The Battle for Eden

by Mark E Burgess

  Unfortunately a few Dire Bucks were also caught in the tree falls, but most of the surviving herd was scampering to the west beyond the tool shed. “Open fire!” Tyrus shouted into his com link, and as one the humans unleashed multiple energy rifles and automatic weapons on the lone remaining pair of Knackers. With the numbers that lopsided, it was over in a matter of seconds.

  The night was suddenly hushed as the guns ceased to fire. As the dust and smoke cleared, Simon commed, “Looks like they’re all down. Is anyone hurt?”

  Keith’s voice came over the com, sounding strained. “I took a near miss to the head, and my hair caught on fire. I put it out fast, but I’ve got burns.”

  One by one the other family members checked in, and everyone was alive, and for the most part, undamaged. “Masks remain on,” Tyrus told everyone. “They released a lot of neuro-gas; it will take some time to dissipate.”

  Simon took his weapons and roamed the upper floor, doing a routine check of each room. He paused when he came to the bedroom from which he had lit the rear firewall. The window and shutters still hung open; he had left in such a hurry that he hadn’t had time to secure them properly. Leaning his rifle against the wall by the door, he crossed over to the window, reaching out to close the shutters.

  As he did so, a clawed appendage whipped into view, grabbing his wrist in a vice grip. Pain lanced through his arm, and he was helpless, unable to pull back as a large spider-like head slowly rose into view, filling the window. A tiny part of his brain screamed that this, too, they should have anticipated. Knackers had been known to scale nearly sheer cliffs; the rough rock wall of the house would have scarcely provided a challenge. Now he was face to face with a creature that he loathed with every gram of his being.

  Long curving fangs worked slowly open and closed in front of his face, a half dozen red eyes glaring at him malevolently. The surface of the creature looked shiny hard, but was softened by tufts of short hairs around the eyes and antennae. Those sensory organs now reached out and stroked him lightly on the head and chest. Simon cringed at the contact; the soft caress felt somehow revolting, like the touch of an unwanted lover.

  The creature examined its catch from close range, pulling Simon even closer as it regarded him with an inscrutable gaze. At such intimate proximity, the inhuman strangeness of the Knacker was overwhelming, and Simon fought down the bile rising in his throat. For a few long moments they remained unmoving, almost touching as they stared at each other. Suddenly the alien’s jaws opened wide, then wider, and it leaned back slightly. He could see pearl-like drops of venom beading on the sharp tips of the fangs. In that instant Simon sensed the creature’s intent, and he knew that he would not live to see the end of this skirmish.

  As if to verify his intuition, the Knacker began to pop and click in its undecipherable tongue, and the translator box strapped to its carapace sputtered before emitting three distinct words: “You...now...die.”

  “You first,” a high pitched voice said from behind Simon, and the alien looked up in surprise just as a plasma round punched a smoking hole exactly between its antennae. It spasmed and fell backwards, its fangs snapping shut an instant too late to impale Simon. They grazed his cheeks and snagged his gas mask, however, tearing it forcefully from his face as the creature’s momentum carried it out and down. Simon heard a distinct crunching splat as the heavy body impacted the ground below.

  Staggering, he reeled back from the window, and turned to see his benefactor. He had just enough time to take in Jessie’s small masked figure holding an impossibly large energy weapon, before his legs turned to jelly and he crumpled limply to the floor.

  What followed was a jumbled admixture of images, as his brain continued to function but his body was unable to respond. After he went down, he saw close up views of the floor and adjacent wall, as he lay with his left cheek plastered to the hardwood. Then he felt hands on his body, and someone rolled him onto his back. Concerned faces clustered over him, peering down. He heard voices, hollow and far away, as if he were at the bottom of a well. “Was he bitten? Does anyone see bite marks? He needs medical attention. Get Kate now!”

