by Lucas Cole
“I want your cooperation. Unless, of course, you don’t mind surrendering your weapons and your station. I will be merciful to you and your men.”
“Hah! Stop wasting my time, Crisp. Get to the point.”
“I want to join forces. Station A is in turmoil. They lack their leaders and probably are trying to reorganize.”
Spangler’s face takes on a cautious expression. “Their leaders? What happened to their leaders?”
I signal to the two blues in the background and they march the still-manacled captives to my side. “Take a good look.”
Klaus and Spencer force the heads of the captives down so their faces are toward the screen.
Spangler peers into the monitor. “Holy Caesar!”
Todd, his bruised face inches from mine, snarls. “You’ll regret this, Crisp. I will make your death a painful one.”
On my other side, Chief Self’s face is grimacing, his skin pale with fear and fatigue. “Let me go, Crisp, and I will clear this with Rome. They’ll be lenient if you stop this.”
“Lenient? Rome?” Spangler cackles in glee. “We will show you the leniency of Rome. Bring them to me, Major, and we will do business. I’m sure we can work together.” He brings his face close to the monitor. “But I want those two pigs alive.”
“Klaus. Take them away, lock them up. But don’t injure them. Give them water and food. We need them alive. Understood?”
Klaus nods, the effects of the weed used up, his speech no longer available. He rudely yanks Todd away and Spencer follows with his captive.
“We need to meet, Colonel. Both camps. In a neutral spot. We will give you Todd and Self as a token, you give us some of your firearms.”
“And then? Then what?”
“Then, we join forces and seize Portus Verona. We take command of Station A.”
“And Rome? What will Elemental have to say?”
“They will work with us or they lose the ore.”
Spangler rubs his grizzled face. “You’re an ambitious man, Major. A dangerous man.”
“You trained me well, Colonel.”
“It will be good to work with you, again, Crisp. Good to have you on my side, instead of against me.”
“Yes, sir.” But I caught his intention: ‘on my side.’ Spangler has no taste for partnership. He is too used to commanding.
“When do you want to meet?”
“I need a week. Some things I have to take care of.”
“A week?” Suspicion clouds the Red King’s eyes. “You and I have crushed entire revolts in a week, Crisp.”
“Five days, then.”
“Very well—but I want a safe place—out in the open.”
“Where, then?”
“The ruins. Your man Peter will know them. Five days, let us say, at sunrise.”
“Very well, Colonel. Bring all your men. It’s important that we end hostilities.”
Spangler comes close to the screen. “We will be there in force, Ron. But no nonsense, eh? And I expect Todd and his lackey to be there as well. A little peace offering.”
“At the ruins. Five days.” I flip a switch and the screen goes blank.
“You must be insane,” Carly says.
Peter says, “What are you planning? You cannot trust him.”
“Trust?” I swivel the chair about to face them all. “Trust the Red King? No. This will be a decisive meeting. Win or lose.”
“What will you be doing in these five days?” Kimbrough says.
“Training my army.” I nod toward Peter. “Our army. And preparing the ambush.”
“Ah,” Kimbrough sighs. “I thought as much. A double-cross, I believe the archaic term is.”
“That’s right. And maybe we’ll get your legs back, eh, doc?”
“Are you really going to use Todd and Self as bait?” Carly says.
“Yes. The reds will smell them, maybe be distracted. Spangler wants Todd badly, maybe enough to loosen his discipline.”
I stand and move toward the door, but Carly steps in my way. “You can’t do this,” she says. “Sacrifice Todd and Self. It’s not—.”
“Remember Navarro? Remember your own close call? You need to get real. Decide where your future lies. It’s not with Todd, I can assure you.”
I squeeze by her with Peter close behind. “Time for target practice,” I tell him and then, when we are out of Carly’s hearing, add, “Keep Carly—in fact, keep all the humans, sorry, I mean all the non-blues, away from our prisoners. I don’t want sympathy or misplaced loyalties to derail our plans. And keep them away from the com room.”
