Hold the Line (Chimera Company Book 5)

by Tim C. Taylor

  She satisfied herself that this attack had been defeated and sent silent thanks to the brave souls who’d looked over the hex walls and survived long enough to glimpse what was coming for them on the other side.

  She sensed a commotion behind her and watched Robert jog toward her at the head of his team. He was splashed with blood, but she counted the members of his squad, and mercifully they were all still there.

  “Are you ready?” she asked.

  He stood in front of her, beaming from ear to ear. Damn, he was enjoying this.

  “You’re my commander,” he told her. “You order. I obey.”

  He came closer and nibbled her ear. “Until next you lie with me,” he added. “I haven’t forgotten your promise.”

  She laughed. “Nor I.”

  For a moment, she lost herself in reflection. For the first time, she almost believed there could be an after. It was the secret she’d never dared tell anyone, not even Robert, but she’d believed the best they could manage was to hurt the harvesters, not to defeat them.

  But maybe they could. Maybe she might one day lie again with Robert and rest her head on his broad chest without fear of the Ferals sinking claws deep into their flesh and rending them into shreds.

  They could do this.

  Ferals killed their prey. The monsters that followed would consume them. This was the harvesting. If they killed enough of the Ferals, they hoped the monsters behind would be vulnerable to the knives and spears.

  With pits dotted around their enclosed world filling with Feral dead, it was now time to take the fight to the enemy.

  “Kiss me,” she told him.

  Their lips smashed together in an extended kiss. He tasted raw, hot with excitement.

  She withdrew. The killing had made Robert buzz with energy, almost like one of the Ferals.

  Her heart skipped a beat, and she realized she liked this, too. Surviving was a hell of a rush.

  She kissed him briefly and then broke the embrace, becoming the war leader once again.

  “Assault team, form on me.”

  The roar of approval drowned out the cries of the dying Ferals.

  She still had doubts.

  But her warriors believed in her.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Nineteen: Tessa Taresse

  The lead group dropped to their bellies. Tessa signaled to her team to do the same and fell to the damp grass.

  She poked her head over the top of the hedge and looked up the hill they’d so carefully skirted around. The Servants were still there, using the hill’s height to watch the ground ahead. Perhaps they were trying to learn what had gone wrong with the Ferals.

  They didn’t appear to have seen the assault band, so why the halt?

  The girl in front of her gave the gesture to move up. Tessa crawled along the ground and joined Robert at the front.

  Her spirit fractured on the grim cast to his face.

  It had been easier earlier in the day, back when she had little hope of living through it.

  “We are blocked,” he whispered. “There’s a new type of monster ahead. They appear aggressive and intelligent.”

  “Then we work our way around this group too.”

  “I see movement behind them. They’re not alone. They haven’t spotted us yet, but they could be flanking us as we speak. I say we back out and go forward by a different route.”

  “Let me see them first.”

  Keeping as flat to the ground as she could, she crawled to the edge of the bushes and peered into a small clearing.

  Her spirits sank even lower. These were a third class of harvester. How many more were there?

  They’d dealt with the dog-legged feathered humanoids such as the Servants and the Ferals. Then there were the giant grubs that ranged from the size of a person to the size of a barn. Each had required different tactics to counter. And now this.

  They looked like six-legged lizards. From nose to tail they were about eight feet long. Unlike the scales of lizards, their hides were rubbery with a moist sheen.

  Two physical details caught her eye. The rear two feet were webbed. Perhaps these terrors were designed to hunt the river? The other thing that perplexed her was the equipment lashed to their tails. Some had spikes, but many had pouches whose function was obvious when she saw they also carried baskets of stones to fling from their tails.

  The tails of the Ferals ended in a bladed weapon, but it had grown there. These creatures used tools.

  What did that signify?

  She wasn’t sure, but she feared these new monsters. They looked the most dangerous yet.

  Since they hadn’t yet spotted her people, she judged this was the time to strike.

  Tessa shuffled back to Robert. “We pick six warriors to guard our flank. The rest will attack these new beasts.”

