Roachia 03 Before Dawn

by Cindy Combs

  Author's notes: This is an Alternate Universe science fiction story using characters and premise of The Sentinel, set on another planet. It is very different from my other TS/MacGyver series, bascally stemming from a weird mood, my new Titantic soundtrack, and watching too much TS/Voyager back to back. I suppose I should also put out another hair alert...

  Characters from other TV shows will pop up in this story, among them MacGyver and Nash Bridges. If I've seen the show, it's fair game.

  I wish to extend my thanks to Zadra, Sharon and Cassie, for without their collective encouragement and enthusiasm for this wild story, I'd have never finished it. I also want to thank Zadra for the 'alien communication and antatomy' discussions; Laura for her insightful comments and suggestions on the intro; Susan for her questions; Sealie for her corrections, suggestions, and different perspective; Wolfpup for the final check and posting it; and to Andre Norton, whose amazing worlds have kept me entertained for years.

  Please send any comments to spacecloud@juno.com

  Enjoy the ride.

  Disclaimer: Most of characters are not mine. I'm borrowing them out of deep reverence, affection and respect. I will accept only personal fulfillment, and no monetary gain. If you do sue, you will not get much and I will send over my Black Lab mix, who will stare at you pathetically for hours, and probably con you out of all your food.

  Rated PG-13, for violence and language.

  BEFORE DAWN

  C. L. Combs

  "Two hundred and eight years ago, our daring ancestors left the overcrowded home planet and set out to colonize a new world. While their goal was still two years away, mechanical problems struck their craft. However, they showed their resilience in finding this planet Roachia to land, making due with what they had. Ever since, we have shown our ingenuity, our perseverance, and our strength in making this small, isolated continent home. This in spite of the Roachians across the seas who begrudge us even that. We must continue to show our strength in order to keep what our ancestors worked so hard to build.

  "We, as guides and potential guides to sentinels, are the first line of defense in this struggle. You were chosen for your bloodlines, your intelligence, and your empathy. For the past six years, the Mountain Center has provided you the opportunity to learn the tremendous body of knowledge you will need to guide and protect your sentinel well.

  "However, I must tell you that you have only begun to learn. As you go on to find your partner and stride to protect our people, you will discover there is a wide gap between theory and practice. It is up to each of you to fill in that gap. You will have to be flexible and wise as well as well-trained. Sometimes you will have to follow your gut instead of your mind. This may be different from what others have told you in these hallow halls, but soon the world outside will call you.

  "My best advise as an experienced guide is this: rules and tradition should only guide your path, never dictate it. When the action becomes fast, when the situation is confusing and difficult, depend on yourself and your sentinel.

  "Now go out and find your sentinel. Guide him well. Our civilization depends on you."

  - Keegan Jeffery, commencement speech to guide class of 200 AL (After Landing)

  "The news this evening from the southern line is grim. Our human army has been forced to retreat to the Sturgis River Delta, leaving the Federal State of Greenwalk to fall into Roachian hands. This advance brings the districts of Leesborough and Chadville into the danger zone, with Sealand now within bombing range.

  "Reports indicate that Queen Towers are already being built in the Greenwalk capital of Henley. The loss of the state now brings the southern one third of our continent under Roachian control, all lost since the devastating Claria invasion eleven years ago. The question has become, how much territory can we hold on to until winter arrives and the cold drives the drones back to their Towers?

  "Casualty numbers for both military and civilians are high, with thousands of new refugees streaming northward to avoid death or the work camps. Search and Rescue Teams have their hands full retrieving civilians from the wreckage. Already overburden relief groups are begging for any help or donations that you can spare.

  "In other news, today marks the thirty-first anniversary since the Mountain Center and her surrounding towns were destroyed, soon followed by the murders of the three remaining Sentinel/Guide pairs by the Roachians. Ceremonies today in several of our larger cities marked this tragic event, mourning that our beloved protectors are not still with us today. Their gifts would be welcomed in helping us where our technology can not, though it is doubtful even our legendary protectors could have made a difference against such incredible odds. We can only hope that our tech centers can produce new weapons and defenses to stop the menace."

