So, priorities: Survive. Pack e-rats. Pack some sort of breathing filter or I’ll die a slow death of oxygen toxicity.
For now, let’s start with survive. I surged forward, willing my body to move. With great difficulty, my muscles responded. I released the straps holding me to the pod, but I couldn’t find the catch to open the door. Where was a girl’s bodyguard when she needed him?
Ian McIsaac has been assigned as your bodyguard going forward.
I froze for a moment. I forgot Nigel had done that. It was needlessly cruel since he intended that I would die here – again! (this is getting old, by the way) – so why did I need a bodyguard? Or was he teaching poor Ian a lesson the way he’d tried to teach Roman Aldrin one? I suspected that Ian wouldn’t take it as well as Roman did. After Capricornia, he had every reason to hate me. Hopefully, they hadn’t given him an implant. That would complicate things.
The door to my pod opened and a marine pulled me out by my skinsuit.
“Going somewhere?” he asked, his voice obscured by a partial mask. A breathing apparatus, perhaps? All the marines had one, making them hard to distinguish.
I didn’t answer. I was a prisoner, not a colonist, whatever fiction the chipper voice in that recording played at. I would only be going where I was allowed to go, and in this mayhem I had no idea what that might mean.
“Keep an eye on her. The Captain’s ETA is two minutes,” another marine said. He had a set of raised, black stripes on his sleeve. It marked him as an enlisted officer.
The first marine shifted his grip to my bicep, completely enclosing my tiny arm in his big hand. I didn’t object, choosing to get a look at my surroundings.
We were in a large medical bay, lined with cryogenic pods, about sixty in total.
A cryogenic facility, not an emergency one, I figured. Each pod along the row was lighted and inside were sleepy faces, some with eyes closed and some with them open to a small slit. I felt my own eyes trying to close, but I forced them open. Between my will and the stimulant, I managed to stay upright and awake, but the lethargy was still strong. The process must be lengthy, but they were rushing it with us.
From the open, marine-lined door, the sounds of nettle guns and screams continued. Great. It was going to be another one of those planets.
The original doctor worked on the marines who were brought in by their fellows. He had a washed-out look like he was more of a memory than a person, and he grimaced and frowned like he was experiencing internal conflict.He had neither the tools, nor the staff, that a proper emergency medical bay should have. Did they locate him here to guard the cryo-sleepers?
I figured Charlene was the woman staring at the viewscreen beside the doctor. Everything about her spoke of surface and sparkle. People who make themselves look cheap, usually are cheap. I dismissed her internally.
The marines inside the safety of the medical bay were filling rucksacks with emergency rations (or e-rats) and evenly dispersing the other gear. I noticed a contraption I felt sure was a water filter, along with basic tools, communication devices, firestarters, survival equipment and the other usual suspects in a long-term survival situation.
My stomach flipped. I was not used to physical scarcity or having to survive in the wilds. Without Roman, I had no physical ability that could keep me alive if things got difficult. Thanks, Matsumotos. You bred me for a life of luxury and then threw me into the Amazon River. Beautifully done.
I was wearing a skinsuit like the marines, except it was grey with a barcode stenciled in white paint on the front of it. At least skinsuits were practical. This one fitted well and moved easily. The durable fabric required little to keep it clean. Fittings worked into the fabric allowed for starship exo-gear hookups and loops for a techbelt or tool belt. The marines’ belts bore a variety of tools and weapons. Unfortunately I hadn’t been granted a similar arsenal.
Everyone turned when a heavyset man entered in marine blacks. He stripped off the breathing mask, and donned a fleet cap with captain’s insignia on it. Captain Vincent.
“Report,” he said.
“Sergeant Spencer reporting,” a marine said, stripping off his mask to reveal a handsome, but tough face. “Major Reynolds is two minutes out. He says he has combed decks 1-20 looking for survivors and gathered up any who were found. He is currently engaged in a shooting battle to join up with us on the lower decks.”
“Any cryo-sleepers awake?”
