The Epherium Chronicles: Crucible

by T. D. Wilson

  Sanchez was about to put his helmet back on when he saw something in the water at the edge of the shore. It was small, perhaps the size of a round stone, and it bobbed up and down in the water. At first he thought it might be one of Caris’s turtles, but he lost it again. He leaned closer to get a better look when something grabbed his left arm and jerked him hard to the side.

  Whatever had him was strong, and he was unceremoniously tossed nearly three meters to his left. It was a good thing too. Just as he was thrown, a large creature rushed out of the water to where he was standing. Sanchez made an awkward landing but managed to keep his feet and tried to get a better view of what was happening.

  The creature was huge, spanning more than seven meters in length. Its head was enormous. Two eyes were situated on the top, obviously what he’d seen peeking from the water, and the front tapered into a snout longer than both his arms combined. Short spikes, several bigger than his hand, protruded from its skin and ran along its back down to the base of its tail. By Sanchez’s recollection, the creature resembled some hideous form of crocodile. Its mouth, full of large and sharp teeth, snapped twice in hopes of catching the unsuspecting Sanchez, but caught only the air where he had been standing along the shore. The creature, quite unhappy at losing its meal, thrashed from side to side to locate its prey, its powerful tail whipping the water in frustration.

  A dark gray figure flashed past Sanchez and charged the ferocious reptile. Sanchez could only watch as the armored figure landed a solid kick to the crocodile’s neck that drove the hulking creature sideways in the soft mud and farther away from him.

  The creature recovered fast and lashed out at its attacker with its powerful jaws, but Sanchez’s defender was too quick and had rolled left toward its rear. He heard a high-pitched metal ring as the gray figure drew a long blade from its back and slashed hard against the creature’s back leg.

  The alien crocodile roared in pain and tried to move away, but its effort was fruitless. Its leg lay severed in the mud and a black ichor poured from the wound, spraying the ground. No longer interested in a meal, the crocodile tried to retreat to the water, but the gray figure leaped onto its back and drove his blade deep into its neck, close to the creature’s spine at the base of its skull. The crocodile’s massive body jerked hard to the left and attempted to throw its assailant, but the gray figure held his grip on the sword and braced himself on the spikes along the creature’s back. The crocodile roared again in pain as its attacker twisted the sword in its back. The wounded beast dropped to the muddy ground. After a few final twitches, the creature let out a soft gurgle and lay still.

  Sanchez couldn’t believe what he’d seen. He approached the dead creature with caution and watched his rescuer pull its long sword from its back and jump down toward him.

  Clad in formfitting body armor with a darkened visor helmet, the slim warrior cleaned the dark blood from the sword with a gloved hand. Even in the dim light, Sanchez could determine the features of his well-armed friend were that of a woman. At her side, a pistol was secured in its holster. Sanchez recognized it.

  Maya Greywalker flipped up her visor with her free hand and sheathed her sword in the scabbard secured across her back. “Commander, are you all right?” Her blue eyes scanned him with genuine concern.

  Sanchez shook his head and held up his hand to placate her. “What would I do without you, Lieutenant?” He walked over to the body of the crocodile. “This thing is huge!” He stared at Maya in disbelief. “I thought Caris said they hadn’t found any large reptiles, just turtles.”

  Maya bent down and studied the creature. She, too, seemed somewhat at a loss. A creature of this size surely would have been seen this close to the camp, and the colonists’ gear should have been able to detect it. She examined the creature’s front foot and slid her gloved hand along its side, just behind its head. “Commander, here.” She pointed to a fold in the creature’s skin.

  Not sure what he was looking at, Sanchez bent down closer. “What is that?”

  “Gills, Commander.” Maya pulled the fold back farther, exposing the gill slits. She grabbed the crocodile’s front foot and spread its three talons wide. A membrane extended halfway up the last knuckle of each talon. “Webbed feet as well, it seems. Perhaps this creature spends more time in the deep water of this lake. That might account for it going unnoticed. There’s still much of this lake, especially the deeper areas, that haven’t been explored.”