  - Newscast, summer of 306 AL

  Sealand, one late summer evening, 306 AL

  ~BOOM~ He grabbed her arm, yanking her out of the way as a wall crashed in front of them. He barely saw her frightened eyes as he turned them around. "This way!" he shouted, struggling to be heard over the screeching sirens. Desperate, they scrambled over the debris scattered throughout the once immaculate hall. Red lights flashed on and off, revealing the damage already done by the bombing. Shoving back a lock of curly brown hair, deep blue eyes spotted a woman half buried, obviously dead. Horrified, he briefly hesitated before urgency forced him to move. Shielding the sight from the young woman, he pushed her back through another narrow hall. Another nearby percussion nearly knocked the couple off their feet.

  Spying the falling metal doors up ahead, they scrabbled forward over broken concrete and paneling. The doors slammed down with a thud before they could reach it. "What are we going to do now, Blair!" the young woman wailed.

  For a moment, he fought back the rising panic, struggling to think. *There is always another way, you just have to find it.* The remembered voice calmed him for the instant he needed. "This way!" He again grabbed her arm, dashing around the debris to the window at the end of the hall.

  "Blair...?" she whispered as he frantically searched the area with his eyes, finally spotting a piece of rebar broken from the wall.

  The metal rod easily cracked the glass. With another hard strike at the window the glass shattered, most of it falling to the grass outside. Brushing away the shards with the edge of his shirt, he helped her over the ledge, quickly following her outside. "We have to make it to that deep trench by the road!" he shouted.

  They raced across the pitted yard, leaving the besieged center behind them. The sky was filled with the horrifying sounds of Roachian craft. The bulbous grey instruments of death were pouring the whistling bombs to the ground, exploding near and far. Fear tried to rise up in his throat as they dodged new holes wrenched into the earth. He forced it back down. He could panic later; there wasn't time for it now.

  They had nearly made it. One step away from minimal safety of the trench she tripped, falling out of his grasp. He immediately turned, planning to haul her down into the trench as fast as he could.

  But they had run out of time. A bomb exploded nearby. Barely having a chance to shield his eyes from the blast, his body was violently thrown backwards. He slammed hard onto the trench's packed dirt, explosions of light flashing painfully inside his head as well as outside it. In that instant, the trench was rocked by a massive explosion, far greater than any of the previous ones. His eyes barely registered the fiery fireball roaring above as darkness overwhelmed him.

  Three days later.

  Captain James Ellison, hands on his head, followed his Major and tried to ignore the icy fingers of fear and panic twisting in his gut. "It's not over yet. We have a chance," he chanted quietly to himself. Memories of stench, pain, screams, death, and grueling work t
hreatened to overwhelm him. Forcefully he pushed them back, refusing to think of his previous stay at a Roaches' work camp, knowing he would lose it if he dwelt on them. He couldn't lose it. His Major and the others were counting on him to stay in control. Glancing up into the clear night's sky, Ellison spotted two of Roachia's three moons. They had always been his companions on nights like tonight and helped to settle his nerves.

  Calmer, he surveyed the Roaches around him. They towered over the humans, even the Major who was at least six foot five. Their brown, scaly skins covered thin bodies, six appendages, and a broad tail. While they didn't look very speedy standing on only their lower thick legs, Ellison knew from experience that they gained speed when the middle pair ran with the lower. Nor did much get past their large, multiple eyes.

  Yet he could sense their confusion from their increasing stench. This latest attack had over stretched their forces. It would take time for the drones to consolidate their position in this newly gained territory. That could only be used to their advantage. He had escaped from the work camps. This should be a piece of cake.