  “And then we run?”

  “And then we run for our lives.”

  * * *

  Kayshen-Oeyl

  She prayed for the vengeance aspect of the supreme goddess to channel herself through her body, that they might prevail against those who dared create these perversions of her people and the rightful order of the galaxy.

  No matter how hard Kayshen-Oeyl prayed, her limbs would not infuse with divine strength. The napped stone that was the tip of her spear did not glow with power.

  It was hardly surprising. She was not of the heart branch of the Lael clan, let alone a priest of the olden days.

  She had to be her own priest now. There was no other way.

  Ever since that subtle interrogation of Sergeant Sybutu in the ridiculously named tavern on the edge of Raemy-Ela, the universe had been unraveling.

  She wondered if that particular Human still lived. It seemed highly unlikely, but that impudent wretch, Urdizine, seemed to think it was possible.

  Strangely, she felt able to channel Sybutu more readily than her own goddess. Not his physical power or martial skills, but his simple legionary attitude. The battle cries and martial honor code and all that had once seemed laughably primitive—she saw now that these things had their place and time.

  For her, the place was at the foot of this hill, and the time was now.

  She stood on all six limbs, in full view of the enemy, should they choose to look down from the hill in her direction.

  “This is where we hold the line,” she whispered.

  She thumped her tail on the ground. “Attack!”

  The first battle line stepped forward three paces and launched the stones readied in their tail pouches. The missiles arced up the grassy hill and struck several of the enemy, felling one of them.

  The Devil Men, as d’Anje had named them, turned in anger, hands balling into fists on the ends of the extra arms sprouting from their shoulders.

  Already, the first line had loosed another volley of stones.

  Blaster bolts flew back in reply.

  She hadn’t known the enemy was armed!

  A brave slinger of the Tamxil clan dropped, his head melted.

  As the slingers unleashed their third and final volley, Kayshen-Oeyl led the second line through the gaps left by the first.

  She ran on her mid and hind limbs, using her right forehand to hold the spear tip angled upward, as they had practiced relentlessly in 343.

  Ignoring the bolts sizzling through the air, and the comrades who were falling around her, she held her fraying nerves until 20 yards from the Devil Men. Then she launched the spear.

  Throwing spears were not a natural Littorane weapon. They required bringing the forearm back and swinging it across her body, using the power not just of her arm, but snapping the entirety of her torso. Like the other survivors of the second line, the act of casting her spear sent her crashing to the ground.

  While she righted herself, the third line crossed through the gaps in the second and pressed home the assault with the most traditional of all Littorane weapons: tail clubs.

  By the time she reached the summit, it was all over. The bodies
of the 10 Devil Men lay on the ground, stabbed, smashed, and broken.

  Blaster fire had killed five of her people.

  Aubur-Doh had survived and was inspecting one of the captured blasters. As one of the handful of Lael warrior caste taken from Rho-Torkis, his knowledge in such matters could be vital. “These weapons are of Federation manufacture,” he told her. “One of them is an antique, and so is the plasma pistol, but the other two blaster rifles are commonplace.”

  “Can we use them?” she asked.

  Aubur-Doh swayed his body in negation. “These are designed for humanoid hands. Well, I suppose we are in desperate straits. Perhaps with a stick wedged across the trigger guard? Our people aren’t used to muzzle discipline. We would probably shoot ourselves in the tail, but it could be done.”

  “Understood. Nonetheless, I want you to salvage energy weapons and charge packs. Deal them out to those with the most firearms training and tell them to use them in emergencies only. We will offer them to the Humans when we see them next.”

  “Is that wise?” Aubur-Doh thundered. Several of the others looked on, disturbed by his strident voice.

  “What I mean,” he said in more moderate tones, “is I’m not sure what would happen if people who hate our very existence, such as Captain d’Anje, are armed with energy weapons and we are not.”

  “I am well aware of the dangers, Lael Aubur-Doh. Our first priority is to find a way off this planet. I shall be happy to attend to other worries once we’ve achieved that.”

