by Ehsan Ahmad
6
Cerrin had often dreamed of flying over the Great Forest. Her father had told her that the visions came from the birds that soared high in the sky: another part of the natural communion that linked all living things. But she could remember little of the dreams now; they could not compete with what she had seen with her own eyes.
Four times, the Vitaari had taken her up in the flying craft and—despite the aches that struck her head and stomach—she’d spent almost every moment of every trip with her face pressed against a window, staring down at the endless beauty below.
This was the longest trip so far, and she had no idea where they were. The broad swathes of tasska trees with their pale green leaves were familiar, as was the occasional stand of spindly orange okka. But a few moments earlier, she had spied a flock of dark birds flying in an unusual formation; she did not know the type. And then there was the meandering river they had just flown over. Cerrin had recognized neither its shape nor the yellow mud flats surrounding it. She understood that no one person could ever know all the forest or its creatures, but she was worried about what they might find at this new site. If the terrain, plants, and animals were unfamiliar, the Vitaari would have no use for her.
Cerrin was up on her knees, facing the wrong way in a seat twice her size. The shuttle would occasionally shudder so she retained her balance by gripping the seat straps. For only the third time since they had left Mine Fourteen, she glanced over her shoulder at the Vitaari.
They occupied the seats on the other side of the shuttle. There were four technicians: two were talking, two were poring over their data-pads. Cerrin recognized only one of them from Fourteen and reckoned the other three had come from either another mine or the Galtaryax. Governor Yeterris had once told her about the ship that flew so high that there was no sky, only blackness and stars. She could not imagine such a place.
Strapped to the deck in front of the technicians was a selection of equipment Cerrin had seen before: it would be used to inspect the site and take samples. The Vitaari had carried out the same procedure on the previous trips, but she knew that no mines had been built at those places. She wasn’t sure why; they only ever asked her about trees and soil and animals and insects. The four guards were sitting with their guns across their laps. Cerrin was pleased that Stripe was not among them.
The governor was sitting alone. Before they had left, he’d spoken to her: reminding her that nothing less than complete obedience would be tolerated. They would be at the site for only one day; but if things went well, there would be return visits and she might be needed again. Cerrin had endured forty-two days of work in the mine for this; she could hardly wait for the moment when she walked out into her forest once more.
Just as she was about to turn back to the window, the communicator upon Yeterris’s collar beeped and he pressed it. When the caller spoke, the governor snapped at the technicians to be quiet. Stiffening and sitting up, he listened carefully and nodded several times before the conversation ended. Yeterris then addressed the others, who in turn listened carefully to him. Cerrin observed the two guards farthest from the governor exchange a look, but nothing was said. Yeterris looked up at the roof and began to tap his hand against the empty seat beside him. Cerrin had picked up a handful of Vitaari words but had no idea what was going on.
As she turned around, the shuttle veered to the right, then began to descend. By craning her neck and pressing even closer to the window, she could just make out a distant gap in the canopy ahead. As before, the Vitaari had somehow blasted a hole in the forest so they could land their ships and do their work. Not for the first time, Cerrin felt a pang of shame that she was helping them. But as the ground came closer, such thoughts were forgotten.
Not long now. Almost there.
They could not spoil it: the noise of the technicians as they jabbered away and set up their equipment; the acrid stench of whatever they had used to create the clearing; the scorched, twisted remains of the plant life they had destroyed. It did not matter. Cerrin stood at the edge of the space and looked out into the forest.
Shafts of sunlight cut down through the trees, illuminating clouds of hovering insects. She had already spied a blue tapper hammering away and a pair of tiny skaala sitting together on a branch. Beyond the charred trunk of a nearby tree was a sprawling bush. One side was blackened, but in the middle was a handful of pretty purple flowers. Cerrin strode forward and cradled one in her hand.
She closed her eyes and said a prayer to the ancients and to the lost. They were all out there somewhere now: shades, wandering and content. She wanted nothing more than to be among them.
Go now!
Run!
Cerrin had to bunch her fists, set her feet; physically stop herself from moving.
“Girl, come away.”
She spun around and found Yeterris right behind her.
The governor fingered his golden bracelet. He was flanked by two guards: uniform and hair dark, skin and guns the same silvery gray.
“I shall not repeat myself.”
Cerrin walked over to him.
“We must work quickly this morning. Count Talazeer will be joining us later with a party from the Galtaryax. Once his inspection is complete, he wishes to embark on a hunt. You will assist him.”
“A hunt?”
“Apparently, a pair of these toothed creatures were seen near here. What do you call them?”
“Brown boar?” Cerrin knew that Stripe and some of the other guards had been into the forest before, returning with skulls and tusks. Hunting for sport was a practice forbidden by the Echobe, who killed animals only when other sources of food were unavailable. Cerrin herself had once been reprimanded by her father for chasing boar with a stolen spear. The custom didn’t exist solely because of respect for fellow creatures; hunting large animals was dangerous.
“No,” said Yerris. “These large things, with the yellow fur.”
“They call them damareus, sir,” said one of the guards.
“Yes—those,” said Yeterris impatiently.
