Paradigm

by K. C. Carter

  Red covered his vision.

  Blood?

  For a moment it looked like it, but he managed to move his head and focused. His visor was orange and red with blinking messages.

  SHIELDS: OFFLINE.

  SUIT INTEGRITY: CRITICAL.

  POWER: LOW.

  MULTIPLE TRAUMAS.

  CONCUSSION.

  IMMEDIATE MEDICAL ASSISTANCE RECOMMENDED.

  He scrolled through the list. There were no breaches in his suit. He had no breaks or serious bleeds. He breathed. He swept the warning messages away and winced as he climbed to his feet. There may not have been any breaks, but there was no shortage of other injuries. Another message flashed across his vision.

  PAIN THRESHOLD EXCEEDED. ANESTHETIC DEPLOYED.

  The relief was instant. Asra gathered himself and surveyed the area. It was littered with twisted pillars formed from the same smooth black rock that surrounded the shores of Lake Infinity. Some had been knocked over in the crash. Others had been smashed into chunks. The area seemed familiar and somehow resonated with him. It didn’t take him long to realize why. With a renewed sense of urgency, he tried reestablishing the mental link with Uttu.

  “Uttu! Are you there?”

  There was no answer.

  “Uttu? We have to get out of here!”

  Something glinted in the corner of his eye and he twisted to see Uttu’s legs protruding from under a fallen pillar. His heart raced as he ran to her and slid his fingertips under the rock. The generator on his back whined as it pumped out more power than Asra had ever demanded of it. More red warnings flashed but he ignored them. The suit’s joints hissed and screamed in objection, but the heavy rock lifted just enough for him to roll it out of the way. He quickly scanned Uttu again. There was nothing critical, but there was a break beneath her left knee. It was a miracle her suit was still intact. He crouched next to her and gave her a gentle nudge.

  She groaned and moved. Asra gave her a moment before helping her up.

  “Easy, you’ve a broken fibula.”

  She stumbled against him and propped herself up on her good leg.

  “The suit will help with the pain. It will also compensate mechanically to take the pressure off the bad leg, but you will need it seen to right away.”

  “My camera… shhh”

  “Haven’t you heard a thing I’ve said?”

  “But shhhhh don’t shhh-stand.”

  “No! You don’t understand!” He vented. “Do you even know where we are? We’re in the graveyard!”

  She stared at him in silence.

  “Those early rangers that didn’t make it to retirement.”

  She looked around as it registered.

  “Sorry, I didn’t… shhhhhh… this… shhhhh.” She started making a sound he took for crying.

  “Look. No one’s come this far in decades. My power’s low, your NPI’s busted, and your leg’s no good.”

  The light of Vorga’s greater moon was fading. He pointed east.

  “If we head that way, we should make it back to the station before blackout. We really don’t want to be out here when the light’s gone.”

  The track back had been tough. Asra half dragged, half carried Uttu by his own strength, in an effort to preserve his suit’s power. She managed to limp part of the way, but when her painkillers wore off it was up to him. The journey was made in silence and not the kind Asra enjoyed. Finally, he could see Infinity’s shore; the ranger outpost was a faint dot on the hills behind the lake.

  He was about to point it out when there was a sudden screech. The nurren stood before them, at least three heads taller than Asra. Its legs made up three-quarters of its height. The rest consisted of a small body with purple plumage, a curly tail, and a long orange beak. Uttu’s camera dangled from the beak.

  “Don’t move a muscle,” he said, feeling her arms tense around his neck.

  Liquid metal pooled in his free hand and took the form of a fission pistol again. He took aim and pulled the trigger. A click, not unlike that made by the camera, echoed off the rocks about them. He pulled the trigger again, and there was another click. The pistol wouldn’t fire. Before he had a chance to figure it out, there was another gust, and the nurren was gone again. The camera hit the ground with a clack. Asra stumbled to the device with Uttu still hanging onto him and slung it over his shoulder.