“Just one,” he said, gesturing at me, “but we’ve started the Wake Protocol for all. We are currently packing supplies for the pris…colonists to carry with them.”
“E-rats?”
The sergeant nodded. “As many as we could find.”
“Good.” The Captain looked at me for a long moment, barely containing the contempt in his eyes and then turned to the doctor.“How many patients need to be transported, Dr. Daniels?”
“Transported to where?”
“The colony, of course.”
The doctor looked up for the first time, his eyebrows climbing. “Ninety kilometers?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know. None of our casualties are walking. We’d need a stretcher squad. On top of that, at least half of those I’ve saved will never be able to make that journey. They can’t leave the ship’s medical support.”
The captain frowned. He spun around and seized me by the front of my suit, just like the guard had.
“Why did we crash? What was that thing that shot us down?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, with deliberate slowness, trying to keep him calm. “I’ve been in cryo-sleep.”
He shook me, which wasn’t hard. I’ll be a petite woman when I’m fully grown and I’m only sixteen now. “Willowy” would be a generous way to describe my figure.
“We all know who you are. You’re the only one on the ship anyone would want to kill. Who shot us down? Why did we crash here? Did they stir up the alien population? Tell me.”
“I don’t know,” I repeated.The man must be close to a mental breakdown if he thought I could possibly answer these questions. I didn’t even remember being put in the cryopod. I was trembling in his grip, and I tried to take deep breaths. Fear was not the answer right now.
“What was that thing that shot us down?” he asked again, shoving his face right in front of mine.
“You tell me,” I said. “You’re the Captain, and you were there to see it.”
I earned myself a full armed slap for stating the obvious.
“Captain?” A voice said, curiosity and wariness in equal parts.
The captain turned to the voice, and I risked a glance. Its owner was broad shouldered and huge. Judging by the textured insignia on his skinsuit, this must be the Major. His breathing apparatus hung loose from a loop on the skinsuit and his hard-lined face came from an Old-Earth South American strain.
“Reynolds. Thank God. I was just trying to get some intelligence out of our prisoner.”
“Colonist,” Reynolds corrected, his face and eyes unreadable.
“Whatever,” the Captain said, shaking his head and then turning to the man just behind Reynolds. “Lieutenant Chavers, I’m glad to see you are ok.”
Chavers saluted. “The marines are showing me the ropes. I never expected to fight planetside, sir.”
“None of us did,” Captain Vincent said, his mouth twisting with the sour words. “Please assist the other…colonists in their waking. We need to leave this wreck of a hull. Any objections, Reynolds?”
“None, Captain Vincent. The sooner we move the better.”
“Most of them are still sleeping,” Lieutenant Chavers said.
“Give them a shot of stim,” Captain Vincent said.
“Not recommended,” Dr. Daniels said from the far side of the room.
I surreptitiously rubbed my aching cheek. There would be a bruise and I’d be lucky if it didn’t swell, but at least Captain Vincent had forgotten me in the business of sorting out his ruined ship. He was in
sane to think that I would have any information for him, but some Blackwatch citizens persist in seeing the Matsumotos as demi-gods. Maybe that was what was going on here. Or maybe we did something to him or his family in the past. After getting to know Roman, I would never again discount that possibility.
I stood up with great care, hoping not to incite anyone to stomp me back down.
“Forget recommendations,” Captain Vincent said. He must be very rattled. Fleet officers were joked about for their need to follow regulations by the letter.
“You’ll lose half of them if you do,” Daniels said, as he sewed a man’s arm back together with an e-suture machine. The technology did most of the work, but it still required a skilled operator to do it well. His fingers moved rapidly as he spoke, and his tone had a far-away quality.
“How much time do we have before we need to get out of here, Major Reynolds?” Captain Vincent asked.
Reynolds spoke quietly into a headpiece, waited a moment and then answered.
