commander,” he said with a smile. “I’m a bit shorthanded with Raf flying shuttles and could use the help. I’d like you to coordinate with the helm.”
“Thanks, Captain.” Her confidence had been restored. “I’ll get right on it.”
He watched Jillian reach the Helmsman Station and introduce herself to the team when Aldridge called to him. “Captain, our satellite grid just picked up three gravimetric anomalies just inside the orbital path of the fifth planet.” She almost gasped. “Sir, one of them is huge.”
He swallowed hard. He knew what was out there. He turned to his station and brought up the sensor readings. “Lieutenant, I want full tracking on enemy contacts. I want vectors and distance every five minutes.” He tapped his terminal to call the Communications Station. “Lieutenant Wells, I need you get me a channel planet-side to McGregor and Sanchez.”
“Aye, sir,” she answered, and he dropped the connection.
Hood studied his screen as the sensors reported more information on what had just arrived into the system. And so it begins. “Battle stations!”
Chapter Nine
Magellan Colony Lake Site
Cygni 4
Saturday, February 1
Earth Year 2155
Sanchez sat in the cool, wet bunker at the base of the plateau near the lake. He grabbed a nearby rag and wiped the water from his M20 assault rifle. It was raining slower now, but the latest report from the Armstrong had told him the bulk of the storm was still on its way. It had been a trying past few hours. The Chi’tan had jumped at least three ships into the system and were closing, albeit a bit slowly, on Cygni 4. He and Maya had just arrived on planet with their shuttle when all traffic to and from the planet was put on hold. Being stranded planet-side wasn’t what
he’d envisioned, but he understood Hood’s decision. If the Chi’tan advanced, any shuttles coming up from the surface would be easy pickings. He always liked the stand-up fights, but this one was going to be in-your-face. Personally, he enjoyed the large armored hull of a warship in space compared to personal body armor on the ground, but the odds weren’t much better in either case.
Sanchez and McGregor agreed that the shuttles should be moved away from the main site and camouflaged. If the tide of battle turned against them, any survivors could make their way there and attempt an escape. The plateau wall faced the lake, but along its southern section, deep crags extended between the wall and ridgeline. The crags led to a small box canyon covered with more of the tangled trees, a perfect spot to place the shuttles. The remaining three shuttles still in space stayed with the Armstrong. Their value for Search and Rescue would be sorely needed.
A majority of the colonists from the lake site had already been evacuated. Of the four hundred or so who remained, half had volunteered to fight. The rest were moved into the caves deep in the underside of the plateau. With the site being so remote, the idea was to lure the Cilik’ti into a full-blown assault on the Magellan site. But in case some of the Cilik’ti chose to come here, two companies of Marines—one of which was outfitted with MACE gear and a few vehicles—were assigned to defend it.
The rain slowed to a slight drizzle, and Sanchez peered outside for any chance of sunlight breaking through the reddish-gray clouds. There wasn’t any. Wanting to stretch his legs, he stepped out of the rear of the bunker and walked to the lakeshore. The ground was still soggy from the heavy rain, but his boots’ lining kept his feet dry even as the water pooled around them. With no wind, the lake looked so serene, almost timeless.
Hood was right. The oxygen-rich atmosphere was invigorating. Each breath was a welcome taste compared to the recycled air aboard the Armstrong. Sanchez stretched his arms to the sky and tried to ease the soreness his armor was inflicting on his body. He took off his helmet and rolled his neck. It felt better, and the stiffness seemed to ease away like the morning mist.