  “Why would it come ashore?”

  Maya shook her head. “The colonists’ arrival might have changed its food patterns and forced it to patrol the shore for a meal. If it was hunting in the area, there would be tracks.” Maya stood and started to search, but stopped and turned toward the camp. Sanchez could hear the oncoming sloshes of the armored Marines coming closer now.

  “Commander Sanchez!” Sergeant Toronaga called out.

  “Here!” he yelled back.

  Toronaga and four other Marines arrived and stopped when they saw the body of the creature in the mud.

  “Holy shit!” Toronaga exclaimed. He glanced at Sanchez, who in turn pointed to Maya. “We heard that thing’s roar and rushed down here.” He stared in awe at the dead creature and panned back to Maya. “You took that thing down by yourself, Lieutenant?”

  Maya didn’t say anything, but Sanchez answered for her. “Yeah.”

  One of the Marines walked up to the body and kicked it with his armored boot. “I don’t know, ma’am. It sure is ugly, but you might get a few nice sets of boots out of it.”

  Sanchez could see the short smile grow on her face despite being masked inside her helmet. He started to walk past her then tapped her on the shoulder. “Thanks for the save, Lieutenant. Remind me to return the favor one day.”

  The group left the body of the creature behind. It was too big to move in the soft ground and there wasn’t time to worry about it. Sanchez followed Maya and the Marines back into the bunker. Toronaga grabbed another M20 off the rack on the back wall and handed it to her. “You did well out there, Lieutenant, but you’ll need something more than that pistol and blade if the Cilik’ti come our way.”

  Maya accepted the weapon and walked over to the small table the Marines had created from four crates and a piece of neutronium blast plating. She removed her helmet and set it on the edge of the table, her hair falling across her armored shoulders.

  Sanchez watched her as she scrutinized the weapon, but his eyes wandered and followed the contours of her body armor. Maya’s armor was a flexible neutronium alloy mesh, intermingled with wider armored plates on the more exposed areas of the body. He tried not to stare, but the armor’s sleekness accentuated her form. He let out a slow breath. “Wow.”

  He was sure Maya heard him, but he didn’t see a reaction. He’d seen armor like hers once before, and it hadn’t been that flattering on the man who’d worn it.

  Maya finished her examination of the weapon and slung the rifle over her shoulder. She was about to leave when one of the Marines stopped her at the table.

  It was Shimpton, Toronaga’s armory specialist. “Excuse me, ma’am. Have you been properly checked out on that weapon?” he asked with a polite tone while chewing on a worn toothpick.

  Maya threw a stern look at Toronaga and Sanchez then slipped the rifle from her shoulder and placed it back on the table in front of the Marine.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” Shimpton explained. “These weapons can be temperamental and I can’t let any untrained personnel take one into a combat situation. It’s just not safe.”

  Maya said nothing, and Sanchez was about to interrupt when Toronaga eased his arm in front of Sanchez. She picked up the assault rifle with both hands and showed it to Shimpton. He was about to take it from her but she pulled it back, removed the stock and began to unscrew the barrel. In a matter of seconds she had the M20 dissembled and held the clean firing mechanis
m in front of Shimpton for his inspection.

  The Marine caught a glimpse of the weapon fragment before Maya’s hands were in motion. She assembled the weapon faster than she’d taken it apart. Each move of her hand was an artistic glide through the air, but with the precision of a crack surgeon. The weapon fully assembled, she opened the breach to show that it was empty and held it out toward Shimpton.

  “Works for me!” he bellowed.

  Maya looked with disdain at Sanchez and Toronaga. Both could only offer meager smirks and shrugs in reply.

  “That’s a nice pig sticker you have there, Lieutenant,” Shimpton said, pointing to the sword still on her back. “Do you mind?”