  Cries of alarm flickered through the war band.

  “There’s more of them! To the north.”

  Slingers fired stones down into this new group of Devil Men.

  By the time Kayshen-Oeyl got a visual on the situation, energy bolts were already streaming up the hill at her people.

  There were 20 of the enemy. Only two were armed with blasters, but the rest carried spears. Unlike the crude weapon she’d thrown, the heads on these glowed deep into the ultraviolet. Plasma arcs danced around the spear tips. She didn’t think these had been made in the Federation.

  “Aubur-Doh, ensure we do not leave the blasters behind. Everyone, back away. We retreat down the hill to the south.”

  They began the withdrawal, the slingers flinging stones at their pursuers.

  “Aubur-Doh?”

  Her warrior lay on the ground. He’d taken a bolt that had burned through his mid shoulder to his rib cage. Another had melted his neck.

  She grabbed the blaster out of his lifeless grip, checked that all the other weapons had been accounted for, and joined her warriors hurrying down the slope.

  They ran into an ambush. A line of Devil Men was waiting for them, armed with blasters and slug-throwing pistols.

  Kayshen-Oeyl’s warband flattened themselves beneath the hailstorm of fire. The shots went over their heads, but she didn’t think that would last.

  What to do? Go forward? Or turn around to face the group with the spears and be shot in the back as they went?

  Aubur-Doh had often mentioned the importance of moving to the enemy’s flanks, but if they tried that, they would be picked off by the energy weapons.

  “Forward!” she screamed. “Pick yourselves up and push through them. It’s our only chance.”

  She jogged forward under fire and activated the blaster. She stuck her chunky fingers into the fiddly little Human-configured trigger and hoped for the best.

  Below her, she heard shouts in Terran. “Attack! Attack!”

  She raised her upper body and sighted down the barrel, but she didn’t risk firing.

  Humans had taken the Devil Men in the rear, slaughtering them with spears and knives.

  They weren’t part of her 343 group. They must live in this hex.

  Several of her 343 Littoranes had closed and were clubbing the surviving enemy.

  There wasn’t much left for her to do when she reached the bottom of the hill. This part of the battle was over.

  “We’re friends,” she told the Humans in Terran. “We’ve come to rescue you, but there are more of the enemy on the other side of the hill. We must turn and face them.”

  A young Human female pushed to the front. “That’s funny,” the girl told her. “I thought we just rescued you!”

  “It’s far from over yet,” Kayshen-Oeyl told the Human. “Anyone with a firearm, with me. We hold the center. Everyone else, to the flanks.” She turned to the Human leader again. “You need to ensure your people keep away from our firing zone.”

  The Human nodded. “I hadn’t seen a firearm before today, but I’ve heard of them. I’ll do as you say.”

  The two commanders issued orders and awaited the foe.

  A line of humanoids crested the hill, silhouetted against the reddening evening sky.

  Kayshen-Oeyl had a perfect sight picture.

  But it wasn’t a Devil Man. At least, not the kind she was expecting. She had a bead on Captain d’Anje.

  Her index finger hesitated, on the verge of ramming itself against the trigger—but that was a fight for another day. She lowered the weapon.

  The Cora’s World officer leered down at her. “We’ve accounted for all the Devil Men on the hill.”

  Had he guessed what had passed through her mind? Probably. He appeared even more pleased with himself than usual.

  “Did you find something amusing, d’Anje?”

  “Yes. You and your Littoranes appear to have been saved by Humans, twice in quick succession.” He smiled at the local Human leader. “I’m Captain d’Anje, the senior Human from Hex 343. We can get you out of here.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty: Urdizine

  Two klicks away from the west gate, Urdizine told his litter bearers to turn him around and set his platform up vertically so he could see the way ahead. Acknowledging that Zhoogene eyesight could see much farther and sharper than Littorane, they accommodated him.

  It took a few moments of squinting through the slight haze to confirm what he’d half glimpsed when he’d looked around from his litter five minutes earlier. The west gate was open.

