He was about to turn back to his horse when he heard a quiet popping sound in the sky above. He raised his hand to shield his eyes and looked up, seeing what looked like tiny streaks of light that ended in a brief shower of sparks. "What the hell is that?" he whispered aloud. There were dozens of them, pop-pop-pop, followed by multiple flashes that flared momentarily, like a child's sparkler in the sky, and then were gone.
He was still watching when the first ship plummeted down through the clouds. A long, smoking tail trailed behind it, and even from so far below, Frank could see the cabin was on fire.
The ship's hull panels glowed red hot. They were Infantry ships, he knew. There would be dozens of men inside, magnetically sealed in their seats, roasting alive, filling the ship with their screams.
The ship was completely silent as it fell. Total engine failure. It was beginning to spin, spiraling toward the surface, spiraling toward the red clay fields at the mouth of the canyon, a mile down the road from where Frank was standing. That was lucky, he thought. There was nothing to farm or hunt there. No people or houses or herds for the ship to crash into. He leapt onto his horse and yanked the reins, following the path of the fiery, smoking ship.
To his horror, three more ships dropped through the clouds. Large war machines with cannons and engines the size of small houses, all falling as silently as if someone had pitched them down at the planet like rocks.
Frank's entire body went limp at the sight of the troop transports. When they landed, the survivors were going to stagger out of the ships and set about the task they'd been sent here for. That their brothers had died for. They were here to kill the criminals formerly known as Grendel Unit, Frank knew. There was no other reason. Hell, they'd probably kill every single person on Pentak 1 just to tie up any loose ends.
The first ship's impact shook the ground under Frank's horse's hooves, and it reared back, nearly hurling him into the canyon far below. He grabbed the saddle horn with all his strength and yelled and cursed and begged the horse until it finally came back down. Frank stared in amazement as the ship exploded in a bright red burst of flame.
Three more ships were coming in, fast, and Frank turned his horse and raced it away from the canyon's edge, riding as hard as he could so that when the next explosions came, it was already in flight, taking him back toward the settlement instead of out over the void where a man could fly, for a moment, but the landing was a killer.
As reports came in throughout day, Frank heard horror stories of horses and heads of cattle scattering in terror from the explosions. Old Man Frankle's farm was set closest to Copperhead Canyon, and it was said he watched in horror as his entire stock of cows raced over the edge. Only the strong grip of his eldest son kept the old man from jumping over after them.
The ships had all smashed to pieces on impact, exploding in fireballs so massive that anyone who was close enough to see it was left red-skinned about the face and neck.
Frank watched the men of the settlement hitch up their wagons and digging implements and head off into the canyon, filing onto the road in a group that would go down, look through the wreckage for survivors and whatever could be made use of. There would be no survivors, Frank knew. It would take them three days to gather up the remains of the dead soldiers and another three days to bury them, using all of the oxen and carts and horses they could spare. They'd comb through the wreckage hoping to salvage whatever useable material they could find, but it was useless. Everything was shattered and burnt, and worse, all of it was made of synthetic materials and blended plastic-metals that could not be melted down and reformed.
It was all destroyed, Frank thought. But why?
The tiny bursts of light in the upper atmosphere must have been the ships firing on the orbital dampeners, those same satellites that knocked out the Samsara's and their own ship's electronic systems. If they'd destroyed the dampeners, why had they fallen? And even though they fell, why did they burn up and crash? We fell, Frank thought. So did Yultorot. But all of us survived.
We were in smaller ships, he reasoned. Much smaller. Troop transports are equipped for armored personnel, plus they're designed for combat. Heavy shielding and weapons systems meant to land troops in the most hostile territory and get them back out, if needed. And all of it weighs a whole lot, Frank thought.
So they fell, he thought. Hard and fast enough to kill everyone on board and destroy their crafts. But why did they fall in the first place? If the orbital dampeners hadn't caused the troop transports to stall and fail, what did?
He patted his horse on the side of the neck to calm it, feeling its soft mane brush against his fingers, as he watched black smoke rise from the valley below. "Good boy," he said soothingly, stroking it. The horse seemed to settle, and Frank clicked with the side of his mouth and turned it away, taking it back toward the field hospital that had been Jebediah Strong's barn.
Frank tied his horse to the stand outside the barn and lowered himself down. He could hear a little girl's voice inside the barn, saying, "She's so pretty. I never had a doll like her before."
The voice replying was soft, and deep. "She came a long way to be with you, so take good care of her."
"I will, Mr. Monster."
Frank opened the door to let himself in, nodding at the little girl standing next to Monster's makeshift gurney. The men of the settlement had needed to build it out of materials they'd saved for a new barn, but even though Frank had watched them hammer the nails by hand and plane and fit the lumber together by hand, a laughable concept in the days of modern manufacturing, he had to admit, the damn thing was pretty sturdy. "Good morning, Miss Strong," Frank said, pretending like he was tipping a hat.