  “Strange. But at least we have your camera back.” He felt Uttu relax.

  “Thank shhh shhh shhhhhhhhhh.”

  Her communicator was getting worse. It then occurred to Asra that nurrens were only known to drop their loot when spooked and only one thing was known to spook them. As if to confirm his fears, a little red word flashed in the left corner of his visor: DANGER… DANGER… DANGER…

  They turned, and there it was. The mastradon’s bulk blotted out the world. Even on all sixes, it stood five times taller than Asra. It was a twisted jumble of wrought muscle and bone: a thing of nightmares. Its silver tusks gleamed in the starlight. With their suits at full power they may have stood a chance, but in their current situation there wasn’t a hope. Asra pushed the thought from his mind, and his training took over again. A knife solidified into his left hand. It wouldn’t be much use, but it was all he had. There was only one real option.

  “Run,” Asra whispered.

  “Shhhhhh…. can’t shhhhhhh....” Uttu hissed.

  “Then hide. I’ll draw it away.”

  He expertly flung the blade at the beast. It struck it square between the tusks, bounced off its bony armor, and fell to the ground with a clang. The creature didn’t make any sudden moves, but Asra swore its breathing changed.

  “Now!” He shouted.

  He didn’t know what exactly was supposed to happen after shouting the word, but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

  The mastradon launched with speed one would normally attribute to a much smaller creature. They ducked under its swinging tusks, but its shoulder caught Uttu and flung her aside like a wasted rag.

  Asra’s survival instincts took over and he ran. He ran as fast as he had ever run without the enhancements of his suit. All of his primal energy was concentrated on two instinctive needs: finding a path back to the station and keeping the contents of his innards where they were. His heart pounded in his head and the thundering thuds of the mastradon’s hooves struck closer with every beat. He knew that looking back was a bad idea but for some reason that didn’t stop him. He regretted it instantly.

  The mastradon’s tusks swiped at his feet and sent him spinning into the air. He knew at that point that his time was up. A thousand questions whizzed through his head at once. Was Uttu dead? Would he lose his job? Was he dead too? Would he see his parents again? How bad would his body stink when they found it? Would they even find a body?

  Everything seemed to occur to him at that single moment. Everything but the one thing that should have occurred to him. Realization only struck when he was already halfway through Infinity.

  Half & Half

  A cyborg—more metal than flesh—stomped into the dark bunker. Its headbeams came alive and flooded the room with harsh light and shadow. Dust particles floated like dreams. A breeze unsettled scattered paper and made eddies in the air.

  The cyborg searched through the mess for anything valuable. It found an old recording device on an otherwise empty table. It stared at the device for a moment, as if hesitating, then pressed the play button with a burnished silver finger. There was crackling and then a voice spoke. It was a human voice.

  My name’s Johnny Taylor. I’m just gonna record this in case there are any survivors. I don’t know what the rest of the world’s like, but here in the States things have gone to hell.

  A "half and half" was something people used to ask for when they ordered a damn pizza. It’s now a term we use for them. Those of humanity who subjected themselves to that vile blasphemy—who betrayed themselves. That’s the worst kinda treachery if you ask me.

  The military
’s to blame. They always are; them and the government. A soldier gets his arm blown off by a grenade, or a mine takes his legs. Slap on some biotech limbs. A few procedures and three months of rehabilitation later, and you got yourself a better soldier, even if he is only half the man he used to be. I can see how it seemed like a good idea at the time. But, how did they not see this comin’? That’s the thing about us humans. We’ve always been blind. Blinded by greed, pride, hate, and all sorts of stupid things. And now we’re payin’ for it.

  There used to be movies, you know, where mankind was wiped out by robots and artificial intelligence. The plot always played out the same way. Artificial intelligence gets created by man. Artificial intelligence serves and protects man. Artificial intelligence becomes self-aware and logically realizes that the only way to truly protect man is to destroy man. After all, man’s greatest enemy has always been his fellow man.