Cerrin had seen damareus only twice in her life, and those had been solitary creatures, not pairs. The Echobe had never dared even consider hunting them and would move entire villages if one came near.
Damareus were not the largest creatures in the Great Forest, but they were considered by all tribes to be the most deadly. Six-legged and as tall as a man, they could reach twenty feet in length and leap three times that distance with ease. Cerrin had watched one pursue its prey across open ground, and her eyes had barely been able to keep up. The second damareus she had seen was dead. She recalled her father pulling back the mouth to reveal a pair of curved incisors as long as her arm. The teeth were so strongly mounted that her uncle had eventually given up trying to lever them out.
“Well?” demanded Yeterris. “Do you know these animals?”
“Yes, Governor, but we do not hunt them. One alone would be dangerous enough. A pair—”
“Hunting is not an interest of mine, but I gather that an element of danger is part of the enjoyment. I’m sure the Count will have enough weaponry to counter any threat.”
“They work together, and they are too fast to shoot.” Cerrin pointed at the nearest guard’s gun. “Even with those.”
“So they can outrun a shell?” said the other soldier with a sneer.
Cerrin just shook her head. If the Count wanted to try his hand, she certainly wouldn’t dissuade him. In fact, she rather liked the idea of being around to see a damareus tear the Vitaari to pieces.
Three hours later, Cerrin was finished. She knew that the sooner her work was complete, the more chance she would have of a little time to herself. As usual, the technicians’ first task had been to release dozens of their little machines. These flew off into the forest or walked along the ground or burrowed into the soil. They later returned one by one and attached themselves to a larger machine mounted on tracks. Whenever one arrived, t
he technicians would eagerly read their data-pads and discuss the findings. They would show Cerrin pictures of plants and animals and sometimes take her to the edge of the clearing to discuss particular examples.
Occasionally, it was clear to her why they needed her advice. They would ask her about certain species of tree: the hardness of the wood and what size they could grow to and what the root systems were like. And they were always very interested in how certain plants affected the soil; she knew that some of the substances within the ground could disrupt their machinery. And then there were the animals: their behavior, lifespan, breeding patterns, diet. Most of the time she could help, but about a quarter of the species here were new to her. Once satisfied she was still useful to them, Cerrin decided to be honest about what she did and didn’t know.
The technicians were often impatient with her, and she saw they preferred to use their machines. One, however, was slightly less unfriendly than the others, and she gleaned from him that they were about six hundred miles northeast of Fourteen. This confirmed what Cerrin already suspected: she was in an area far beyond the territory of her tribe. She didn’t even know if any Echobe had ever occupied or passed through these lands.
Once certain she was no longer needed, she approached the governor, who was sitting on a chair in the middle of a pile of cargo containers. The guards were there, too, eating from little boxes. Like most of the Vitaari food, it smelt disgusting.
Yeterris looked up from his data-pad. “Well done, girl. I’m told you’ve been most helpful. Would you like some food?”
“Not that,” she said. “There are some desaai trees over there. The berries are delicious. I could fetch you some, too.”
“Probably poisonous,” muttered one of the guards.
Yeterris glared at him. “No, thank you, Cerrin. But you must keep up your strength for this afternoon. Surely you can eat some of the biscuits?”
Cerrin had tried them before. They were horribly sweet, but she had to admit they seemed to provide a lot of energy. Compared to what they were given at the mine, it was an opportunity she could not refuse. She walked between two of the hulking guards and reached into the nearest container. The biscuits were wrapped in the transparent paper that the invaders used to cover everything. Cerrin took one packet and placed another in the pocket of her overalls. Leaning back against a container, she tore open the wrapper with her teeth. Yeterris gave an approving smile.
From the jungle came a high-pitched screech. The governor and the guards all froze and looked across the clearing. The technicians stopped their work. Again came the screech. Two of the soldiers dropped their food and grabbed their guns.
Yeterris stood up. “This… damareus?”
Cerrin surprised herself with a giggle. “Triterk. Female by the sounds of it. It’s a bird. About six inches long. Will give you a nasty peck if you get too close to its nest though.”
She laughed again as the men put down their weapons and returned to their food.
Yeterris cleared his throat. “How can you love this place?”
Cerrin ate her biscuits; there didn’t seem much point trying to answer him.
The terrain was not easy going. The marshy ground was soft, and with every step the combat shells sank in deep. Though the motors had no difficulty pulling the legs free, this was yet another added drain on the energy cells. They could have continued flying, but the squad had used forty percent of their fuel reaching the natives’ last known position. As usual, sensor information was severely disrupted by the mineral deposits strewn beneath the plain that surrounded the mine. According to Governor Sekithis, his troops experienced the same problems all the time; they would get a firm sensor fix, then arrive to find the troublesome primitives had disappeared.
As he popped his helmet screen and surveyed the ground ahead, Vellerik now realized how difficult this apparently simple operation might become. In amongst the undergrowth and occasional emaciated tree were clusters of rounded boulders as far as the eye could see. There were hundreds of them, any one of which might be hiding their prey.