“These five days will seem long to Spangler,” Peter says. “I do not think he will wait.”
“He won’t. He will have these ruins he mentioned staked out a day, maybe two days, before the meeting. He will have men waiting. We need someone there—soon. Have them start observing, from a distance, and mark any enemy emplacements or traps.”
“Observe from a distance. How will this be done?”
“I’ll show you. But what does he mean by ruins?” And for a moment, my plans hang in the balance. A previous race of men? Maybe still inhabiting Sybaris? That would be a damned nuisance.
“The colony who started the mining, many years ago. Their camp was discovered, but no traces of them were found. A mystery.”
Another mystery. One that would thereafter keep my eyes watching the cliffs, the dunes, for a nameless enemy. But my present enemy has a name and it is Spangler. Deal with the monsters that are known; worry about the boogey man another day.
“These ruins. Is there any high ground, say, within 200 or 300 meters?” Any further out and my skill decreases rapidly with what I have in mind.
“Our camp. You have been there. On the other side is a small ledge. From there, you will see the ruins. But I would say 400 meters.”
“Send a man there, someone we can depend on. Send him now. I will give him a tool he can use, but you must find a portable telecom he can alert us with.”
By now, we are outside the station. A woman is approaching, her flaxen hair tossed by the breeze, the movement of her hips drawing the attention of both Peter and me. “Round up your men, Peter. Bring them to the crate.”
Peter hesitates, watching the woman, then goes to carry out my directions.
Mary stops a few feet away, her new uniform capturing her pleasing figure, her face vibrant and healthy, even the skin of her hands soft and flexible. “I’m ready,” she says. “Where do I find him?”
“In the brig. He will be suspicious. He is that way with everyone. But he will start to believe you are a traitor because that is what he’ll want to believe…after spending some time with you in the clink.”
She smiles and comes closer. Her blue eyes examine my face. “And the information you need—how to access the Station A reactor, that much I understand. But how to rig it to explode, the way he sabotaged ours—why do you want that information?”
“For insurance. Eventually, EMC is going to send a company of marines to settle our disputes; they likely are on their way now, in response to Carly’s and Todd’s messages. I need the reactors rigged in a way that only I can set them off or disarm them. And I need a reactor scientist to learn the details. You.”
Another step closer and I smell soap on her skin. She is totally human, thanks to careful dosing with the tea weed, and like a human, she is cautious, distrusting, and devious. In other words, a lot like me.
“I will get the information for you, Major. You can rely upon me. But can I rely upon you?”
A deadhead is approaching, coming to collect the bait. He stops a few feet away and waits patiently.
I reach out and pull her to me. Her lips are full, moist and I press them against mine. Her pupils widen with emotion, her breathing rapid as I release her. “You know you can—because I need you…in more ways than I can discuss right now. Get the information, but don’t go too far in getting it. You understand what I’m saying? If you don’t want to do th
is—.”
“Don’t worry, Ron. I can handle myself.” Funny. Carly had said much the same thing, once.
“That’s my girl.”
My blue army is a rag-tag bunch of near-humans in varying states of decay, traumatized body parts, missing eyes, ears, and one minus his nose. All have their limbs, except for Merton missing his right arm. They are gathered around me as I sit in the driver’s compartment of the crate.
“Stand back!” Seeing everyone is clear, I tap in the code. A burst of entrapped air hisses from the corners of the crate and the four sides fall heavily to the ground. I start to lift the heavy cover that is left on top of the cargo and three blues, seeing me struggle, step forward and push the top over onto the sand.
I reach into the cargo bin and lift out a darkly gleaming, polished and oiled weapon, one of the hundred objects within. “Behold your new best friend. This is an automatic assault rifle called a G36. There is enough firepower in this one weapon alone to change the history of Sybaris. That is—if it is in the hands of an experienced soldier.”
I toss the rifle to Klaus and he catches it deftly. He stares at the weapon in his hands as if it were his newborn child. I believe he would smile if he could.
