by Richard Fox
"You waste words. You did not come here for the Kesaht,” said the middle—and oldest-looking—one. "What do you want from us?”
"The Terran Union needs Steuben's help. One of our worlds is under threat from some sort of a beast and—”
The women chattered, hissed, and made hand gestures that were suspiciously like something his Strike Marines might do. One of the women repeatedly drew her flat hand across her throat—which he wanted to interpret as “be quiet” instead of “kill him.”
"We need his skill as a hunter to—”
"No. The one you call Steuben is our head man. He trains our children to fight. To be Karigole. He is the last of his cohort and the only warrior that can fight with your metal.”
"He will be safe and he will return." Hoffman looked to Steuben, then back to the matriarchs. “The situation on planet Eridu can change the entire balance of the war against the Kesaht." Hoffman looked at each of the gethaar, seeing no indication that he was successfully making his case.
“There is a debt,” Hoffman said. “A blood debt. Steuben was part of a mission. A Strike Marine named Rohen died to—”
“Stop,” Steuben snapped. “You will not speak of that place in front of the gethaar. Ever. One more word and your tongue will be mine.”
"We know what you’ve done for us,” a gethaar said. “One of you called Val-dar. His bright-en-feld took us from hell. We cannot release Steuben. Not after our loss. The Kesaht stole a child from us, a gethaar child. Do you know us well? Our babies are not born male or female. They develop their gender later in life. But a gethaar is always born a gethaar. We are the only Karigole that gives birth. She was the first born since the Reaping…and now she is gone.”
"Then she’s…alive,” Hoffman said. “The Kesaht don’t kill children. They take them alive back to their home world. We still don’t know why. But if the Kesaht are still on this planet, I will find them. Bring her back to you."
“What is your price?” the lead matriarch asked.
“I kill Kesaht for free,” Hoffman said. “Children are not bargaining chips.”
The gethaar leaned close to each other and spoke in their own language. Hoffman looked at Steuben and raised an eyebrow.
“They say…” Steuben cocked his head slightly. “They say I may have been right about humans. Remarkable.”
“How so?”
“You must not be married. For a woman to admit a man is right about anything…”
The gethaar broke out of their huddle and raised their hands to the sky.
“Un’a’shanala!” they cried in unison.
The rest of the Karigole thrust weapons high and repeated the call.
“Is that good?” Hoffman asked.
“Dinnertime.” Steuben stood and went behind Hoffman. He set one hand on the Marine’s bare shoulder. “Is human meat salty?”
“What?” Hoffman tried to get up, but Steuben kept him pinned to the ground.
A gethaar was helped to her feet, then she waddled over to Hoffman. The matriarch dipped a claw into a small leather pouch; it emerged with a fine yellow powder clinging to it. She scratched down either side of Hoffman’s nose then across his forehead.
“That’s not seasoning,” Steuben said. “You’ve been given permission to hunt in our lands.”
“So…I’m not going to be eaten?”
“Ha. Ha. Ha. I kid. Earth humor.” Steuben hooked his one hand under Hoffman’s shoulder and lifted him to his feet with relative ease. “No, I will help you track down the Kesaht and rescue the child. Come, it’s best to stalk prey during sunrise.”
****
King tensed as the sound of an arrow whistled through the air. There was thwap as the projectile buried into the ground a few yards away. Dozens more arrows were in the ground, tracing a shape King couldn’t quite make out.
The team stood in a loose circle around Hoffman and Steuben’s power armor, backs to each other as they kept an eye on the Karigole moving around the rocks.
“I’m telling you,” Max said, “they are not just messing with us. This is like some weird sort of initiation.”
“And I’m telling you those crazy kids are using arrows to make a connect-the-dot drawing of a dick,” Garrison said as he wagged a finger at the arrows.
“I very much doubt it is a phallus,” Gor’al said.
“They are young, hotheaded fighters,” Garrison said. “You ever been around junior Marines or soldiers? They draw dicks on everything.”
