by J G Cressey
They were almost at the entrance when Cal felt Sinclair go completely limp in his grip. Her dead weight slowed him to a halt. His chest heaving and limbs burning, he tried to lift her onto his shoulders but didn’t even get close before he slipped again. He shouted out as he went down onto his knees, the sharp angles of his armor sinking deep into the soft mud. Couter was by his side in a second, almost going down himself as he skidded on the slick ground. Grasping Sinclair’s other arm, he helped haul her up as best he could.
Suddenly, a large snake burst out of the shadows to their right, jaws wide, rows of lethal teeth ready to fulfill their one and only purpose. Cal barely had time to acknowledge the beast’s presence before it jerked in midair and dropped in two lifeless halves to the ground. Orisho shouted something in Japanese that sounded like encouragement before lunging to meet another attacker. With an effort, Cal managed to get his feet back under him, and together, he and Couter bore Sinclair across the final strait to the base. Wilson had the door open, and they wasted no time crashing through it.
“Get us sealed in,” Cal shouted over his shoulder as he and Couter left the others in their wake and headed for the stairwell.
“What the hell happened?” Becker asked as they entered the observation room.
“Get the med kit,” Cal replied as he and Couter carried Sinclair into the room and placed her on the central table. He laid his hand on her neck and found her pulse; it was weak, but at least it was there. “Get her wounds checked and patched up, Private,” he said to Couter as he looked about. Nothing had changed; the scavengers were still bound and slumped in the corner, and the three civilians were together on the other side of the room. Cal felt a small knot of tension leave him that he didn’t even realize had been there—somewhere at the back of his mind, he’d half expected that his decision to leave Becker alone with the scavengers would have resulted in them dead at her feet. Or at the very least Durron. Fortunately, it seemed Becker had managed to control her burning hatred for the man.
“I can help with her,” Campbell said as she broke from her group and approached Sinclair.
Cal nodded his appreciation. “Ebner, how does this rain compare to the last time?” he asked as he quickly moved over to the observation window.
“It’s on a par,” Ebner said as he reluctantly joined him. His pallid flesh looked paper thin, his expression drawn, and the tremble in his hands had grown worse. “Actually, it’s possibly a touch heavier.” He looked out of the window hesitantly, as if afraid of what he might see.
Understandable, Cal thought. At the moment, there was little to see when he peered directly out into the night; the clouds were still thick, and a torrent of rain fell in the featureless dark. But when he looked directly down, the remaining dim light of the base illuminated a multitude of snakes far below, appearing like distant wraiths swimming in an inky lake. There were so many he was astounded they’d made back alive.
“It won’t be long now before the larger snakes come out,” Ebner said. “Then, our fate will run on a knife’s edge.” He looked at Cal with eyes that seemed desperate to drive home the severity of their situation.
Cal held his gaze for a moment before turning back into the room. “Sergeant, deactivate some of these glow-tubes; I don’t want us lit up any more than we have to be.”
Becker nodded and set about the task as Cal moved back to the center of the room to check on Sinclair. She was still unconscious. Campbell had stripped away the clothing around her wound as well as the bloodstained bandaging. Cal couldn’t help but wince at the sight. Sinclair must’ve been running on adrenaline and pure force of will to have made it as far as she had. But she’d lost a lot of blood, and nobody was infallible.
Campbell looked at him. “I have no way of knowing the severity of her condition. But I can clean this wound and plug it up with a patch-gel. It should work as a temporary measure until we get her to a proper medical facility.”
“Do it,” Cal replied without hesitation. “And get a strong stim ready; I want her awake and ready to move if need be.”
Campbell looked about to object, but the look on Cal’s face changed her mind.
It wasn’t long before Wilson, Orisho, and Franco joined them in the observation room. All three were breathing hard and covered with splatters of dark blue blood.
“Are we sealed in?” Cal asked.
Franco nodded.
“As far as we can tell, none of the bastards made it inside,” Wilson said.
