by Anthology
Kent hit a jam of rocks and finally stopped falling. His knees were in agony.
“Lieutenant, sir. Kent? LT? LT! You hearing this?” Sowell cleared up his channel first. “My leg is broke, sir. I’ve got a clamp, but it’s bleeding real bad, and the air—” Sowell’s comms channel crackled and popped.
There was something pushing on Kent’s hip and the comms channels swam around his head. The login flooded with pain and confusion and fear. He should have been able to dull it so that he was simply aware of his men and women and their circumstances and able to think of a way out, a way up. That was his duty. He’d sworn it, palm on the Articles, the day he pulled on the uniform.
Kent switched off his comms, instead. He wasn’t in silence—the rocks around him groaned and shuddered, shifting into new positions. Pops echoed above him as his squad shot up distress flares. He rolled so that his torso was flat on a rock ledge and he braced his feet. The crag jutted above him, an impossible climb.
Maybe it was better this way: lost on mission. Dead, somewhere quiet. If he didn’t log back in again and they didn’t find him, it would all be over. It could all stop. The blank zip under his pillow would stay safely empty. Kent had written and sent and burned countless pleas, apologies for all manner of imagined slights. But the words couldn’t sink in the right way, even if Albright did actually read them.
Kent exhaled slowly.
It had been too painful to look at directly, back on the base. The pain was hot and bright and acknowledging it as fact was like looking right into the sun.
It was just that Albright wasn’t coming back. Not ever. He’d removed himself. First he’d killed the love. Then he’d crushed any hope of it ever blooming again.
And so what was left?
Kent thumbed his helmet lock. His squad would survive without him. Just a few minutes of planet-side air savaging his lungs and it’d be done. No more remembered kisses. All of the tenderness erased, the invisible fingerprints scrubbed off.
Kent pressed down and his helmet hissed. He was so broken that he might as well be dead.
“LT? You got me? This coming through?” Sowell’s second- in-command clearance overrode Kent’s block. The reconnected comms channel was a whisper in the dark. “Sir. Are you there? We need you.”
His brothers. His sisters. They had sworn their oaths together.
Lieutenant James Kent of the United Allied Military had given up on love and happiness for himself. But he could not and would not give up on the uniform, and the squad who wore the same cloth.
Kent pushed his face-plate back into lock position and rolled over. Sowell was still breathing and Lombardi might still be out there. Her hanger-deck card game had been running a whole year. Sowell always carried a wrinkled envelope of photos with him when he was off duty. He’d cried when he’d gotten news of his Mars-born daughter.
If that was all there was, it was enough.
“Sowell? You getting me? You out there, buddy?” Kent’s throat was sore as he croaked to his squad. “I’m coming, Sowell. Just hang on.”
Kent got to his feet, shaking out his hands until the contact webbing came online. Automatically, the strip of boot under the balls of his feet turned tacky. A booster pill fell out the front of his helmet and into his mouth. He crunched down on it. Adrenalin buzzed through him and everything felt light and quick.
The squad network picked up his resolve and bounced around a signal to the dropped squad. They stirred then, all of them, slapping flesh-knits over their wounds and beaming back the message that they were OK, that they were coming if they could.
The cleft wall was at an angle that bent him backward to climb, but his hands and feet stuck, enclosed as they were in combat-ready boots and gloves. These are my people, and I’ll get them home. His shoulders burned as he clambered.
Lombardi was waiting at the top of the crag with an emergency patch wrapped around her middle, her usual grin missing. Dex was with her, hir cool smile illuminated by the blue lighting from within hir helmet. Dex’s hand had been ripped off in the fall, but ze would have a replacement screwed back on again in the lab. It was the android’s second mission with the squad, a second appendage lost.
“We mess you up every time, Dex.” Kent’s face shield did a quick scan of every torn wire and lost coupling while his eyes drank in the sight of his teammates.
“Pay it no mind, sir. The other works just as well.” The android flexed hir left hand, which was encased in living skin-metal.
“Ropes,” said Kent. Lombardi and the android nodded and unslung hir steel-silk. Kent expanded his login to pick up locations as his squad members began the slow and tricky process of hauling their wounded companions out of danger.