“There were some interesting pictures in the latrines during our last field exercise,” the Dotari said.
“Dicks, Gor, they were dicks,” Garrison said.
“Were you the one drawing them?” King asked.
“I am a seasoned Strike Marine, Gunney,” Garrison said. “I have much more culture than that…I may have added a few Chuck Norris facts to the port-a-potties.”
“Yes, the famous warrior,” Gor’al said. “Is it true he beat a brick wall in a game of tennis?”
“Absolutely. Then he ate a whole cake before his friends could tell him there was a stripper in it.” Garrison flinched as another arrow hit the ground.
“OK, none of us even knows what Karigole junk looks like,” Booker said. “That could be some sort of a local bird or a—”
“Cocks are birds,” Garrison said, shrugging.
“Where is sir?” Opal grumbled.
“Hang tight, big guy,” Booker said. “He’ll be back soon, you big puppy.”
Gor’al lifted the visor on his helmet to rub his face, then slapped it back down.
Duke reached into a pouch on his belt, then shook his hand around inside it.
“Where’s my dip?” the sniper asked, turning his head slowly toward Gor’al. The alien was still as a statue. “Where. Is. It?”
Gor’al’s beak worked once.
“You son of a parakeet.” Duke swiped at the Dotari, but Gor’al ducked the blow.
“It is a gar’udda nut,” Gor’al said. “I am simply hungry. Would you like one?”
“I’d rather eat a moose nugget than your pogie bait.” Duke took a step out of the circle, but a sharp look from King put him back in place. “You swiped my dip!”
“No, special spice blend from back home.” Gor’al swallowed hard. “Yummy.”
“Pop your visor.” Duke reached to Gor’al again. “Let me smell your breath!”
“Is this making the Karigole more or less likely to eat us?” Max mused.
“I am innocent of this baseless accusation,” Gor’al said.
“Let me. Smell. Your breath, Gor.” Duke pointed at the Dotari’s face.
“Here comes the LT,” Booker said. “Thank God. Steuben’s with him.”
Hoffman moved smartly out of the cave and toward his team, doing a double take at the arrows in the ground nearby.
“What did I miss?” he asked, stepping between King and Opal and picking up his pseudo-muscle layer.
“No overtly hostile act,” King said.
“Some sort of pictograph.” Garrison waved a hand at the arrows. “Could you tell us what it is, Mr. Steuben, sir? Out of curiosity.”
Steuben snapped his prosthetic hand into the stump beneath his elbow and turned his good eye to the arrows.
“It is a rune for valor, luck on the battlefield,” the Karigole said. “Why? What did you think it was?”
“Nothing!” Garrison’s voice was so high-pitched it almost squeaked.
“This is going in my report back to Dotari High Command,” Gor’al said. “I learned a lot about humans today.”
“Have you learned not to steal dip yet?” Duke grumbled.
“Baseless accusation,” Gor’al said. “It’s not like I took the pouch of mint-flavored long cut from your sniper bag.”
Duke’s eyes went wide and he slapped the bottom of the bag slung over his shoulder.
A Karigole called out from atop a rock.
“Are you all prepared for a hike?” Steuben said. “My scouts
found trace of the Sanheel.”
“I thought your fighters weren’t allowed far from this cave?” Hoffman said.
“I anticipated the gethaar would grant us a hunt.” Steuben stepped into his boots and slapped on a thigh plate. “I sent out scouts when you first arrived. Don’t tell the matriarchs.”
“Tell them what?” Hoffman strapped on his breastplate.
“You show promise.” Steuben picked up a sheathed scimitar the length of Hoffman’s arm and snapped it onto his back.
Chapter 5
The Strike Marines and their Karigole guide stopped just below a hilltop as dawn broke over the horizon, casting orange light through the receding night.
Max unfolded his gear and pulled up the holo screen. Garrison, Booker, and Opal spread out to secure the perimeter while Duke maintained overwatch of the area in general. Hoffman and the rest waited for the communications device to come to life.