Cal nodded his approval. “Catch your breath, then I want you back down there to snuff out the last of the faulty lighting. I want the base in complete darkness bar this room.” He looked at Couter. “Private, bring the shielding down to cover two thirds of that observation window. Open that panel on the far right; you should find a manual hand crank. Then, I want you keeping watch through the gap. You see anything moving out there is wider than me, feel free to make some noise.” Cal turned to the rest of the team. “I want all of you triple-checking the rigidity of your weapons. We can’t afford them failing us at a crucial time. Franco, get the weld-glue, and seal up any removable ceiling or floor panels. I want this room secure. If the base is breached, we make our stand here.” He waited for any objections.
There were none.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Cal joined Couter and Ebner in staring through the remaining gap of the observation window. Still the rain was coming down hard, and now that the base’s remaining lighting had been extinguished, there was even less to see. The others were dotted around the room, relatively idle. Everything that could be done had been done, and now, there was nothing but waiting. Wilson dozed while Orisho sat nearby. Rarely did Cal see them both asleep at once. Becker remained on her feet, never moving far from the girl, Christie. Every now and then, the sergeant’s eyes would flick in the direction of the bound scavengers as if concerned they might break their bonds—or perhaps hoping they would so she had another reason to do them damage. Franco was sitting upon a large crate, carving something in its top with his knife. Cal was encouraged by the stillness; every uneventful minute that ticked by was a minute closer to their rescue.
Climbing to his feet, Cal took a turn around the room. Campbell had done a good job patching up Sinclair and had pulled a chair up to the table so she could remain by her side. Sinclair had yet to regain consciousness, but Cal had insisted that a stim was prepared and ready to go. Twice, he’d tried to talk to Campbell about the business regarding the drones, but she’d told him to forget it and that what was done was done. The tone of her voice, however, had fallen short of forgiving, and for that, Cal didn’t blame her one bit. The results of his poor decision were continuing to mount up. He thought about trying to broach the subject again but decided against it and instead strolled to the other side of the room.
“You know you can’t predict every outcome, Lieutenant.”
Cal looked up to see that Orisho was now on his feet and was staring at him with those deep set eyes of his. The veteran had timed the statement as if he had the ability to read minds. Or perhaps my thoughts were just plainly written on my face.
“You don’t say,” Cal said a little more sarcastically than he’d intended.
“It’s something you’ll have to come to terms with,” Orisho continued, ignoring the tone of the reply. “Something that can’t be avoided if you’re going to continue to lead a team.”
“I’m fast learning that,” Cal said. “But that’s not what I’m struggling with.”
Orisho raised a questioning eyebrow.
“The problem isn’t that I failed to predict the outcomes but that I ignored my conscience and continued to follow orders even though I knew them to be morally wrong. Not only that but my instincts were clearly telling me that the lives of the civilians were at serious risk.”
Orisho stood silent for a time, seeming to mull over the words. Again, it occurred to Cal just how similar the two veterans were—although Orisho was a touch more approachable than
Wilson and certainly quicker to laugh. Eventually, the big Japanese man nodded. “Perhaps you’re right.”
This answer surprised Cal, and the look on his face seemed to amuse the veteran.
“Nevertheless, you have to decide whether you want this role of leader, Cal,” Orisho said. “And to shoulder all the inevitable crap that comes with it. There are going to be occasions when you might have to let your conscience slip away for a time. It’s unfortunate, but it’s inevitable…especially when you’re under a piss-poor Captain.”
Again, Cal found himself surprised.
“That’s right; I said it,” Orisho mumbled. “The man’s a bloody idiot. You could of course refuse to deviate from your morals, but you can only bend or break orders so many times before you find yourself court martialed or worse—slung in a military prison.”
Cal nodded. “I guess that’s what it boils down to, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid it does,” Orisho replied quietly.
Cal found himself wondering what compromises the veteran had made himself over the years, particularly during the war.