  But this plot wasn’t about no artificial intelligence. No sir. It was really a projection of how humans really thought, how their warped minds really operated. And that’s how we got to where we are today.

  A world wiped out, not by machines or men, but by a bastardization of the two—by the half and half scum and their damn agenda. At the end of the day, you can’t give people all that power and expect them to sit down and obey you the same way they always did. It just don’t work like that. And now it’s too late.

  They hate us untainted; they call us blood bags, you know. No doubt we’re in the minority, probably even endangered by now. You should see what they do to babies. Would make you sick, even drive you insane. Haven’t seen it myself, and thank the good lord for that. I have heard the stories, though.

  I’ve lived in this bunker for over three years now. Used to head outside once a month for supplies: food, meds, water, that sorta thing. It's almost been a year now since I’ve been able to get out. Had to put my ol’ dog, Rex, down not so long ago. They’ve increased their patrols. They’re everywhere now, like a damn disease. Only a matter o’ time before they find me. And then what? I’ll tell ya what. Then I’m as good as dead. I won't go down without a fight, though. No sir. And they sure as hell ain't turnin’ me into no damn half and half, I can tell you that. If you’re listenin’ to this, they prolly already got me and that means I’m dead. At the end of the day, when you’re half of one thing and half of somethin’ else, you’re really all of nothin’. That’s right, nothin’.

  Never been no church goin’ man, but if there is a God, he’s got a special place in hell reserved for those things. Anyway, if you find this, there’s somethin’ hidden in a trap door under the table. It’s useless to an old fella like me, but someone might be able to use it to fight the half and halves. I tried gettin’ it to the army, but it was too late by then. If anyone’s listenin’ to this I hope it helps. Over and out.

  The cyborg lifted the audio device and crushed it into pieces between its cold fingers. It stared at a picture of an old man and his dog on the wall. If it still had eyes the cyborg probably would have shed a tear because the man in the picture reminded it of someone it used to know.

  The table flew across the bunker and smashed into tinder. The cyborg pulled back the vinyl tiles, reached for the handle of the trap door, and yanked it. Only when the trap door swung open did it remember what was in there. But by then, it was just in time.

  PREVIEW

  THE NORTH STAR

  Galactic Sentinel - Book One

  Chapter One

  "Krags!" Grimshaw screamed into his suit’s coms system.

  He threw himself onto his back in the undergrowth just as three krag heavies emerged from the brush. Blue and red lights flashed as both parties exchanged fire. Grimshaw fought to maintain control of his phase rifle; not easy from his position. It kicked all over the place, but he was fiarly certain he landed a few hits.

  The deadly heat of energy discharge passed above him. The fight stopped as fast as it started.

  Without cover, the krags took heavy fire. It was the krag way. No cover, no beating about the bush, and no holding back. It was all about valor and courage for the thick-skinned aliens. Anything less than a head-on charge was considered cowardly and cowardice was the greatest crime a krag could commit. Such courage came easier when you knew you would be born again, no doubt.

  Despite being at war with them for the guts of ten years, the Alliance knew little about the kragovorian. They did know the creatures were somehow able to transfer their consciousness to another krag body on death. At least that’s what the latest Alliance intillegnece suggested. If it were true, it was a nice fail safe, and the Alliance lost a lot of good people trying to learn more about it. Every venture down that avenue came up empty handed. Other than that, krag technology was on par with human advances. Their shields were lighter, but their heavy armor could take a lot more heat before breaking down. In the meantime, they inflicted their damage.

  Grimshaw climbed from the jungle floor and took stock of that damage. After a quick check, he was relieved to find he hadn't been hit. Others in the squad weren’t as fortunate. There were ten of them before the most recent attack, and now there were only four. Six smoldering human remains lay on the ground; the smell of burnt metal, hair, and flesh a mark of their passing. Krags always aimed for the upper torso and head. They didn't believe in taking prisoners. When they opened fire on a target, it was always to kill. It meant fewer injured and more dead.