“If it is an appropriate thing to say, at this moment, you look much better in your armor,” Gor’al said to Hoffman. “Very manly. There was some debate as to whether you’d return all oily.”
Hoffman glared at the Dotari as his Strike Marines suddenly became interested in other parts of the clearing. Duke whistled nonchalantly.
Hoffman formed his words deliberately. “Max, how is the connection?”
It took a second for his commo guy to answer. “Pretty good, sir. I mean, whenever you’re ready.”
“What?”
“Nothing, sir. It’s just that I’ve had that dream—you know the one. When you go to school or something in your underwear…”
“No worries. It’s actually quite liberating. In fact, there may be some interesting training cycles in the future…the entire team in the twenty-kilometer loincloth run.”
“Hoorah, sir,” said Max, though his response lacked the usual gusto.
A low whistle like a bosun’s call sounded from the holo projector.
“Scipio Actual for Hammer One," said the image of Tagawa said.
"Hammer One, go."
"You’re way behind the mission clock. Advise reason."
"Complications. Will need to modify timetable."
Radiation from the atmosphere garbled what the captain said next. Hoffman put one hand to the ear area of his helmet but kept his eyes on the projection of Tagawa.
"I said we’re on a time schedule. Can you expedite results?”
"Negative. Search and rescue of critical civilian personnel needed. There are horsemen on the planet," Hoffman said, using the most current designation for the Sanheel.
"That…is not what we anticipated,” Tagawa said.
"I need the Scipio to run interdiction. If the Kesaht vessel gets off world and to the Crucible, this mission is a failure.”
“Are you aware of the size and armament of the Kesaht ship? My Scipio isn’t exactly built to take on much,” Tagawa said.
“That’s a negative. We’ll pass on any further intelligence we find, but locals encountered upwards of twenty horsemen at one time. Whatever ship they came in can’t be that big.”
“Be advised I will signal Earth for reinforcements. Twenty Sanheel seems like a tall order for one team of Strike Marines.”
“One team of Strike Marines and a Karigole warrior. Besides, it will take days to spin up a larger force and then they can’t land anywhere but the one LZ without the orbitals blowing them up. We’re default aggressive. Maybe we can catch them while they’re napping. We flood the area with more Marines, the enemy may know we’re getting close to them.”
Tagawa’s response was lost in static.
Max adjusted his gear, clearly nervous that the interference was indicative of a more serious Kesaht threat. The Kesaht’s standard procedure was to ionize the atmosphere and eliminate communications before a major assault.
"Requesting a passive scan of the planet for critical intel needed to complete this mission," Hoffman said. “Confirm, requesting a passive scan.”
Tagawa nodded. “Good call, I think. You have a better feel for the situation down there. It will take a while, but we can do it.”
Steuben furrowed his distinctive brow and made one of his guttural, nonverbal thinking sounds. “Why not an active scan?”
“Could be detected. I don’t want them to know we’re looking for them.”
Steuben nodded slowly. “You’re not an idiot.”
“Thanks…I think.” He faced the IR holo, saluted the Scipio’s captain, and signed off.
“How long will this take?” Steuben asked.
“A while.” Hoffman produced the blasted piece of metal his team had located earlier. “We recovered this on our way in.”
Steuben took the scrap and sniffed it. “It bears the Kesaht scent.” He turned it over several times.
“We searched for larger pieces to do a more complete analysis, but it was pretty scattered.”
“One moment.” Steuben muttered several Karigole curses as he interfaced his old armor with the newer versions Hoffman’s team wore. “There it is. I am sending video.”
Hoffman watch the camera feed without comment. A Kesaht ship, smaller than the Scipio, raced upward from the planet’s surface and attempted to skirt a storm. Lightning reached out and grabbed it. By the end of the flash, the ship had disappeared into the clouds.
“Roll it again,” Hoffman said. Steuben complied. “There. Looks like its trailing fire. The ship was definitely hit.”
“You have good eyes for a human.”
"They were damaged." Hoffman pulled up a map of the planet. "Where could they set down? Does it match with your scout reports?"