  The hex he was in, number 143, had turned out to be another completely empty barren place.

  No one had quite come out and said it, but as they’d moved west, the leading digit of the hexes had decreased.

  Had they discovered the way out?

  * * *

  “Malasiah-Nar, Yaelfos-Kzat, scout beyond the west gate, but don’t go far. Atavai-Shyn, Kapo-Nur, let me up so I can read the battlefield.”

  Malasiah-Nar flared his snout. “Battlefield?”

  Urdizine deliberately let the question go unanswered for a few seconds. He felt foul being such an ass to his Littorane comrades, but he reasoned a little display of dominance was what they wanted.

  The Littoranes of the Lael looked to him for leadership. What they really wanted, of course, was to reattach themselves to a functioning Littorane clan system. The 700-odd Littoranes taken captive and dropped into Hex 343 had come from several clans, and all of them lacked the elders who were the backbone of their society. Kayshen-Oeyl was shaping up well, but even she had been a mid-ranking member of the Lael.

  If they were to create a new clan of their own, it would take at least a generation to fully form.

  So Urdizine had been awarded a brittle mantle of authority. Not earned through rank or deed, but, because they couldn’t find it within themselves, they kept giving it to him.

  On the other hand, if he asked them to release him from the litter they’d dragged over every bump and ridge for the last 12 klicks—the moss backing had barely softened his discomfort—he wasn’t sure they would disobey a direct order from Kayshen-Oeyl.

  He guessed she’d ordered him strapped down as her display of dominance over him. He just had to counter hers with one of his own.

  He finally gave his answer. “Yes, of course this is a battle zone.” He pointed to the open gateway. “See there, scorching from blaster bolts. There are bullet holes, too. And t
here…” He gestured at holes cut into the wall to one side of the gate. They were the most intriguing feature of all.

  “Those holes are crude steps that lead up to a ledge, and that ledge is the perfect height for a humanoid of my dimensions to lean over the wall and fire. It’s a firing step. This place was defended against attack. I want to know why.”

  Malasiah-Nar bowed and led Yaelfos-Kzat away through the gate.

  The others bumped his litter closer to the scene of battle, but when he told them to release him from the contraption of poles and vines, they refused.

  So much for his mantle of authority.

  * * *

  The ground near the gate was splattered with craters that suggested shelling, but were surprisingly shallow. Perhaps they were the result of cluster munitions with nano bomblets.

  The battle was difficult to read because it had been tidied away. He shivered against his lashings. In this hell world, tidying the battlefield meant eating the bodies.

  His attention turned to the view beyond the open gate. The ground there was as dead as inside the hex. A few hundred yards out from the gap, he could see a visible line of demarcation, beyond which the ground looked different. He couldn’t put a finger on why, but if such a thing were possible, the ground beyond that line was even more dead.

  Deeper into the even-deader zone was a dry riverbed. A real one, not the artificial creations of the hexes.

  In the far distance, a beam of fire lanced down from the heavens. The point of impact with the ground was beyond the horizon, but he could see a column of heated gases rising over the curve of the world.

  Atavai-Shyn shuffled awkwardly. “Is there a problem?”

  “I don’t know. That light. I presume it comes from one of the orbital mirrors we’ve seen glittering at night, but I thought their purpose was to fast-grow vegetation. I could imagine there being a farm over the horizon, but why that gas plume?”

  “You’re mistaken,” Kapo-Nur said. “My home of Rho-Torkis is a world lifting itself from a long nuclear winter. We studied terraforming for ways to improve our environment. What you see is sunlight reflected and concentrated by an orbital mirror, but its purpose is not agricultural. The light pumps energy into a ground structure that resembles a metal flower, tens of meters across. Or, more accurately, the top of a giant golf tee. This conducts heat through a hollow ground spike perhaps a thousand meters long. Solids and liquids deep underground are vaporized, pass up through the spike and into the atmosphere. Most likely that gas plume is predominantly steam.”