“Can’t get up, LT. I’m sorry.” Sowell’s beam was faint. “Just go. We need that base.”
“Don’t move. I’ll come to you.” Kent nodded to Dex, who dug through hir pack. The android hesitated before ze passed over the bulky enhancement tech.
“I could go, sir. I’m still functioning at 74 percent, and—”
“Absolutely not. You’re missing a hand. You’d never get back up if you were carrying him, too. Besides, Command would gut me if we broke you up any more. Stay here, hold my rope.”
Kent wriggled his feet into the joint-strengthening knee- braces. He turned his back on the droid and shrugged on the shoulder pack. It merged into his suit, seamlessly, and ran down the back of his arms to his elbows.
The green laser of his targeting computer flickered as it mapped out the cleft. Kent clipped on his rope and dropped down into the dark. The suit matched the directions of his targeting computer and bounced him down automatically until his feet stuck to a near-diagonal shelf of rock just above Sowell.
It was bad. Sowell was only semi-conscious, having bled through the flesh-knit that he’d somehow managed to wrap around his shattered thigh. Kent spread another layer of flesh-knit over the first. It hardened, holding the broken bones in place.
Kent used his command override to prompt a heavy-duty painkiller to release into Sowell’s mouthpiece.
“Come on buddy, take this. I’m going to get you outta here.” Kent waited as the soldier weakly bit down.
“You shouldn’t have…I’m okay, really.” Sowell’s jaw was loose.
“Take this one, too.” Kent silently blessed the medics who had invented battlefield plasma pills. Sowell would be weeks in recovery, but if they made it up to the surface, the artificial cells flocking through his bloodstream would keep him alive.
It was difficult to shift him into position without tugging at the flesh-knits, but Kent finally managed to get Sowell into a piggy-back position. Their suits merged as he wriggled into place.
The enhancement tech was the only thing that got them up the walls. Kent’s hands were stickier than usual to compensate for the extra weight and his wrists ached at the effort of yanking his gloves off the rock.
Kent and Sowell were nearly out of the hole when the login started to max out with surprise and shock.
The Alalani screamed as they dropped in from the black heights. Flames licked along their immense wings.
“Switch to freezers! Everyone, get down!” Kent hauled himself over the last lip and yanked Sowell under the shallow cover of a wet, rotting log. At least it wouldn’t catch. Kent’s blaster was buried deep underground by now, but Sowell’s still dangled off the fallen soldier’s shoulder. Kent overrode the ID lock on the blaster and crouched, flicking at the gun’s command pad to start shooting balls of chemical- laden spit.
The alien birds swooped, flicking their flaming wings at the soldiers and snapping with their iron-hard beaks. Freezer balls arced up, exploding onto burned out trees where they missed the Alalani. Lombardi got off a lucky shot and the largest of the birds fell, shattering to pieces after the freezer bullet encapsulated it with crunchy, quick-setting ice.
Dex was on fire. The android rolled around on the black dirt, venting chemical powder from hir wrists. Lombardi shout
ed, throwing panic through the login—her blaster was fixing its jam, but it would take a few seconds and the birds kept coming. Kent took a knee and shot up at the attackers, hitting one just above the wing-joint. It sailed to the ground and smashed on a rock. Oily blood spewed out, smoldering. His tracking computer confirmed its death but he shot methodically while he sent formation signals through his login.
“Sir! They’re jamming me!” Dex’s task was to report back to base in case of heavy fire or unexpected attack. Kent looked up and saw that one of the Alalani had a signal blocker looped around one spindly foot. It was tech stolen from the Kee and fitted by one of the Alalani’s humanoid allies.
“Defensive fire! Target the blocker!” Kent waved Lombardi and Hughes back to a covered position. They’d never make the base now, but command needed to know that the Alalani were still present as a force on this planet.
An Alalani drove its talons into Hughes’s chest and picked him up, clacking at his face-shield as the soldier burned and screamed. The bird screeched and shook him off, whirling up to join its flock-mates. Hughes tumbled to the ground, his suit punctured and melted.