  The last thing he remembered before he lost consciousness was Katherine’s sweet face looking into his, her eyes streaming tears as she cried, “Stay with me, Simon! Don’t you leave me, don’t you dare leave!” But he was indeed leaving, going somewhere quiet and warm, and he wanted to take her with him, longed to tell her that he didn’t want to go alone, and then the peaceful blackness claimed him.

  Chapter Seven

  Simon remained immobilized for nearly a day. He had fallen victim to neuro-gas, not the Knacker’s deadly venom. The treatment was simple: keep him warm, administer intravenous fluids, and wait for the effects to wear off. Until then he was an invalid, and he could not recall ever feeling this helpless.

  Various family members took turns watching over him. Within six hours he could mumble slurred words, and soon after that he was able to swallow gruel when held in a sitting position. Although nearly everyone sat by his side at one time or another, Katherine spent by far the most time with him.

  She would drag a comfortable chair close to his bed, and read a digital novel while he lay there smiling at her. Sometimes she would get chores done to pass the time. He was pleasantly surprised to watch her break down and service his Milcor rifle like an expert, sighting down the barrel, running a cleaning rod through it, checking the firing mechanism and oiling it, then reassembling it deftly. Layers upon layers, this woman had.

  The night after the battle, Simon lay resting in bed. He was exhausted after having taken his first tentative steps that afternoon. By the following day, they expected him to be back to his old self. He fell asleep with Katherine nearby, feeling her warmth there with him as he floated away to unconsciousness.

  Late that evening, Sarah wandered outside onto the back porch to catch some air. The veranda was on the second floor for safety reasons, although height had proven to not be a big deterrent to the Crabs. As she stepped through the door, a gentle cool breeze soothed the perspiration from her brow. It had been a blisteringly hot day, typical of late summer at this latitude, and the house’s air conditioning had been turned off to conserve energy. The local power grid had finally gone dead, and they were existing on stored fuel and generators for the duration.

  She sighed as the evening air caressed her skin through the thin nightdress. Both moons were visible in the velvet sky, having just come out of their dark phase. Romuli was a thin yellow crescent almost directly overhead, while its smaller brother, Remi, hovered near the western horizon like a slitted red eye. The analogy caused her to shiver, and not from the cold.

  She heard a small sound to her right and whirled with a start, relaxing when she saw a slender female form outlined against the porch railing. “Kate?” she asked, approaching.

  “Yes,” came the quiet reply.

  “Nice night, isn’t it?” Sarah said as she carefully stepped up to the veranda’s edge.

  “Beautiful. It reminds me of Antigua,” her aunt replied wistfully.

  Sarah glanced at her with surprise; Katherine never spoke about her former life on that planet, the life she had shared with her husband Jeremy. Although they stood close to each other, the contours of the other woman’s face were obscured in the dark. She appeared to be looking up at the sky, perhaps at Romuli where it floated overhead.

  Sarah opened her mouth and closed it again; in truth she had no idea what to say. Katherine spoke again, softly, “I still can’t believe that he’s gone.”

  “You mean...Jeremy?”

  Her aunt nodded, the motion barely visible in the starlight. “It was a night like this, you know, when I got the news. A beautiful new moon, like a slice of pure silver in the sky. Antigua only had one moon, but it was so lovely.”

  Katherine turned toward her then, and Sarah could see her aunt’s shoulders shaking, hear her ragged breaths as she sobbed quietly. Without thinking she reached out her arms and
pulled her close, Katherine returning the embrace with a desperate strength.

  They remained that way for a minute or two, simply sharing each other’s warmth. Sarah had an intuition about what was troubling her aunt, but she hesitated to broach the subject. Finally she ventured, “He’d have wanted you to be happy, you know.”

  Katherine nodded against Sarah’s shoulder, exhaling deeply as her breathing calmed. “You’re right, of course. If it were just me, things would be simpler. But I have Jess to think about.”

  “Do you think that ignoring your feelings will keep either you or Jessie from getting hurt?” Sarah asked.