  Maya reached back, drew the weapon from its protective sheath and handed it to Shimpton. The blade was almost sixty centimeters long and fashioned as a Japanese Wakizashi blade, but the tang was longer than normal.

  Shimpton examined the metal of the blade. “This is almost pure neutronium. I never knew anyone made something like this.” Most military knives and armor plates were fashioned from a neutronium and steel or titanium alloy. Neutronium in its most raw metal form was difficult to mold and maintain, not to mention much heavier. “Where did you get it?”

  “It was a gift from one of my martial arts instructors back on Earth right after I was awarded my first security command off planet,” Maya said. “His father was a gifted swordsmith and he asked him to make it for me. He said a rare person needs a unique weapon. I have yet to find its equal.”

  The Marine armory specialist traced the edge of the blade with his fingers. “How do you keep it sharp? I’d bet it would wear out any whetstone I have.” He handed the sword back to Maya, who slid it into its sheath.

  “A fusion cutter on a high angle with a steady hand is the best way, but I’ve found it doesn’t require much sharpening. It holds a keen edge.”

  “Humph,” Shimpton grunted and sat down at his table to continue his weapon checkouts. “Pretty sweet, Lieutenant, but I agree with Sergeant Toronaga—you’ll need that rifle.”

  Maya nodded. Sanchez didn’t doubt any of the Marines’ recommendations either. He hoped that if the fighting came here, the Marines and their equipment could hold the enemy off and prevent the battle from becoming close quarters.

  As Maya fastened her helmet into place, Sanchez noticed four newcomers entering the bunker. Each of the men wore camouflaged Marine scout armor. It was lighter weight than the standard issue and offered far less protection, but with so many volunteers, supplies of the main line battle gear were limited. Leading the group and carrying his M20 assault rife with a longer range scope was Harvey Kingston.

  Maya closed her visor, and Sanchez could see her head turn to follow him and his men as they walked past. Despite the limited amount of training they’d received, he thought the group carried themselves like soldiers. As they approached him, none of them seemed to pay Maya any attention.

  Sanchez had met Kingston when Sanchez was storing his shuttle near the plateau. He could tell by the way he instructed his people that the man was organized and also quite the talker, especially about non-research-related things. In particular, sports. That was right up Sanchez’s alley. He’d spent twenty minutes with Kingston discussing recent basketball history. Kingston had missed a great deal over his twenty-five-year journey, and even the lengthy discussion couldn’t catch the man up. He knew of Maya’s issue with Kingston, but he couldn’t help liking the guy. Of all the colonists he’d met on this wonderful new world, here was the first one who wasn’t a complete stiff.

  Kingston gave a cordial nod to Sanchez and then addressed Toronaga. “Sergeant, we just received a message from the Armstrong. The Chi’tan are on the move.”

  Toronaga started to gather his gear, as did Sanchez. “Any word from Major McGregor?”

  “Yes. He said to finalize your preparations and get your arses into cover,” Kingston replied, trying to mock McGregor’s accent.

  “Dr. Kingston, get your people in place. I need your group on that ridge just south of the plateau for visual intel, so you’d better get humping,” Toronaga ordered.

  “On it,” Kingston replied. He and his men jogged out of the bunker and headed south along the trail near the plateau wall.

  Toronaga walked over to another group of Marines in the bunker, one of whom was seated on a crate whittling something with his long knife. “All right, everyone, looks like the Cilik’ti are coming to party.” He looked at the man still working on the piece of wood. “Priest, you have a good word for us?”

  Sanchez recognized him. It was the same Marine corporal he’d sparred with back on the Armstrong during the journey to Cygni.

  The man acknowledged Toronaga and continued to carve into the small piece of wood. All the other Marines in the bunker bowed the heads. “The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, my God, my strength, in whom I will trust. He is my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. I will call upon the Lord, who is worthy to be praised, so shall I be saved from my enemies.” Sanchez bowed his head but watched the man continue to carve on the small piece of wood while he spoke. One hand held the piece still while the other worked the knife with expert skill along the edges, smoothing them and forming a shape. The corporal stopped carving and stood, his head raised upward as he shouted, “The Lord is my light and my salvation. Whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life. Of whom shall I be afraid?”