“If it makes you feel any better,” Orisho said after a moment, “Wilson and I would have opposed you had you tried to break orders before the first drone. And if that happened, the situation could have ended up a hell of a lot worse.”
Cal was about to thank him for his honesty, but before he had the chance, the big man wandered off without another word.
“Everyone okay, sir?” Couter asked as Cal rejoined him and Ebner at the window.
“They’re fine,” Cal replied as he took a seat. The rain hadn’t eased, and still, no moonlight penetrated the thick clouds.
“I was thinking that perhaps they won’t come again,” Couter said after a moment. “The big snakes I mean. Perhaps they’re satisfied. They’ve already warned of their presence once; maybe they consider the job done.”
“They’ll come,” Ebner replied quietly. “It took them a while to emerge before.”
“And if they come,” Cal said, “how long do you estimate it will take them to breach the base?”
“It took them no more than an hour last time. But that was when the base was intact. Most of our repairs are crude at best.”
“Why do you think they attack the base?” Couter asked. “Why such aggression?”
Ebner considered for a moment before answering. “Perhaps we can’t blame them. Think of this base as a foreign body suddenly appearing within their ecosystem. Maybe that’s all the motivation they need. They’re acting like an immune response on a huge, planetary scale.” Ebner shot them a humorless smile. “Uncannily apt, don’t you think? Even we’ve likened ourselves to a destructive cancer on occasion…eating away at a planet’s resources and giving nothing back in return.” Ebner stared silently out of the window for a time before continuing. “You know, part of me suspects that the rain somehow stimulates the snakes. We know that the moisture helps to keep them cool, but possibly, there’s more to it than that. It’s feasible that these tech-disrupting particles are created up in the atmosphere, within the clouds. I’m no meteorologist, but the theory seems possible… Perhaps this charge also has an effect on the snakes’ physiology, particularly when it rains.”
“How would that work?” Couter asked.
“I really don’t know,” Ebner admitted. “But we know that negative and positive ions can have an effect on human physiology—the uptake of oxygen and influences on our serotonin levels for example—so it’s not inconceivable that these snakes are being affected in a similar way or possibly in a far stronger way.”
“You mean making them more aggressive?” Couter suggested.
Ebner nodded. “Perhaps with purpose. I might go as far to speculate that the snake’s evolution was greatly influenced by this relationship; the increased aggression resulting from the rain fall is a necessary reaction to encourage them to hunt and feed during the limited time that the ground is cooled sufficiently. I’ve no shred of evidence, you understand, and none of this is provable in our current situation.” Ebner turned to them with a brief smile. “Not that proving it would help in any case. After all, we can’t stop it raining! But it can be interesting to theorize, don’t you think? It diverts the mind from all the…well, it simply diverts it.”
Cal felt for the old man. A drawn-out wait for a horror that you were sure was coming was worse in many ways than staring it in the face. “How long since you had any sleep?”
The doctor looked up and offered him another brief smile. “You know, I have no idea. But I don’t think I could. Not now.”
Cal nodded his understanding; he wasn’t about to order someone to try and sleep. “How about you, Couter, how you holding up?”
“Just fine, sir,” Couter replied, keeping his eyes fixed on the outside darkness. “I’ve been pondering whether they’ll ever manage to colonize this planet…with the technology problems I mean.”
Cal shrugged. “I kind of hope they don’t. It would be nice if not every corner of our little area of space is colonized. I’ve always liked the idea that there’s still wild, untamed planets left. Makes for a more interesting universe.”
“I guess so.”
Cal stared out the hammering rain, lost in thought. “You know, I wasn’t happy when I received the brief for this mission,” he said quietly. “But I can’t deny that there was a touch of excitement…anticipation.”
“I can understand that,” Couter said with a smile.
“Of course you can. You’re new to the game; everything’s exciting! But for me, coming somewhere like this, somewhere new and untouched, makes me feel like an explorer. Like an adventurer of old.”