  Using an electronic translator, a Roach ordered them to stop. Or at least that was what it sounded like - the translation between the human's vocal speech and the Roachian's combination of scent and ultrasonic clicks had never been perfected. As they stood, Ellison took advantage of the break to take quick glances at his team. Major Simon Banks looked furious, ready to tear the Roaches apart with his bare hands if given the chance. The explosives expert Sergeant Joel Taggart was studying the buildings surrounding them, probably recording the details in his mind in case they might be of use later. Brown, standing straight and proud, was surveying the terrain with a knowing eye. Henri had grown up in this area and knew it well. Rafael Janson, holding his injured arm to his chest, was looking at the Roaches with a haunted expression. He had been in the camps, too, and was struggling against his own nightmares. Another good reason to stay in control - if Jim lost it, Rafe would not be far behind. Nor did he want the younger man to take any more damage from the Roaches' wicked claws.

  They had nearly made it. Their assignment was to get as many of the human survivors in the newly lost zone out before they were captured or killed. The last 'load' of refugees had just been sent on their way when the Roaches grabbed them. Now the city's burning rubble was occupied only by the Roaches and the dead.

  It was hard to comprehend just how few human survivors there were from this recently thriving area. The loss from the initial surprise attack had been great. Most of the main government buildings and the three main engineering centers had been totally destroyed by the Roaches new, more powerful bombs. Even the engineering researchers and staff in supposedly bomb-proof shelters had been killed. Ellison's team, the Panthers, had managed to help nearly three hundred people back to the new safe zones before being caught. Jim just wished there had been more survivors to help.

  So much had been lost in the Roaches' continuing march to wipe the alien humans off the planet. The humans were barely able to slow them down. Jim's own family and home had been destroyed five years ago. Memories of Cascadia's ruins washed over him as they were forced to walk through the cracked Sealand streets, overturned vehicles and dead bodies casting shadows from the fires still burning after three days.

  The team was ushered into one of the few human buildings still standing. It was a large, ornate building, flanked by two damaged towers. But instead of up, the prisoners were forced down to the basement. They were shoved into what had once been a storage area. The cement room now contained only a cot and a small sink. The door was slammed and locked behind them.

  "Brown, what is this place?" Major Banks demanded.

  "Would you believe a church," Brown replied, his eyes glowing with suppressed anger. Then a grim smile crossed his face. "However, there's a tunnel down here that goes to the river for baptisms which I bet the Roaches haven't found yet. We get out of this room and we have a shot."

  "Taggart..." Banks began.

  "On it, Simon," Taggart quickly responded, already kneeling beside the door.

  Ellison had been standing further back in the room, only half listening to the exchange. He had thought he heard something. Again, a soft scrape barely touched his ear.

  Janson, noting the head tilt, asked softly, "What is it?" The team was aware that Ellison occasionally had episodes of sentinel senses. However, they were sporadic at best and sometimes sent Jim into a trance-like state which was difficult to break. They had been told that a guide could help Ellison to gain control, perhaps even bring the senses on-line permanently. Unfortunately, all the guides, sentinels, and their teachers were killed before Rafe was born. Worried that attention to the untrained sentinel would place him in danger from both the Roaches and others in the colony's federal government, the Panthers kept the tentative abilities a secret. They also kept a protective eye on Ellison.

  "Something over here." Ellison cautiously crept over to the cot. Janson silently alerted the Major and they followed. Slowly, Ellison knelt and looked beneath the cot. The sight that met his eyes sent a jolt of horror through his heart. "Oh, hell," he whispered softly. He looked back at the Major and Janson. "Help me move this, but be careful."

  Banks and Janson traded worried looks. Banks helped Ellison lift the cot, revealing a bruised and bloody figure huddled tightly against the corner.

  Ellison knelt again. The pale, naked figure was shivering, covered with bruises, cuts, and burns. The face was tucked into the corner, but Jim could see the blood-matted hair. "Easy there," Jim soothed. The slim body flinched and shook harder. For an instant, Jim was back in the camps, cold and hurt and scared, trying to find a way to squeeze into the cement wall next to him so the Roaches couldn't hurt him anymore. Blinking away the memories, Jim continued to talk softly in his most soothing voice.