  “That’s what I told myself. Then, when I saw Simon lying there, and I thought that he’d been bitten...I realized right then that whether or not you admit your feelings, they are with you nonetheless. That night I imagined how I would have felt if he were truly gone. Chances lost can never be regained. I promised myself that if he lived, I would not let that opportunity slip through my fingers again.”

  Sarah nodded, understanding. “It must be difficult, wanting to create something when it could be taken away at any moment.”

  Katherine stepped back and held her niece at arm’s length, speaking softly but intensely. “Love is worth having, Sarah, even with the risk of losing it. The loss is hard, very hard. But I would never trade that loss for the alternative, of never having known Jeremy, never having borne Jessie. Remember this always, and keep it close to heart. Love is worth it, even in these times. Not letting yourself experience it would be the worst loss of all.”

  Her aunt hugged her again, before pulling away with a soft “good night” and drifting silently back into the house. Sarah stayed on the veranda awhile longer, pondering Katherine’s words, seeing their wisdom. But she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that Kate had spoken them more for herself than for her niece.

  * * * *

  Simon awoke the next morning and sat up, stretching the kinks out of his back. Then he stopped and grinned; he had moved effortlessly, without even thinking about it. Cautiously he turned and slid his legs off the bed, touching his feet to the floor. He felt good, so he leaned forward, putting his weight on his legs as he slowly elevated to a standing position. One step, two, and he felt his confidence growing as the world remained stable beneath him. On then to the bathroom, where he blissfully took care of business unassisted for the first time in two days. He looked at his image in the mirror, and grimaced at the unshaven stubble and matted hair. Time for a shower and shave, and a new change of clothes. He set about his morning routine, eager to see the others and catch up on what he’d missed while he’d been out of commission.

  Simon came downstairs awhile later, and was greeted with a chorus of welcomes from the family members seated at the dining table. Amanda and Katherine were there, along with Sarah, Jessie, and Samuel. The two other brothers were out helping Tyrus clear the fallen trees. Most of the dead Knackers, Simon learned, had already been disposed of in a large burn pit. The Dire Bucks that had died had been cleaned, carved into steaks, and frozen for future use. In time of war, nothing was wasted.

  “We’re all happy to see you up and around again, Simon,” Amanda said with a broad smile. “We’ve missed you, some of us more than others, I think.” Her mischievous grin made Simon wonder what exactly he had missed while immobilized.

  Jessie clarified that issue a second later, blurting out in the joyous innocence of childhood, “She means mom and me!” Her mother elbowed her in the side, which elicited a loud, “Ouch, mom, why’d you do that?” Katherine gave up at that point, covering her eyes while her face turned a pretty shade of pink. Simon tried his best to avoid choking on his breakfast sausage, while appearing to not be overly interested in the exchange.

  After a solid breakfast he headed outside to find Tyrus and offer whatever help he could provide. He found the elder McKinley with Keith and T. J., cutting the downed oaks into workable sections. Most of one tree was already dismantled and piled into neat stacks of firewood, and the other was being attacked with gusto. Simon approached and said, “Hi, all. How’s it coming out here?”

  The three men paused in their work and greeted him with broad smiles. “Simon! Good to see you looking like your old self!” Tyrus exclaimed, stepping forward and clapping Simon on the shoulder.

  “He had it easy,” Keith retorted as he threw a stack of lumber on the woodpile. When he straightened and turned, Simon saw that much of the hair on the left side of his head was gone, and the skin at his temple was fiery red and covered with blisters. Even his left eyebrow seemed to have been singed off. He continued with a grin, “All Simon had to do was lie on his lazy back for two days, while Aunt Kate spoon fed him and gave him sponge baths. Now that he’s had his vacation, he’s as pretty as ever. Not like us real warriors,” he added, pointing to his own battle scars.

  “Well, you’ve certainly earned your lightning bolts,” Simon declared, chuckling. “SpaceForce could use a few more like you. I’ll put in a good word if you ever want to sign up.”

  “And do this sort of thing for a living?” Keith said with a frown. “I don’t think so. I want to have some hair left when I’m forty!”