"Good morning, Lieutenant Frank."
"I told you, you don't have to call me that, kiddo."
"Pa said different."
"All right," he said. "You mind giving me and Big Man a minute?"
She looked at Monster curiously, "Why do they call you Big Man? You're not a man at all. You're too hairy."
"They normally call me Monster," he replied.
Maria held her doll against her chest as she shrugged and said, "Well, you aren't that either."
Frank stepped aside to let her pass, shaking his head as he smiled. "I'm surprised. I thought you'd never stop playing with your dolls."
"Gertie would not mind me giving it to her," Monster said, grimacing as he turned to lie back down on the gurney. He held the bandages against his stomach as he did, as if fearing they would tear open anew. "I dreamt I heard explosions," he said. "Then Maria told me she saw bright balls of fire falling from the sky." He looked up at Frank, "They have come?"
"They have come," Frank nodded. "They didn't make it very far, though. They all crashed. No survivors."
"How is that possible? We did not crash that hard."
"Bigger ships? Heavier materials? I don't know," Frank said.
"They will send more. They will find a way to land, and they will raze this place to the ground."
"I know."
"Then why are we still here?" Monster growled. "Why have you and Bob not found a way to evacuate us yet?"
"Because there's no way off this rock," Frank snapped. "The Samsara and the one we came in are completely dead. We have zero tech capabilities. Unless you want to try going into space in a hot air balloon and hoping to hitch a ride on the next passing freighter, we are stuck."
Monster sat still for a minute, absorbing what Frank had said. "The dampeners? These people have surrounded their planet with them. Surely they must have a way to remove them."
Frank let out a long breath as he moved to sit down on the gurney beside Monster's large, clawed feet. "I don't think that's the only thing doing it. The troop transports knocked all the dampeners in the quadrant out and they still crashed. Those ships were dark when they fell. Something else is going on."
Monster looked up at the rafters of the barn's roof, seeing how they interconnected. He had been lying in the same position for w
eeks, staring at the same thing for weeks. It had gone on too long. "Not acceptable," he said, forcing himself to get up.
"Whoa," Frank said, trying to lower him back down.
"Get off me," Monster snarled. "The time for healing is finished. I've healed enough."
"You've healed enough when I say you've healed enough," Frank said, thrusting his arms against Monster's chest and pushing.
"Stop," Monster said. "You're embarrassing yourself."
"You are under my care, and I will say when you get to leave!" Frank grimaced, pushing with all his might.
Monster threw his shaggy legs over the side of the bed and lowered them, standing up slowly so he did not knock the smaller human backwards.
Frank stepped back, his face red, and he raised a finger at the mantipor, "You sit down right now. Or else."
"Or else what?" Monster said.
"Or else I will sit you down!" Frank slammed into him again with the palms of both hands, pushing until the cords in his neck rose through the skin, ready to burst.
Monster rolled his eyes, "We don't have time for this."
"Sit down…and let me…heal you," Frank grunted.
Monster waited, letting Frank push until the man's arms started to tremble with effort and weaken. "Are you almost done?"
"Never!" Frank shouted.
Monster put his hands on his hips, "Lieutenant, you're going to hurt yourself."
Tiny, high-pitched noises came out of Frank's mouth as he pushed with all the force he could muster, until finally his arms gave out and he was left bent forward, bracing himself against his knees. He lowered his head, trying to catch his breath. "You're lucky," he panted. "I only let you go because…I don't want to reinjure you."
"Thank you," Monster said, clapping Frank on the back.
Frank clutched his lower stomach, "Actually, I think I ruptured something. I heard a pop down below."
"Do you need to lie down?" Monster said.
Frank sat on the edge of the gurney and wiped the sweat from his face. He saw Monster heading for the barn's door and said, "Where are you going?"
"To find the Captain," Monster said. "A fight is coming. Grendel Unit must rise to meet it, once more."
35. MAGGIE'S FARM
In his twenty-five-year career instructing poorly-rated Unification soldiers and trying to get them back on track, Major Dan Albright had never been to the Unification capital before. He'd never been summoned to speak to the Unification President before. He'd never heard an unexpected knock at the door of his academy office and opened it to find two members of the elite President's Guard, either.
That day, all of that had happened.
The guards handed him an envelope, stamped with the president's official seal, and did not move out of the way as he opened it and read the words:
You are to report to the Presidential Palace for an important meeting.
Under which appeared the official seal and signature of President Wolmar.
He kissed his wife on the cheek and ignored her questions as he hurried into his uniform, while the guards waited.
"When will you be back?" she said to him as he left.
"Soon," he said, smiling at her as he pulled the door shut. He looked at the guards marching along either side of him and said, "Right?" They only stared directly forward, keeping him moving forward, and not responding.
