Secrets of the Horizon (The Union Stories Book 1)

by Lesa Corryn

  There I laid, time passing for I don't know how long. The fatigue of my body pulled me in and out of sleep. The battle either grew to an end or they were moving on. The cracks of guns and the roar of cannons grew silent. The calls of morning birds and the whisper of the wind lulled me to sleep. I did not know if I would be found nor did I care anymore.

  I don't know how long I slept, but I was pulled awake by the heat of the day. My skin burned hot and my eyes whipped open only to close them again from the sear of the sun. The world seemed dark but my eyes burned from the sun's rays. I had a hazy impression of my environment. Everything desaturated like it was painted in grays. Hints of color stood out here and there, but in the shadow of the hole, most things were a dark monotone.

  I dared not look up at the sun, but from the burning on my rather pale skin, I'd say it was high noon. I shielded my eyes with my left hand, my right still limp and useless at my side, and scanned the pit. The dust had settled and nothing but the rustle of leaves and calls of wildlife could be heard. Did no one think to see if I was alive in this hole? Did anyone even search it?

  I made to get up but my legs gave out before I could make it a few inches from the ground. Falling to the dirt, I lowered my head again. I couldn't rest in the heat of that sun. My clothes, ripped and burnt from battle, left my arms, as well as bits of my stomach and legs, exposed and I no longer had the goggles to shield my face. Perhaps I can pull myself up, I thought. I rolled on to my stomach and tried to kick and claw my way up, but the ledge was too steep at the top for me to reach. I slid down the embankment, letting the pebbly dirt claw at my skin. Again, I turned and scanned the pit. This time I took care to really look at it instead of the rim.

  Remnants of Bendalurians laid strewn across the pit. Limbs ripped from their bodies during the blast. The ground scorched a dark black from the heat that spread from the impact. The impact was deep, leaving high curved walls and a deep center where bombshell fragments now sat.

  I sat in the midst of broken bodies and I remained intact. My hands shifted through dirt saturated with the blood of the townspeople and I remained relatively unscathed. A sickening wrench pulled at my stomach. How could I survive the blast, while these others laid scattered before me?

  I turned, certain the little bit of food I had eaten would evacuate my stomach, only to find I had been sitting next to the head of a young Bendalurian. His face frozen in terror and his skin shredded into thin ribbons from shrapnel. I hurled my body away from the screaming skull and crawled across the walls of the pit, desperately trying to get the look of fear out of my head. My hands grazed arms and torsos, feet and legs. My eyes dark to the world, I could not guide my frantic fingers anywhere except ahead and each step forward seemed to awaken me to another dead companion in the pit. Then my fingers grazed something smooth, nothing like the rough clotted dirt and raspy burnt fur around me.

  I forced myself to look down, fearful that another grinning face would find me. I breathed a sigh of relief when I discovered it was just a pile of molded metal. It was darker than the scorched earth around me and small dents and scratches in the surface glinted in the sun. Studying it closer, its silhouette took on the spindly form of a spider. Some parts came out of the mass like thick strings. Except at one point. At the edge closest to the pit's rim, an oval like black mass protruded from the metal. I couldn't fathom what the foreign object was. A tool from the enemy, remnants of the bomb that made this pit. Neither seemed likely.

  I drew close, close enough to reach out and touch the metal. When I drew nearer, some of the scratches took the form of etchings and drawings. I pulled my body towards the mass and propped myself up on my right arm. As my eyes became accustomed to the light, I reached to touch the metal. The metallic plate rose and fell. The spindly forms gripped the dirt in slow painful movements. The oval mass was accompanied by two long thin antenna. I was with an enemy soldier.

  His labored breaths came out from a small toothy mouth at the bottom of his oval head. Around his mouth were small pincers, like those of the spider creatures. They shuttered open and close with each breath. The majority of his large head was his eyes. They were bulbous protrusions that took up half of his face. They were spherical, though they seemed to be composed of hundreds of octagonal surfaces. Each surface reflected a faint glint of light. They seemed dark and empty. Though I looked right at him, something inside me told me he could not see me.