“Lombardi, with me!” Kent ran forward with his squad-mate at his elbow. She flicked to him via the login that her blaster was fully functional, though Kent had already seen the stat glowing on the inside of his mask. Malik joined them, too, his long legs crossing the distance from his cover to their bulwark in seconds. The login synched them together and the three of them began to shoot in coordinated bursts. The Alalani wheeled and ducked through their fire. The targeting computers mapped the alien’s flight paths and adjusted the squad’s aim. It made all the difference as the freezers began to hit their targets.
Lombardi’s slender fingers tapped out a manual field code on the side of her blaster and started following her freezer shots with a bullet. The Alalani exploded like chill fireworks. Among the first to fall was the bird carrying the signal blocker. Dex picked off the tech from a sprawled position, holding the blaster in hir burned but functional left hand.
“I’m through!” hir call flicked through the login. The data packet, filled with surface reads and combat reports, had been assembled at faster-than-human speeds, even in the middle of battlefield chaos.
With a precision shot, Lombardi dropped the last of the Alalani within range. Two of the great flaming birds arced up in a spiral to the upper atmosphere and vanished from view. Kent could only hope that they would retreat and leave them free to shuttle back to the command ship.
“Squad, check in.” Kent knelt beside Hughes and draped his last flesh-knit over the horrific wound in his chest. Perhaps it was futile, but the medics on ship had been known to work miracles before, and atmosphere-based infection would not help.
One by one the squad sent through their status and position. Despite burns and broken bones they were all alive—even Hughes, for now. Kent gave the all-clear to set up a temporary battlefield fortification as they dug in to wait for the rescue shuttle.
***
Kent took a moment to look around his room before he collapsed in a mess of medical tape and drug-dulled flesh. From his rack, he could see his personal zip-drop propped up against his lamp.
Empty.
It was all over the base that the Alalani were expanding their territory and that his unfortunate squad had been ambushed. Surely, Albright had heard. And yet there was nothing. No zip.
Kent curled into a ball, knees high, with a blank zip- film crumpled in his fist. His thumb stroked Albright’s old dog tag out of habit.
“Gotta save myself from now on. That’s how it is,” he whispered into his thin pillow. He wept then, great choking sobs, replaying all of the moments that he would remember forever, saying goodbye to each of them once and for all.
A fist crashed against his door. Kent’s stomach dropped and his heart pounded loudly in his ears.
“Hey, you in there?” It was not the voice that he was expecting. Kent levered himself up on his elbows, pushed off his narrow rack and limped to the door. He knuckled the tears from his eyes. Lombardi and Malik were just as battered as he was, but their tired smiles still shone. Wordlessly, Malik held up a large metal flask. His spiced rum was barracks legend.
“I can’t believe you’re drinking again after last night.” Kent grinned a little, despite himself.
“After a day like that? Fuck, man. You kidding?” said Malik, pushing his way in.
The three of them eased themselves onto the floor of Kent’s room and passed the flask from hand to hand.
Kent felt the beginnings of a tiny glow flickering in his chest. Rum rolled through his blood and eased the stiffness of his shoulders. He found himself nursing the beginnings of a smile, of hope.
The zip-drop beeped and Kent looked at it reflexively.
Are you alright? Can I see you? - A.
For the first time in a long time, Kent did not leap to tear the zip from the drop.
“Who’s that?” Lombardi asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Kent said, reaching up only to push the delete key. “It’s nobody important.”
She nodded and hoisted the flask up in a toast.
Kent took the rum and drank deep, safe amongst his family.
Clean Hands, Dirty Hands(Short story)
by Emma Osborne
Originally published by Aurealis
Breaking camp was as easy as tipping out the last handful of worn tea leaves and bundling the empty flour sack into his swag. Evan pushed dirt over the glowing embers within his fire pit. There was nothing left of his supplies, not even salt. Last night’s damper was a heavy memory. Food meant dealing with people and towns. It meant the possibility of broken knuckles, of slaps and cursing and hunger, of belonging to someone else. Perhaps it was better to starve in safety, but his belly cramped and it drove him up and onwards. All of his water was gone and the dams were low. Yesterday’s tea had been half-mud.