“You however, all of you, are not experienced soldiers. Therefore we have some urgent training ahead of us. We have a conflict scheduled in five days. And we have to win it with minimal casualties on our side. Dead blues are of no use to me.”
Peter is watching Klaus with some envy.
Clambering down the tractor seat, I motion to Peter. “Why don’t you hand those out to your men, one each, but only the G36. There are side arms and a couple other weapons that we will reserve for you and me.”
Peter nods earnestly and climbs the tractor. Soon, the blues have formed a line and are handing the weapons along, until all are armed. Peter hauls up two shoulder holsters containing .45 caliber pistols and a military backpack.
“Give me the last two rifles, Peter.”
He hands them down to me: a long, heavy .50 caliber sniper rifle, with its tripod legs collapsed and tucked up against its barrel, and the M16/203, with its dual barrels, one long with a smaller bore for the primary projectile and one short with a larger bore for propelled grenades. The rifles, especially the .50 caliber, are heavy and, in my still weakened state, I have to strain to keep their butts from touching the sandy surface of the ground. I hand the M16/203 to Peter and accept one of the holsters from him. I grab the military backpack.
“Here’s how you wear this thing,” I say, placing the .50 caliber and backpack carefully against the tractor and fitting the shoulder holster onto my chest, with the weight of the .45 pressing my left rib cage. “If you are right hand dominant, wear like I do. When you are in close combat, flick off the strap like so and you can pull the weapon. It shouldn’t fall out unless you’re hanging upside down.” I demonstrate a quick draw of the weapon. So much to teach and so much firepower, but we will suffer casualties. Not too many, I hope, or I will have no manpower to complete my mission.
His shoulder harness properly strapped on, he examines the pistol and then reholsters it under his left arm. He hefts the rifle I gave him and admires the squat deadly look of the weapon.
“With that,” I tell him, “you could wipe out this whole band of men. It’s a very dangerous, very useful weapon and I’ll demonstrate in a moment. With this,” and I touch the .50 caliber sniper rifle, “I can reach the enemy from a great distance. We have the right tools; we just have to learn how to use them. And we have to learn quickly.”
“You…urgh…you do not plan to join forces?” He is losing his speech.
“No. I never did. Neither did he. And another thing, we have to be sure your men have weed to chew. Carly is working on a prolonged booster of the stuff, something that will last, but it won’t be ready in time. Each man must have a supply during training to keep him loose just before battle.”
“Agh…ag…agreed.” He slips a pinch of the weed powder from his pocket and sticks it between his cheek and gums, like chewing tobacco.
“Okay, line them up and we’ll drill. At first it will be dry-fire…no ammo loaded. Become familiar with the weapons. After that, we’ll load up.” I motion to Klaus and he obediently springs forward, cradling his new G36 like a beloved child. “Klaus, keep your weapon, but you’ve got a special duty. You’ll need these to complete it.” I hand him a telecom and then open the military backpack. “Here. These binoculars are for you, too. But I want them back after we’re done.”
Peter takes Klaus aside and instructs him. Klaus is nodding happily, his eyes drifting to the binoculars and the rifle. Briefing completed, he even renders a snappy salute in my direction before he heads off on his own toward the mountain.
The men line up, side by side, their grins ghastly, most of them missing teeth and in various stages of decomposition, their enthusiasm building as they admire their weapons. Peter, like the desert tribe leader that he is, clearly takes great pride in his new army. With misgivings, however, I see how the men fumble with their rifles, holding them awkwardly.
“Careful there!” I shout, but too late.
A deadhead accidentally grasps the trigger and is rocked back by the recoil as his rifle discharges. The bullet strikes the man next to him, blowing a hole through the man’s chest wall. Through the gaping wound, I can see the sand dune behind him. The victim is stunned, looking down at the hole in his chest, brown dust pouring from him onto the ground.
“Everyone! Secure your weapon.” I flip the safety catch on the rifle of the man who had accidentally fired.
“Sorry,” the man says.