  The three heavies lay motionless, their thick-plated armor smoking, their black horned helmets giving them the appearance of fallen demons. They were intimidating, even in death.

  "Another attack like that and we’ve had it." Sergeant Richards voice crackled across the coms link.

  "Maybe if we dig in—"

  "Our orders are to reach the extraction point at all costs." The sergeant cut Bradley off.

  "But—"

  "Now's not the time to shit in your suit Bradley. We need to get this data back to the Alliance. Now get moving before another hunting party shows up. Conners?"

  "Two miles that way, sir." Communications officer Conners pointed in the direction of the extraction point.

  They hadn’t realized an enemy unit had been sent to cut them off and a krag electromagnetic grenade took out most of their suit circuitry. Backup power kicked in and brought critical systems like life-support, short range communications, and shields back online. By then, the human squad had already suffered heavy losses. They were originally twenty-two strong. A dozen managed to break away from the ambush, while those that stayed behind drew enemy fire. It was an honorable sacrifice. The entire squad knew how critical the mission was, going in. They knew that the data they retrieved had to make it back to the Alliance, no matter what.

  Since the EM grenade attack, only Conners had access to navigation systems. Being a coms officer meant navigation was programmed into his suit’s critical systems protocols.

  "Head out," Sergeant Richards ordered.

  They went in the direction Conners had pointed.

  When Grimshaw first joined the academy, becoming a sergeant was his goal. He worked hard towards it, but always fell short. After being under Sergeant Richards’s command, he realized he could never hold such a position. Leading men took brains, but most of all it took balls. Sergeant Richards had both in spades and then some. Grimshaw had neither. He wasn't as much of a coward as Bradley, but he wasn't far behind either.

  They cut through thick growth all the while listening for the enemy. Krags always came in threes. With full shields, another hunting party would likely mean the end of them. Running on low power as they were, it was a certainty.

  The mission was supposed to be straight forward: land on Gorthor undetected, take a lightly manned krag outpost, establish a link to their systems, download the data, and get the hell out.

  It was plain sailing right up until the “get the hell out” part. Alliance intelligence assured them most krag forces had left the outpost in order to bolster a nearby planet where the A
lliance’s third fleet had started bombardments. What they didn’t tell them was that the enemy had left an entire company behind, forcing them to revise their tactics.

  Instead of a head on assault, a small team managed to get in and out with the data, but before the squad could withdraw, the alarm was raised, and a group of krag cut them off as they ran for the extraction.

  Grimshaw didn't like bringing up the rear, but someone had to do it. Given the situation, the sergeant and Conners took point, and Bradley wasn't reliable enough for the job. Rear guard was an important position. It could mean the life or death of everyone else on the squad… or what was left of it.

  Grimshaw heard something and signaled for the others to keep moving. He fine-tuned his helmet’s audio to see if it registered anything. Satisfied there was nothing, he picked up the pace and rejoined the others.

  "What's wrong Grimshit? The krags got you spooked?" Bradley taunted over the coms-link. Grimshaw never liked the guy. He was always full of hot air and empty words. Still, he couldn't blame him for trying to mask his own fear.

  "Keep up, you two. We're almost there," Sergeant Richards cut in.

  They chopped through to a clearing, and Grimshaw noticed a distant hum. It was the sound of an engine.

  "The jump ship is just over the hill," Conners said. "We've made it."

  Conners hit the floor, a gaping hole hole burned into the back of his helmet.

  "Return fire!" The sergeant shouted as they scrambled for the trees.

  Blasts of blue streamed back down the path from which they came. No krag hunting party appeared. Grimshaw wondered if it was a krag sniper? There had been tales of krag marksmen, though, none of the reports were ever confirmed.

  A sickening noise issued from the jungle. It was like chortling mixed with animal sounds.