  Behind him, Janson slowly slipped off and opened his pack. Using carefully deliberate movements so as not to scare their fellow prisoner, Rafe used his good hand to pull out an emergency blanket and unfolded it. He passed it to Jim. A few feet away, Banks quietly watched his men work. Both Ellison and Janson were good at this. He just wished they hadn't had to go through their experience in the camps to become this good.

  After several minutes of coaxing and soothing, Ellison managed to drape the blanket over the slim shoulders. The prisoner, perhaps subconsciously realizing the soldier was 'safe', simply crumpled into Ellison. Jim pulled the young man into his arms, gently tucking the blanket around him. The kid was so cold. Jim suddenly flashed back again, holding his dying brother in a freezing cell. He immediately shoved it out of his mind. This kid needed help and becoming a basket case wouldn't help. A bruised, long-fingered hand lifted out of the blanket just enough to grasp Jim's shirt.

  Rafe knelt beside them, hazel eyes wide with concern. "Here," he said softly, holding out a handkerchief Banks had ran under the sink faucet.

  Ellison took the wet cloth from Janson. "See if you can get the cuffs off his wrists," he suggested, using the same soothing voice. "I think one of them may be broken." Gently, Jim wiped away the blood from the face. Both eyes were bruised and swollen shut, but most of the blood seemed to be from a gash along the side of his head. Ellison's face grew grim as he examined it. Head wounds normally bled a lot, but this one looked particularly long and nasty. The kid was slowly slipping into unconsciousness.

  "Oh, hell."

  Jim looked down at Rafe's soft curse as Simon glanced over his shoulder. The deep bruising of restraints stood out across the lower and upper right arm, as well as several injection sites at the inside elbow. The three commandos exchanged looks. The Roaches only resorted to drugs when they wanted important information and the prisoner wasn't cooperating fast enough. Jim soothingly brushed back a brown curl. While hard to tell with the bruising, the young man didn't even look twenty-one. What the hell would a kid this young know that was that important?

  Banks quietly studied the marks, forcing back his anger. They had to get ou
t of this cell fast and take the kid with them. While it was probable the Roaches already had the information they sought, Banks had to prevent the young man from possibly being interrogated further. There was no doubt the kid would die soon without medical help and would certainly not survive another interrogation.

  The door popped open. "We got it," Henri quietly called back. He and Taggart cautiously checked the hallway. Banks helped Ellison bundle and lift the kid up, settling him across Ellison's shoulders. Following Brown's lead, the five men silently crept down the tile floor. Brown stopped by a large statue. Touching the base, the statue swung out, revealing a passageway.

  "How'd you...?" Janson whispered.

  Brown faintly smiled as he lead them down the dark passage. "I was best friends with the pastor's kid."

  Ellison continued to follow, praying that the young charge over his shoulders could hang on until they reached medical help.

  Two weeks later, Front Ridge Base

  Ellison walked into the med center, almost fearful of what he would find. Their unit had been out on a rescue mission for the past 48 hours, so he hadn't been able to keep up his twice daily visits to the young man they had found in the church. While their escape had been relatively easy, the kid barely made the trip to their base's medical center. Even now he was still in a coma, though Sheree said his vitals were growing stronger every day. Jim knew that his stats improved when he or one of the Panthers were visiting. He was worried that their absence had negatively impacted the fragile young man who was barely clinging to life.

  He paused at the window looking into the kid's room and blew out a sigh of relief. The slim figure was still there. Then Jim chided himself for being so concerned. He didn't even know the kid's name, yet somehow it was important to him that this survivor make it. Was it because the kid was alone? No one had been able to identify him yet. Or was it because he somehow connected him to Steve? Jim quickly shoved that thought out of his mind as he saw a slim, elegant woman with chocolate-colored skin approach.