  Sanchez scanned the bunker. All the Marines pounded their fists into the hard concrete floor in agreement.

  “When the wicked came against me to eat up my flesh, my enemies, and foes, they stumbled and fell,” the corporal continued, his voice amplified in his praise. “Though an army should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear. Though war should rise against me, in this I will be confident!”

  Sanchez could sense the growing morale in the bunker roaring like a tidal wave and it swelled within him too.

  “The Lord does not grow tired or weary and His understanding no one can fathom. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.” The Marine sat back down and lowered his head. “Heavenly Father, watch over us during these trying days ahead and give us Your divine strength to keep Your people from harm. In Jesus’s name. Amen.”

  When Priest finished his prayer, several of the Marines got up and walked over to him on their way out of the bunker. Priest held up his arm at an angle in front of his face, and each Marine in turn bumped their armored forearms with his own. Above the clink of armor, each in turn called out, “Oo-rah!”

  Toronaga was the last in line. “Well said, Priest.”

  “Thanks, Sergeant,” Priest replied and returned to his small wood carving.

  Sanchez saw the name tag on the Marine said Jarvis, but after the inspiring prayer, he figured Priest was a suitable nickname. Nicknames and call signs were common in the EDF Navy and the Marines. He remembered when his pilot instructor had assigned him a call sign—Cavalier. He hadn’t used it much since his early pilot days, but when a call sign was given, it was usually to amplify a symbol of the person’s personality. Only in the rarest of cases was the person allowed to choose his own.

  The young Marine walked over to Maya and handed her his woodworking project. The carving was a miniature replica of one of the Marine’s MACE units and despite the longer knife he’d used, the detail of Priest’s carving was excellent. “Here you are, ma’am.”

  Maya accepted the gift with a gracious smile. “Thank you, Corporal.” She held it up in front of her to admire his handiwork then slipped the wooden carving into a secure pouch on her belt.

  He was smooth too. Sanchez had to give him that.

  Priest grabbed his weapon, a longer-barreled version of the M20 with a scope that was similar to Kingston’s weapon, and walked out of the bunker into the pouring rain. Without even thinking, Sanche
z followed him. Priest navigated a worn path to a long shelter thirty meters away and stepped underneath the awning that kept out the rain. Inside the shelter were the Marine company’s MACE units. Priest stowed his sniper rifle on the back of his MACE and stepped inside the armored suit.

  Sanchez watched as the armor closed around him and Priest ran through its power up sequence and system checkout. This was the first time he’d seen the powered armor units and Hood was right, they seemed impressive. “Where are you headed, Corporal?”

  Priest’s voice came over the MACE external speakers. “I scouted an outcropping about twenty meters from the top of the plateau wall. It’s got a good view of the surrounding area, even with this jack drab weather. Lord willin’, it’ll keep me hidden along the cliff.”

  Sanchez surveyed the looming red wall, which extended all the way up to the plateau high overhead. “How do you plan to get up there?”

  Priest flexed the powerful armored fingers of his MACE. “I found a good ride up the face. It should take me just a couple of minutes to climb, even with the rain.” He walked his MACE out of the shelter and took off in a sprint toward the wall face. He reached it a matter of seconds and rapidly began to scale the rocky surface. His M20 rifle seemed small on the MACE’s back compared to the larger M420 version that hung next to it.

  Priest scaled the wall with ease in his MACE unit, Sanchez wanted to hop in a MACE himself and join him on the wall. He checked out the next MACE unit in line, when Toronaga stepped up beside him.

  “I don’t think there’s anyone I would want giving us high cover other than Priest, Commander,” Toronaga said with confidence.

  Priest reached the outcropping and moved his MACE away from the edge and out of sight.

  “Is he that good, Sergeant?”