  They shared a good laugh at that, and Simon said, “I came out to give you a hand, if you can use it.”

  “Are you up to it?” Tyrus asked. When Simon nodded, he shrugged and said, “Well, then, we can always use some extra muscle. T. J. has been cutting up the trunks and branches with a zip blade. He’s handy enough with it that we’re having trouble piling wood as fast as he’s producing cuts. You’re welcome to help us haul and stack.”

  “Fine by me,” Simon answered. “I’m happy being able to do any physical activity right now.”

  “Better make use of him before the joy wears off,” T. J. quipped. His right hand gripped the curved handle of a black rectangular device, about the length and width of a work boot. Its upper surface featured several control knobs, plus a plethora of red arrows and cautionary labels warning users to point the device away from oneself when operating. The working end had little to distinguish it, other than what appeared to be a short glass rod protruding from the surface.

  Simon watched with interest as T. J. pressed a red button and the clear rod instantly flared with brilliant light. The young man then fiddled with the controls, and the glowing tip appeared to slowly elongate. When he was through, there was a solid band of pulsing energy about a half meter long extending from the device. Satisfied, he then twirled another control, and the beam focused down to the width of a thread along its entire length. Properly adjusted, the zip blade was able to make cuts only a few atoms thick, and could slice through most materials with almost no resistance.

  “Here we go,” T. J. said, hefting the saw. “Let’s cut this beast down to size.” He walked over to the downed oak, stopping where a main branch joined the trunk. Lifting the glowing blade, he placed it across the width of the branch and dropped his arm. The thin band of energy slid through the tough wood as if it weren’t there, with only a faint sizzle and puff of smoke to hint at the forces being employed. The branch sagged free of the trunk as he pulled the blade out from below. Stepping to the right, he made another cut on the now-horizontal limb, and a smooth section the length of a man’s forearm dropped to the ground, ready for stacking. Additional cuts followed in quick succession as he moved down the length of the branch, pausing at times to shear off smaller offshoots and twigs from the main limb.

  Simon and the others pitched in to gather and pile the logs, and with all four of them working, the tree was conquered by noon. Only a brush pile of cast-off twigs and small branches remained, and this was incinerated in the fire pit that had previously consumed the Knackers.

  By the time they were done the sun was beating down from the cloudless sky, and the temperature outside was steadily rising. Tyrus wiped sweat from his brow and said, “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I could go for a cold brew.” His idea was met with enthusiastic approval from al
l present, and soon after, the men sat on the upstairs veranda enjoying the shade with bottles of cold alcoholic beverages in their hands.

  As humans had moved out among the stars, they had carried with them their love of fermentation. New planets had offered up an endless diversity of plant life, which in turn yielded novel varieties of spirits to imbibe. Despite the competition from various newcomers, the traditional Earth drinks had maintained a revered place in the taste buds of humanity. Colonists had quickly discovered, however, that grapes were finicky about growing conditions, and the flavor of wines produced offworld was often compared to that of industrial cleaning products. The hops and grains that made up the backbone of beer production were more forgiving, and consequently, as humanity’s territory had grown, so had that simple beverage’s status in the hierarchy of recreational drinks. The Human Federation worlds resided in a globular star cluster at the edge of the Milky Way Galaxy, so far removed from Old Earth in both time and space that the mother planet was almost a legend. Nonetheless, the draughts that Simon and company now hefted were not all that different from old Irish ales of ages gone by.

  As he nursed his drink, Simon plied the others for information about the latest Knacker attack and its aftermath. “It was a full two squadrons they sent against us,” Tyrus stated, confirming Simon’s suspicions. “We found one dead Crab out back of the fence, blown to bits by a land mine. That made twenty total soldiers, with four transport vehicles. All well armed with multiple weapon types.”

  “That’s a pretty heavy assault team,” Simon commented. “They must have taken us as a serious threat.”

  “Well, not a major military target perhaps, but for a rural resistance group, we’ve certainly garnered some attention,” Tyrus agreed.