“We’ve routed the main force for now, but we think this was an opportunistic raid. If we give them time, they will amass greater numbers and then we’ll be trapped in the bottom decks of the ship. We need to leave as soon as we can, and head straight for the colony. If we keep moving they won’t have time to call reinforcements.”
“My engineer is dead and the ship isn’t responding to Bridge control. I can’t launch her back into space. I’m afraid we’re stuck on the planet.”
“If you’d seen her from the outside you’d already know that, sir.” Reynolds shifted on his feet. “I’d be happier if we were already gone. One hour might be too long. My men are ready to cover a running retreat.”
“Use the stims,” Captain Vincent ordered, rubbing his chin. “Start putting any who can live without ship support onto e-stretchers, Daniels.”
Daniels muttered something that might have been acknowledgement, but I thought it probably wasn’t. He knew, the same as I did, that the Captain would abandon anyone too injured to come with us. I tried to breathe quietly. Something told me that I wouldn’t want any more attention from Captain Vincent. He already had it out for me, and I had yet to do something stupid.
The stims were administered and the pods opened. The marine beside me shoved my arms through a rucksack more than half as heavy as me, tightening the straps at my waist and chest and then roughly strapped the breathing apparatus around my face, cinched the straps, and yanked my skinsuit’s hood over my head.
“Thank you,” I said through the filter.
“Get your butt to the front of the line.”
“Line?”
He pointed to an actual line painted in red just inside the door. I shrugged and stood on it. Gee. Who would have thought I’d get a front row seat to the marathon of death. Exactly how far could a group engage in a running battle with aliens? On their home turf? With wounded and huge supply packs to burden us? My guess was: not far. My legs, already weak from cryosleep, were close to buckling under the weight of the pack. Well, at least I’d get to see Baldric. Ecotourism at its finest.
I could hear other cryo-sleepers being fitted with equipment and lined up behind me. I turned to look, but a barked order of “eyes forward” was clearly directed at me. I went ahead and obeyed…for now. I felt like something was off…like I was waiting for someone.
Roman. I miss you, I thought. Imagine how perfect you would have been in this environment. I felt a strange – well, almost an echo I guess – after I thought that. I’d never felt that in my implant before. Maybe it didn’t like me speaking to people it couldn’t connect to, even if I wasn’t trying to connect at the time.
I didn’t try to stop the waves of sadness that washed over me at the mental image of him. If I was going to die, I wanted to die missing Roman. When you only have one friend in the universe you don’t want to forget him.
“All formed up and ready to go, Captain,” Lieutenant Chavers reported.
“Vera,” someone behind me hissed.
I risked a look. It was Ian McIsaac. The pieces clicked into place. He was the one I’d been subconsciously waiting for. He was his usual self, looking at home and comfortable in a military-style skinsuit like he did this every day.
“I’ve got your back,” he said, but the glint in his eye gave it a different meaning.
Yep. Called that right. He wanted vengeance. There’s nothing like disappointed hopes to sour a man. Or his father’s murder, I supposed. Or being sentenced to a prison planet for no reason…
Well, his reasons were valid enough, which didn’t make his hatred any less bitter of a taste on my tongue.
“Take them to the front. Put one marine ahead to guide them, but I want them to shield the rest of our ranks. We don’t want to lose anyone important, and it might get rough out there,” Captain Vincent said to Major Reynolds.
“Might?” the Major muttered under his breath, but I don’t think the Captain heard him. “Just wait till you see how bad it’s already been.
THE SPLITTING: 3
GREAT. “HUMAN SHIELD” WASN’T WHAT I’d have bet on if asked to guess how I’d die. My knees shook like willow saplings in a breeze.
A marine with ‘CONRAD’ emblazoned on his skinsuit studied us from his place at the head of the column. His expression turned to disbelief when he saw me.
“What did they have you slated for on this planet, colonist?” he asked.
“Native Relations,” I said, keeping my face straight.
We shared a look.
“Well, then I guess it’s time to do your job,” he said wryly.
“Do we get weapons?” asked Ian, from behind me. I could hear the squeak of his shoes on the slick floor as he shuffled in place.