  The metal that first caught my attention looked to be a chest plate that wrapped around his insect like torso. His figure was large and wide at the chest then dangerously narrow at the waist. Below the waist was another thick section that was much like a human's backside. Everything about him reminded me of the bugs back at home. His chest very similar to a thorax. Though what would be his abdomen did not appear to be as large as it would compared to Earth Terra insects.

  Also his limbs were muscular. His forearms were much thinner than mine, but appeared strong and thick when compared to an insect. His legs were even thicker. His quads started off nearly as thick as mine at his abdomen, but tapered off drastically farther down. His limbs also seemed to have several joints, maybe three or four each. His hands and feet, I suppose, didn't resemble the spindly one-clawed feet of insects. The feet were long and thick, his “heel” rising high like a Bendalurian's foot, and ending at the ball of the foot. It was large and adorned with three claws. His hands were small with four claws. There didn't seem to be much of a “finger” to go with the claws but they still appeared to have small joints near their base, giving them the appearance of being dexterous.

  Then my eyes caught a small belt around his waist. Along the belt were some canisters, a sack, and a holster. In the holster was a small foreign pistol. I drew it out, using just my thumb and forefinger, careful not to shoot it off. It was sleek and glistened even in my eyes. Along the metal casing, more etchings of figures danced along the barrel and flora climbed the handle. Very serene for a weapon. Where a trigger would be, three small buttons were. At the butt of the handle was a place to load the canisters.

  The enemy shifted. I turned to look at his large eyes again, scooting back slightly. It was impossible to tell if there was light behind those eyes, but I had the gun aimed between them, the point of the barrel just a breath from him.

  But it appeared that all he was doing was shifting. The labored breathing continued, though a slight moan followed once in awhile. Was he in pain? I looked into his eyes. Again I sensed no consciousness behind the spherical masses. Should I shoot him? The thought occurred to me. Why shouldn't I? I'm a soldier and this man, this creature, was the enemy. I maintained the point of the gun at his head, my left hand shaking. My fingers tensed, I held the gun so that I didn't go near the buttons, but my palms began to sweat and my fingers slipped closer and closer. Why should I hesitate? He is the enemy.

  He sputtered and shifted again. I dropped the gun and pushed away. Still he did nothing but turn more to his side. His breathing pulled in and out with raspy breaths. I've never killed anyone. I was trained to. All Fleet officers have been trained to kill. But I couldn't get those big eyes away from me. He kept turning more and more to me and I'm not even sure he was doing it for me or just out of pain. And the breathing. Each breath grated against my ears like the call of a hurt animal or child.

  I crawled closer to him. The dropped gun brushed my hand. I picked it up and looked at the engravings again. Two of his kind stood facing the point of the gun, while four others ran to the plant life at the barrel. The four were smaller in size and their thoraxes thinner. Their steps seemed light, like they were skipping, but the two bigger ones stood strong, their arms taut in fists. I scurried over to him and looked at his chest plate. Along the rim, flora and fauna adorned the metal. Wispy and elegant. In the middle of the plate was an elaborate swirl, circling in on itself until it shot from the middle, a straight line breaking the circle becoming free flowing waves. What was on the back of the plate?

  I crawled around him, but did
n't find anymore artwork, instead I found the metal black and burnt. And though my color vision was not too good, the yellow blood appeared stark against his thick skin.

  “A burn. It looks like it was from Metrite,” I mumbled to myself. Metrite was stronger than any other stone known by the Union. The only way to alter it was to burn it, but once it starts, it won't stop. Which makes it only useful for terra battles. They left distinctive marks because of it though. The hard stone is jagged by nature and will slice whatever it comes in contact with, but the fire sears the skin so death doesn’t usually result from bloodloss. His armor had gashes all falling in the same direction and burn marks haloing each. But the armor didn't protect all of him. His skin appeared to be more of a shell then flesh. An exoskeleton of some sort, protecting the soft vulnerable organs inside. So when he was struck by Metrite, it cut into his exoskeleton, which wasn’t able to cauterize since it is not like our skin. He was losing blood fast.