Peter goes down the line and repeats my action. “Weapons secured,” Peter says, glaring at his men.
“Okay.” I stand beside Peter and face my ragtag army. “We just learned two things. The danger of mishandling your weapon. And the ineffectiveness of shooting your enemy with anything but a head shot. A leg wound would be the next best thing because it will bring your opponent down, but it won’t stop him from shooting you. Remember that.”
As I speak, I approach each man—from his back—and reach over him to flip off his safety. “Keep in mind that if we are anywhere near a station or friendly forces, a bullet fired from these weapons will pass through metal and keep going a long way. We don’t want to kill workers…unless they attack us, first. And remember that we have limited ammo. The gunpowder in these shells is extremely expensive and rare.” I spent my entire savings on what was in this crate; we have to make it worthwhile. “Make your shots count. I’ve just taken your weapons off safety. Make sure they are also on ‘semi,’ not ‘auto.’ We can’t afford much target practice, but you need to familiarize yourself with these weapons. We will have twenty practice rounds apiece. Just twenty. So take your time with them.”
I motion to Peter. “Take them over the next dune and set up targets. Rocks will do. Make it at about fifty paces. Anything farther away and the shooter’s accuracy will be pretty poor, I imagine. You’re going to have to get close to make it count, when the time comes.”
“And you?”
“Oh, yes. I will be there, but not where you can see me.”
He hefts his own rifle and waves for his men to follow him. I watch them leave before I walk back to the crate. I lift the heavy long-muzzled .50 caliber rifle. “I’ll be there. With a present for the Colonel.”
The radio crackles. Klaus’ voice speaks. “They are in place. Two reds within the ruined compound, hiding. Two more dug into a hole and covered by their men with sand on the east side. Another two in a hole on the west side. Men in house carry pistols. The others have knives. The rest have left and they wiped out their tracks behind them with brooms and blankets.”
“Stay there, Klaus. And stay out of sight. I’ll join you in a couple days. Good work.”
Carly is back with a good supply of the precious tea weed. “I have a preliminary report for you. The main thing is that this weed can be salvaged and prop
agated. The other important item is that it has an interesting structure and metabolism. I think it holds the key to this planet’s odd pattern of death and rebirth.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a hormone, a plant hormone, that inhibits further growth when water is scarce or there are other harsh conditions like temperature variations—extreme heat or cold. It forces the plant to shut down into a type of suspended animation, but just shy of death. It saves the plant growth for future ripe conditions.”
“This hormone. Can it be reversed or repressed? To stimulate root growth?”
“You’re talking about binding the proteinaceous part of the hormone. Yes. I believe so. I don’t see why it can’t be done.”
“Brilliant.” I reach out and kiss her on the forehead…quite unlike the type of kissing we enjoyed once before. The gesture seems to disarm her and she smiles somewhat shyly.
“I’m glad you’re pleased.”
“You’re making wonderful progress. Keep working and we’ll talk more when I get back.”
I inspect my .45 and reholster it. No more of those compressed air popguns.
“Ron.”
“Yes?”
“Be careful.”
Go to Beginning
CHAPTER XXI
Ambush
I crawl onto the narrow ledge until I am shoulder to shoulder with Klaus. He hands me the binoculars and points. “There, in that crumbled room and there, beside it, are the two reds armed with guns. There, by that rock, and over there are the four hiding in holes.”
After scanning the area with the binoculars, I make out the landmarks Klaus is referring to, but no sighting of reds; they are well hidden. “Klaus, when things start happening, I could use a spotter. Someone to watch through the binoculars and help me find the targets. I will be watching through this scope.” I pat the rifle by my side.
“You want me to stay here? While my people are fighting below?”
“Yes. In return, when this is over, you may keep these spyglasses, if you like.”
He considers. He reaches out his hand. “A deal.”
I shake his hand; he has a powerful grip, one he relishes employing, a small grin on his face as he notices my discomfort. “Easy, Klaus. That’s my shooting hand.”