The guards were taller and more heavily muscled than he was. One was scarred across his left cheek and ear, and the other had burn marks across his right hand. These men were combat soldiers, of that he was sure. At forty-five years old, Major Albright was still in good shape, kept fit by running with the soldiers sent to his division as part of their reorientation program. He ate well in the mess hall and spent enough time behind a desk that his middle was beginning to sag, but he still fit into his uniforms and could run for a decent length without getting winded. But he had never seen combat.
He was an academic. He'd tested well all throughout his early career, and achieved high enough marks to be promoted quickly through the lower command ranks. He was able to quote multiple rules and regulations regarding the use of firearms, explaining exactly what constituted a breach of official policy and what penalty it incurred, but had never actually fired a gun in combat. His task was just as important as any field commander's, he reasoned. Without someone paying attention to the rules, how would the soldiers know when they had done something wrong?
His ambitions brought him to the Majors rank early in his career, and he'd taken the Academy assignment gladly. It would be his pleasure to help fix the wayward soldiers serving Unification, he'd told the promotional board, or it would be his pleasure to see them drummed out and sent back to whatever backwater village they'd sprang from.
The promotion to Major had brought many perks, including a large apartment at the Academy for him and his family, a personal vehicle, and command of an entire division that everyone, not affectionately, referred to as The Retreads.
That was not the official name for it, of course.
Whenever a solider was not cutting it in the field, he was sent back to the academy for a "training tune up," as Albright liked to call it. They focused on the basics. Physical training. Unification standards. Uniform inspections. Rules and regulations. It was a good way to reset the clock for soldiers who'd lost their way and get them back on the right path.
As the guards led him toward their ship, cadets and instructors turned to look, and Albright held his head high, making it look as if the guards had been assigned to him, and he was leading them. Despite his firm, determined walk, and how he nodded at each of his subordinates confidently, he could not quell the nasty bubbling in his stomach that told him something was wrong.
But what could it be?
The last audit of the academy's finances was without error, so he knew it would be no accusation of theft. No one in his life was affiliated with any kind of subversive movement, except for a second cousin of his who was a Sapienist. Still, Albright had not seen anyone from that side of the family in years, and he'd been sure to report any signs of suspected sympathizers within his own rank. Often, he was mistaken, and many good officers were improperly reported and subjected to interrogation, but once it had been nearly right, or at least, possibly right, and that, in his opinion, made it all worth it.
Albright's loyalty was impeccable. He'd publicly disavowed the documents leaked by the traitors, Victor Cojo and General Milner. He'd gone on record with his own students that he would be proud if any one of them was assigned to a unit that helped put down Grendel Unit. Albright had even gone so far as to re-broadcast footage of the President executing General Milner, declaring, "This is what happens to you if you betray the rest of us."
Of course, he hadn't done it all strictly out of loyalty. He'd made a grand show of support in secret hopes that his loyalty would be repeated, somehow. There were always rumors of undercover investigators being sent to various divisions of the academy to test the loyalty of its commanders, and just in case one was present, Albright wanted to make sure his support was both loud and clear.
He told himself that if it were something so petty as an accusation of a crime or subversion, it would not be handled in so dramatic a manner. The President would not be personally involved. Likely, it would be someone from the Investigations Division coming to his office and asking to speak with him, smiling while they told him there was no need to summon legal representation. After that, it would have been a black bag over his head and a visit to one of the newly-constituted interrogation centers.
As he entered the guards ship, he told himself none of this made sense. Not unless it was for something good. Had his loyalty been heard of, perhaps, after all? Was it possible that the President was in need of someone he could count on in these trying times? He settled into his seat and pulled the restraining belt tight across his chest, suddenly too excited to relax.
There were flickers of light as he exited the ship at the Palace's landin
g deck. Very faint flickers in the fading sun. The occasional outline of a man in a mechanized battle suit that shimmered briefly, then was gone. It's true, Albright thought. They have invisibility tech.
The idea of camouflage was as old as warfare itself, and in his own career he'd seen it evolve. It was nothing for modern forces to mask the presence of troops from electronic surveillance. They were even able to hide large stationary objects by draping them with Mimic Cloth, a fabric that absorbed the color and texture of whatever it was surrounded by. But nothing had ever come close to rendering a moving object invisible from the naked eye. To his amazement, he could see through the armored soldiers. Not a camera enabled reflection, not a carefully rendered subterfuge. He could actually see through them.
There had been rumors, of course.
Reports of alien insurgents being wiped out by an unseen force. Entire settlements decimated by what looked like nothing more than a deadly wind. Albright had always put it up to gossip, or perhaps an experimental weapon, but never this.
He brushed past unseen heavy armor as he made his way to the front entrance and stood back, watching the doors open of their own avail.
Albright felt a tiny twinge of panic as he stepped inside the palace's enormous Great Hall. It was completely unoccupied, save for several small robotic units that skirted around the brightly polished marble floors, keeping them shining and clean. Why me? he thought. Why am I here?
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