Evan stretched out his shoulders and packed up his tools. His load was a spade and a short-handled pick, a hammer, a dented billy and a bundle containing a blanket, an oilcloth and a spare shirt. He wriggled from the shelter of the fallen gum into the blue- sky morning. The tree’s downturned limbs were as thick as a strong man’s waist and as white as his ribs.
Evan walked through the knee-length grass, his thin shoes crackling over the nodding stalks. His tools jangled together as he strode. Castlemaine was six miles north. It was where he could trade for the supplies he needed: tea, salt and flour. He could draw a bucket of water and drink his fill, maybe trade for a skin. Besides that, Evan had no use for what the markets carried. He had no house to tack up with sharp iron nails, nor a wife to eye off the printed cloth from Melbourne.
Four or so miles before town, Evan left the paddock and followed the glowing tickle in his chest to a clump of gum trees close to the road. The soil there had not been worked over as carefully as that closer to the settlement, but much of it had still been turned by pick and shovel. It was easier for him, working alone, when the ground had been broken. If he had men that he trusted, with strong arms and the right tools…No. That way led to trouble. No good had ever come of him sharing his sense. No good at all. It was better for everyone if he kept his secrets close and faithful.
The bush was still and quiet enough for him to feel the warmth of gold, though it took him an hour of searching before he found a deposit close enough to the surface. Evan knelt, brushing aside dead grey sticks and piling up the sweet, crisp eucalyptus leaves. He sank his hands into the earth and pulled in a breath that coated his throat with dust.
A fly buzzed around his mouth. Evan swatted at it and let his sense creep down his fingertips and into the soil. He kept his breathing even as he felt his way deep and down, skipping around chunks of rock until he nudged the nugget with his mind. It was nestled in quartz like a blob of butter in mash. There.
Evan steadied himself and wiped the sweat off his forehead. He took up his spade and dug. The feeling of warmth grew st
ronger as he shifted aside the dross. It took him a score of heavy minutes to dig deep enough to reach his prize and longer still to ease up the quartz lump. It felt as if the sun was rising as he lifted it out of the ground. Evan smashed apart the milk-white rock. The thumbnail-sized slug of gold within would do well enough for trade. In truth, he wished it was smaller. Best get rid of it quickly and be on his way out of town again before questions were asked. Questions led to gossip, no matter what answers he gave and gossip could easily be whispered into the wrong ears. He left the shade of the gums and turned to the road to town.
“In and out, that’s all,” Evan muttered, matching the beat of the words to his footfall. “No stopping and no talking, just in and out and back to safety.”
A stage-coach with its snorting team clattered past as Evan walked down the packed dirt road. His hands were damp with nervous sweat and the nugget burned like a lit coal in his pocket. The sun was high overhead by now and he was parched. He spotted a dam in the paddock next to the road, but it barely held a cupful of water. Evan could find what he needed, that was his curse, and what he needed now was a sweet rain. He pushed his sense up into the sky, searching with his mind for full clouds. They felt different to anything else, soft and icy at the same time. They were far, but booming this way.
He sighed with relief. Evan hoped that he would have found a dry place to sleep before the rain came, but there was always the oilcloth in his bag that kept the worst of it off.
It had been raining the night he’d fallen. Evan had been just a boy, six or seven, when he’d run off into the bush after a thrashing. He’d jumped into a depression, not knowing that the layer of sticks and rubble would collapse and send him rattling down into the old shaft. He’d broken something in his ankle and waited, feverish and terrified, for hours. His parent’s voices had come near, but not near enough to hear his wail. The choking blackness had pressed in on him until he was pushing it away, pushing into the earth with his hands and his mind. As a boy, he’d always had a knack for finding his mother’s lost buttons or for turning up carelessly-dropped coins on his rare trips into town with his father. There in the gloom Evan had reached with his sense and felt hot light hiding in the rocks. Like a lamp in the dark, it had comforted him. They’d hauled him out, eventually, on the end of a rope. Evan balled his fists to settle his nerves as he made his way through the crowded camps on the edge of town. Dirty men like him spat and mended tools or shook out their blankets as dogs tousled for scraps under their feet.