  Before I knew it, my hands, both my hands, tore my shirt from my chest and compressed it against the crack of his shell. Beneath the shell was exposed soft skin like my own. He groaned and I pitied him. Why?

  My eyes saw the pistol laying on the ground, the Metrite burn on his back, the deep pit of a bomb blast, and my mind saw the truth. Before the blast, he was going to shoot me, but chose not to. He hesitated and saw the Metrite coming. The pinch on my wrist, that, that was him pulling me from the Metrite’s line of fire and into this pit so we could be protected from further fire. I glanced down at my wrist. Four small pricks from claws etched into my skin. He saved me.

  Chapter 21

  Ageria

  Why, why would he do it? He had a gun to my head ready to shoot and he didn't. Even if he had some sort of distaste for point blank kills, he had a flaming ball of Metrite that could finish the job for him. But he didn't. Instead I'm here administering to his wounds because he decided to save me. I thrust my fist deep into the wadded shirt, forcing it into the enemy's wound. My knuckles stung, his shell was hard and the cut not big enough to fit my fist. But repeatedly I punched the shirt deeper into the wound, cutting my knuckles until I was bleeding too.

  The final thrust and the enemy moaned louder than before. The shirt must have reached the soft flesh now. Still I continued. Pushing it farther and farther against the cut. More pressure, I thought, or he'll bleed to death. He continued to shriek out in pain, louder and louder. Now I stabbed my fingers through the crack in one final thrust and held my hand taut between his shell. He screamed, his shriek whistling through his thin mouth. It pierced my ear drums, but it had to be done.

  Now he chittered, sharp clicks from his pincers. His head turned some towards me, a light gleaming in his eye. I stared back. He was there now. His eyes glinting in the purple sun with the shine of a gem. He continued to chitter.

  “Are you speaking to me?” I asked, not expecting him to understand. I tried to recall training on first encounters. Again as an engineer, this wasn't too high on our list of need to know, but we got the basics. Hand gestures. Most species responded to body language, though interpretations can vary and sometimes result in fatal outcomes, but it was the best bet for first communication. He watched me, his eyes peering over his shoulder, his antenna clicking together at the tips.

  “I called” I pointed to myself, “Jek Thurman.” His antenna clicked faster with each word. “I come from space.” I made a sweeping gesture with my arm, pointing at the sky and my hand soaring down to the dirt. “I attacked,” I grabbed his gun and mocked shooting, he didn't seem fazed by the act, his antenna just clicked, “by your people.” I pulled my hand from the wound and finished by pointing to him and pointing to the gun.

  He stared at me, his head unmoving, the clicks slowing. I lowered my hands and dropped the gun. I went back to applying pressure, my eyes cast downwards.

  “You speak Galactic, but poorly. I recognize your dialect, but do you not belong to the Union.”

  I raised my head and my hand jabbed hard into the wound from shock. He cringed and curled tight, the shell contorting and cutting into my fingers. I grunted in pain, but the enemy uncurled himself.

  “I'm sorry, you are not the gentlest of healers,” he said. His words were sharp like the chitters from before and his s's carried a strong whistle. His voice was low, which was unexpected given the shrillness of his native tongue. He actually spoke with an elegance and intelligence that rivaled Teshe.

  “You speak Galactic, how?” I asked.

  “Ah, you speak better now. Was the first attempt a first contact procedure?” He brushed my hand from his wound, replacing it with one of his own and using the others to prop himself up against the side of the pit. “We learn Galactic by studying your transmissions. Our natural means of communication is through whistles from a resonance tube in our throat and the snapping of our mandibles. We also have a weak set of cords near the top of our chest. They aren't strong but our chest cavities are deep and allow for resonance and amplification. That tongue is still growing, a recent discovery in our culture, your language gave us the first opportunity to use it.”