Couter chuckled.
“Laugh it up, Private. You might feel the same way some day. Once the thrill of soldiering wears a little thin. You might just get fed up of shooting things and dealing with idiots like those scavengers over there.”
“Someone’s got to do it.”
“That’s true,” Cal replied. “Don’t get me wrong; I’m glad for the opportunities I get to help people, but sometimes, that selfish side pokes through, that inner kid who just wants pure adventure without protocols and agendas.” And bullshit orders.
“I doubt my mother would approve of that.”
“You never know,” Cal said. “Obviously, you know her far better than me, but there can be a lot going on inside a person’s head that perhaps even family aren’t privy to. For all you know, the great Captain Maria Coots might have a secret desire to be a sculptor or a pro spike ball player.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Couter conceded with another soft chuckle. “I wonder what she’ll think of her son’s first mission.”
“Well, you can tell her that your commanding officer’s decided to keep you.”
“Why thank you, sir,” Couter replied, still without turning from the window. “I appreciate that. In return, I’ll be sure to get you a signed holo poster of her.”
“See that you do.”
Couter grinned.
“I mean it,” Cal said. “And not one of those cheap factory knock-offs. An original, and I want it signed personally.”
“It seems I’ve been sleeping on the job,” Sinclair said as she looked up at Cal. She tried to sit up, but Campbell quickly laid a hand on her arm, putting a stop to the effort.
“You mustn’t move,” Campbell said. “You’ve lost a lot of blood from the stab wound.”
“How’re you feeling?” Cal asked.
“To be honest, everything feels pretty numb,” Sinclair replied.
“Well, your chest is black and blue,” Campbell informed her. “I suspect you hit it hard during the crash. I’ve no way of knowing what internal damage is done, so I strongly suggest you don’t move.”
“Sure, I’ll try to be a good girl,” Sinclair said with a wry smile. “I appreciate the patch up.”
Her expression as stern as ever, Campbell nodded and walked away to rejoin her young colleague.
“S
orry, Cal,” Sinclair said quietly. “It seems I’ve made a bit of a mess of myself.”
“Considering what you’ve just been through, I’d say you’re looking damn good.”
“Sorry you had to drag me in here.”
Cal shook his head, eyebrows raised. “And how many times did you have to drag me around back in the Academy? I’m not sure I’d have made it through that first year if it wasn’t for you.”
Sinclair tried to laugh, but her broken body quickly put an end to it. “Bullshit,” she said once she was able. “You were the best in my class…the best in the year. And not just when it came to piloting. That mentor on Mars already had you well-primed before—” Sinclair’s words turned into a wince and then a cough.
“Okay, that’s enough speaking for you,” Cal said, setting his hand on her shoulder. “Our rescue will be here in a matter of hours, and I need you well-rested. I want you on that ship without having to be dragged.”
Sinclair smiled. There was no fear in it, but it was laced with sadness. “I’m not sure a bit of a rest is going to do it this time.”
“Now who’s talking bullshit.”
Sinclair put her hand on his. “It’s okay, Cal. I never did fancy dying of old age in a comfortable bed.”
Cal felt the words twisting his heart, but he did his best to keep his expression optimistic and light. “Well, I’m quite keen on the idea,” he replied quickly. “So I need you to rest and recover. That’s an order.”
Sinclair smiled again. “You always were a stubborn one.”
Having finally persuaded Sinclair to rest, Cal continued to walk around the room, a strange feeling that his movements could somehow miraculously speed up the passing minutes. He paused at the observation window for a time. The rain had started to ease, and some of the clouds were thinning, allowing little bursts of moonlight to shine through. He could see snakes, a lot of snakes, but none appeared monstrous enough to tear apart metal. As he stared down at them, he allowed himself the thought that they might just make it through the night without trouble. Perhaps a dangerous thought, but he couldn’t help himself. He glanced at Ebner. Unfortunately, the look on the older man’s face suggested he didn’t share in his optimism.