Steuben leaned closer, uncrossing his arms. "If they couldn't make orbit, they could be anywhere on the planet. But the direction of travel from the video matches my scouts’ report.”
"Best not to run around like chickens with our heads cut off," King said. “We have an area to search.”
Steuben began swiping at the map Hoffman had pulled up. "There has been no sign of Sanheel since the ship took off."
"All dead or they got what they came for,” King said. “They took a child?"
"Not just any child, a gethaar, the rarest and most precious of the Karigole. One may be born two or three times to a mother gethaar in the hundreds of times she will be pregnant. Why do you look at me like that?"
“Hundreds?” Booker asked, her face screwed up in shock.
“We are long-lived. I am nearly nine hundred Earth years old,” Steuben said.
“What is it with the Kesaht always taking kids?” Max asked. “I heard about them doing that on Oricon.”
Steuben shifted his weight, clenching and unclenching his fists in frustration. "Why would they do this? Tell me of the Kesaht."
"They attacked without warning," Hoffman said. "We’d never encountered them before they went hostile. They’re unknown to the Bastion Alliance as well. There isn’t much more that’s official, but there was this…spy. A traitor told me there’s someone driving the Kesaht against us. I don’t know if I should even share it. Spies aren’t to be trusted.”
“Tell me,” Steuben said.
“Keep in mind she could’ve been blowing smoke,” Hoffman said, “but Masha was positive there was a Toth overlord—”
Steuben’s lips retracted, revealing rows of pointed teeth. “A Toth?” he snarled. “No. I saw the last of them die. All of them.”
"Huh, she said they were nearly extinct.” Hoffman frowned. “Wait, then do you know about some sort of entity that—”
“Malal.” Steuben got to his feet and slashed his claw tips in front of his real eye. “Do not speak of that monster…if the Toth live, then this changes things. It changes everything.”
Hoffman looked at King. They shrugged at each other.
“Does it change how we’re going to find the baby gethaar?” Hoffman asked.
“No.” Steuben drew his scimitar and spat on the blade, revealing intricate writing etched into the metal. “But I need at least
one Sanheel alive to rip out information. If the Kesaht serve the Toth, then they must die. All of them.”
“I like where he’s going with this,” Duke said.
Steuben wiped the spittle across the etchings, then returned the blade to its scabbard.
“A Toth overlord survived.” He shook his head. “I was too quick to believe the vendetta over. I should never have given up the hunt, but the gethaar and my people needed me. Lafayette curses me from the afterlife…We must move,” the Karigole said, “before the light changes too much.”
Chapter 6
Hoffman scanned the cloud-filled sky as morning’s light cast an orange hue through the overcast.
"Stand by for drop," King announced. "Duke, do you have visual?"
"Of course I have visual. Snipers see all."
"I thought a sniper was a snake," Booker said. "And I thought snakes didn't look at the sky."
"I take you on one mission and mentor you and this is what I get,” Duke said. “You're turning my actions against me. The sniper is a snake, a sky-watching snake who sees one supply module inbound. Sending coordinates now.”
A waypoint pinged on Hoffman’s visor.
“Tagawa’s right,” the lieutenant said. “A logistics drop is too small for the orbitals to register as a threat.”
“Hooray for small favors,” Max said. “Let’s hope we didn’t use up our luck for the entire day.”
"It's off-target by half a kilometer. We need to move and set up around the landing zone," King said. "LT, I guess that means you since you're the fastest.”
"Booker and Opal can keep up," Hoffman said as the entire team started moving.
"That thing can run?" Steuben asked, pointing at Opal.
"He doesn't know when to quit. Pain’s little more than an abstract idea for doughboys, disregarded when not useful," Hoffman said. There were times he didn't believe this, but that was what he'd been taught during his initial training phase. Many of his peers used it to console themselves when the doughboys suffered worse than other soldiers.
It felt good to run. He stretched out in the lead and soon saw the vapor trail of the rapidly descending supply pod.