The Colonial Guard were fifty kilometers north of Mine Ten, hunting a group who had finally succeeded in smashing one of the water pipes that supplied the installation. Vellerik, Lieutenant Triantaa, and half his men had been on the ground for two hours and had seen no trace of the natives known as “Batal.”
“Sir, did you know it means ‘without?’”
Triantaa also had his helmet screen up and was talking without his com-cell.
“What?”
“Batal, sir. In the Palanian language, it means ‘without.’ Even the other inhabitants consider them primitive.”
“Mmm.”
“Probably off in a cave somewhere, eating each other for breakfast,” grumbled another of the men.
Vellerik couldn’t be bothered to admonish him. He lifted his leg a fraction, and the shell did the rest, taking another squelching step forward. He turned to Perttiel, who was on tech duty and monitoring all of the sensor information coming from the shells and the Mine Ten drones up in the sky.
“Anything?”
“Sorry, Captain. It’s these formations. There’s toronal and quelkite in all of them—life signs just aren’t coming through.”
“How much flying time left, excluding return?” asked Vellerik.
“Between fifteen and seventeen minutes, sir,” answered Triantaa.
“Assign yourself and the others a search grid. Get as far as you can in three minutes. Check as many formations as possible from above, then reassemble here.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Triantaa doled out the orders, Vellerik yawned and said, “Water.” The pipe appeared from the right side of the helmet’s interior. He closed his lips over it and drank.
Having expected an easy day, he had taken a double dose of Almana’s Breath the previous night. He needed doubles every time now: his body was getting used to it again. He had fallen asleep straight afterward and woken late, feeling disoriented. Then he’d received the order from Count Talazeer: Vellerik was to deal with the problem at Mine Ten immediately, and immediately meant today.
But the operation was not going well, and the squad would look rather foolish if they failed against the least developed of the planet’s tribes. Time was getting on, and the shells were designed for short-term use: devastating swift strikes, not lengthy search operations. Vellerik didn’t want to find himself back in these stinking marshes the following day.
“Ready, sir,” reported Triantaa.
“Go. Report any sightings immediately.”
The troops fanned out.
“And don’t spray me with that shit like you did last time.”
The men all took another few steps, then started their engines. As they eased into the air, mud was sent flying, though none struck Vellerik. The troop continued up to twenty meters, then moved away along five different routes.
A lizard nosed its way out of a bush, peered at the enormous hybrid of man and machine in front of it, then withdrew. Imagining the Batal doing exactly the same, Vellerik spat.
“Perttiel, any better from up there?”
“Yes, sir. Multiple readings. Either large animals or humanoids. I’ve got a grouping to the west. I think—”
“Captain, it’s Saarden. Multiple contacts. Ten… no… twenty… more. They’re coming out of the rocks, running away from me.”
“Hold your position.”
Vellerik checked the main display and powered up. His helmet screen came down, and the boot jets began to rumble. Within seconds, he was up and flying toward Saarden’s position.
“Troop, converge on me.”
Vellerik watched Saarden ascend as spears flew up at him. He waited until the soldier had halted, then came along beside him. Forty meters below was a formation of three large circular boulders mottled with brown and black. The last of the natives pouring from between two of them followed the others north. Even those who
had dared unleash their weapons were now fleeing.
“Pretty fast, eh, sir?” said Saarden. “Must be some tunnel or cave under there.”
Half a kilometer ahead was a larger rock formation.
Vellerik checked his display again. “Triantaa, Dekkiran—get ahead of them and land. Zarrinda, cover the east; Perttiel, the west. Saarden, with me. Weapons ready, but do not fire without my order.”
Vellerik clicked another button, and his green tactical display appeared on the screen. Listed down one side were the four weapons available to him. Taking the lead, he eased the suit forward and downward at twenty kilometers per hour.
Stealing an occasional glance back at their enemies, the natives sped across the ground with sure-footed ease. They looked just like those in the footage Vellerik had seen: dark-skinned with long, matted hair. Barefoot and clad in animal hides, all appeared to be young males.
The Vitaari landed almost simultaneously, surrounding the Batal, who swiftly retreated into a densely packed group. Spears raised, they shouted at each other and their enemies.
“Keep your distance for now,” instructed Vellerik.
“Doesn’t even sound like language,” said Saarden, who was five meters to his superior’s right.
“A few on this side, advancing toward us,” said Triantaa.
Vellerik heard a loud impact through coms. “What was that?”
“Spear into my helmet, sir. Just bounced off.”
“Brave,” said someone, Vellerik couldn’t tell who.
“Flamethrowers, Captain? Leave a few alive to tell the others what they saw?”
Vellerik knew exactly who that would be: Trooper Dekkiran had been desperate to kill something since arriving on the Galtaryax.
“Sir, they’re advancing on me, too,” said Zarrinda.
“Hold your ground and hold fire,” said Vellerik. “They can’t hurt you.”
Even in the event of a massed group of primitives grabbing a shell and managing to get the trooper on the ground, there was an unpleasant surprise waiting for them: an electrical shockwave that would stun or kill anything organic touching the shell’s surface.