Conrad’s laugh was as old as the ages.
“Move ‘em out, Corporal,” said Major Reynolds, from behind us.
I missed having a bodyguard. I wish they’d packed my implant full of the violent goodness they must fill theirs with. Of course, I’d never asked what I might have available. Maybe I should.
Is there any sort of military or engagement software available? I queried my implant.
Tactical Interface Loading …
Interesting. I wondered what this little goody contained. It was yet another thing in my head that I knew absolutely nothing about. Roman would probably have something snide to say about that.
Corporal Conrad led us in a jog through the medical bay door into a wide ship’s corridor. The floor angled slightly, likely due to crashing on uneven terrain and marines lined the halls in ready positions with weapons drawn. Apparently, we would be their vanguard. Nice. What an honor. The tang of blood swirled in my nose and splashes of it pooled under the marine’s feet and stained the bulkheads. A shiver rippled through me.
“What did they attack you guys with?” Ian asked, his voice sounding strangled.
“This is mostly from the crash. Some from projectiles they hurled at us when we routed them.”
Native Relations must be a hazard pay post.
The hatch neared, and the four-marine team guarding it greeted Conrad. They bristled with weapons and adrenaline.
“Secure, Corporal. Proceed,” a husky woman with Sergeant stripes said.
My Tactical Interface software booted, throwing up a transparent image over my vision. At least my implant was pulling its weight. In the top right corner a tiny map appeared, showing our location and that of the colony, with some landscape drawn out in elevation lines if I focused on it. A green inverted caret hovered over Corporal Conrad’s head. I assumed that meant he was friendly – or at least not an overt enemy.
On the left of my vision, a scrolling line showed marine communications. Somehow my system was linked with theirs, so I could see their sub-vocal communications. Flashy features notwithstanding, I didn’t have the expertise to follow it and run at the same time.
I chose to run. Conrad’s brisk jog had turned to a run as we exited the crash. I followed in his shadow. I risked a look beh
ind me at the ship.
We emerged from what had been the lower half of the splintered ship. She was sheered across in a ragged line. The upper half wasn’t visible from my vantage point, but only something horrible could have severed it. The top of the lower half was charred and some flames still licked at flammable scraps. It had skidded across the floor of Baldric, digging a deep channel into dense foliage. Piles of uprooted trees, boulders, and other debris flanked the rut and formed a bank under the forward edge of the ship.
My Tactical Interface threw up a red outline around the ship and the text, “Colony Ship ‘El Dorado’. Status: Destroyed, Threat level:0”
I stumbled over my feet. Ian didn’t bother to bite back his curse at my carelessness. If that was my implant’s little joke, then I was sorry to miss Roman’s acerbic humor – it was downright sunny in comparison.
I wanted to curse, myself, but then I saw … them.
The foliage on Baldric differed from what I was used to in nitrogen-rich environments. The chemical makeup of the soil and atmosphere produced color variations that were rare in planets that could support human life. There was little, if any, green.
Around us, dense trees and long grasses grew like an ancient oak forest, but the leaves were dark purple and the grasses were striped in black and white. Smooth white tree trunks, with large spreading branches almost enclosed the ground beneath. The white sun was filtered into a somewhat purple glow by the leaves, giving the landscape an ethereal resonance like a fairytale fantasy.
The colors preoccupied my mind so that at first all I knew was that something was wrong. Conrad ran close to a bright-yellow fungus that towered four meters from the ground. I almost ran into it, swerving at the last moment. My mind replayed the details, as if to scream at me that I should have noticed something very important.
At the fungus’ base, splayed in a rictus of pain, was a dead man in a Fleet uniform, brandishing a nettlegun in one hand. My mind replayed the image again, as I ran, harassing me with the details, until I finally realized that the man hadn’t slumped in death at the base of the fungi – the fungi had grown through him. Two huge strands of it shot up right through his eyes as if they had been trapped inside him and were reaching for the light.
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