  “What, why haven't you?” Words dropped from my mouth, I could not fathom his words.

  “Why haven't we made contact with you?” he said, finishing the question for me. “Because some believe you are killing our planet. We only do it out of self-defense. This is understandable?” He winced. His words strong and clear, but that could not hide the pain that must still wreak his body.

  “Yes, but what planet? The Union has done no such thing.” It was in Union code. Any planet with intelligent life on it is covered by natural ownership. Those of our past have stolen and broken the worlds of native peoples only to lose control and end in our own demise. We've learned now that those who have cultivated a land, know the land best and should be respected. When discovered they are given the right to join the Union if they so desire, but if they decline they are still protected under our law of natural ownership. Should anyone in the Union try to steal the planet, we would take action. But never would we steal it ourselves or do battle unless first provoked.

  “I believe you,” he said.

  “Then why...”

  “Then why the battle? I only believe you now that I see you and,” he stopped and winced, his pincers straining together, shaking, “who said we came for you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We fight the furred ones. We thought the furred ones were you. But clearly, you are different.”

  “Of course, I am. The Union is composed of several races and nations from across the Galaxy.”

  “I know that now.” He massaged his shell and twisted to inspect his wound. The shirt once blue was now saturated and yellow with blood. The other dropped his head and his antenna drooped.

  “Do you have a ship where you can get healed, a base maybe?” He looked at me with wonder, his eyes somehow appearing larger, his antenna sticking straight up.

  “Why a ship, my village is not far from here.” He gripped the side of the pit and lifted himself. His legs shook, but with the added support of his many arms, they eventually stabilized. He towered above me, if I were standing he would be about a foot or two taller than me. I tilted my head skywards to meet his eyes. He did not look downwards at me, but I felt his stare.

  “I think you mean a base. Village in our language is a place of permanent residence, not a temporary camping of a military unit.”

  His pincers twittered like a high pitched chuckle. “I know what a village is Jek Thurman. Yes, I mean village. It is beyond that tree line at the base of the mountain range. It's a half day walk.” He pointed to what I assumed was the far end of the village, the opposite end of where we entered. His culture was new, I didn't know how to read his dialect, but something told me he was being honest and sincere.

  “But that would mean,” I paused not certain I wanted the answer, “this is your home world.”

  “For certain. It is called,” he followed with a series of chitters
. “I guess you can't pronounce that.”

  “Not especially, no.”

  “Well what do you call this region?”

  “The asteroid belt around this system is known as the Agerian belt.”

  “Then for now call this Ageria, my people will give your tongue a name for our planet later. Now shall we get out of this hole before I don't have enough blood to work my legs.”

  Chapter 22

  Edelweiss

  His eyes didn't move in their sockets, didn't need to I suppose, but I could sense he was scanning the perimeter of the pit for a way out. His eyes looked at me, but I didn't feel his presence. A shiver glided down my spine. To be looked at but not to be seen, left a chill I couldn't quite shake. “Over there on the far side,” he said.

  I turned to follow one of his hands pointing past my shoulder. I didn't see anything different from that wall compared to the others. Just another dark mass of dirt and blood. “You certainly are taller than I am, but I don't think in your condition you could pull yourself up over this rim.”

  “Nonsense, the indentation is about chest level for me. You might have some trouble getting up, but I can help you once I'm out,” he said. He moved along the wall, his hands guiding his shaking frame. I followed with some ease, my legs long ago found strength to carry me on my own, though they still weren't too sturdy.

  He stopped before me and his hands reached into the wall. I tried to follow, but the scorched dirt formed a thick hard layer that my fingers could not penetrate. “Can you not see the ledge here?” he said, stepping away from the wall. I shook my head. “What spectrum of light do you see? Are you not like the furred ones? They do not see well but they could see this much.”