Jack now had a major problem.
There was nowhere to go.
Both ends of the tunnels had a Shiveen in them.
He was trapped.
19 A New Plan
While the second Shiveen was distracted, Jack got up and ran back the way he had come from. He had nowhere to go, but if he got in the middle between these two Shiveen, he gave himself some additional time to work out what to do.
He had few options. They wanted to capture him. For what reason, he didn’t know, but he assumed it wasn’t good. There was no way out of the tunnel without getting past one of the Shiveen. He didn’t know what lay beyond the first, but he knew that past the second was the tunnel with the acid-strewn remains of the one he had killed.
That wasn’t an option.
So, that meant going past Shiveen Number One.
Or going through it.
An idea formed in his mind.
It was reckless.
It was a plan of last resort.
It could all go horribly wrong.
But it was also the only way he could see out of this situation.
He quickly looked at the Echo Team footage. They had reached the outside of the caves and were now moving overland towards the rovers. That meant that the data burst had also been sent to the Dauntless, as long as the mesh network was still up.
They had done it.
He had done it.
Everything he’d learned at bootcamp and OCS had allowed the last members of his team and the civilians they were protecting to make it out alive. Whatever else came next, he had that.
Okay, you ugly-ass space lobsters. Let’s do this.
He let his rifle got slack in his grip, allowing gravity to pull it down while he still held it. He raised one hand.
“I don’t know if you can understand me,” he said loudly, his voice reverberating along the tunnel in both directions. “You win. I surrender. Take me to your lobster overlord.”
Almost simultaneously, both Shiveen shuffled into view, their legs click-clacking on the tunnel floors, their mouths continually twitching, their black eyes staring him down.
“You win. I’ll come quietly.”
They approached until they were where he wanted them to be.
The hell I will, he thought, swinging his rifle up and spinning towards the second Shiveen. It realized what he was about to do and it drew itself into its protection position. The automatic burst rattled and pinged off of its carapace.
Jack turned to find the first Shiveen had closed the distance and was now next to him. It had slung its weapon and was reaching towards him. With greater strength than the simulations had even implied, it tried to pull his rifle from him, almost wrenching his arm. He depressed the trigger, firing a full blast of armor-piercing shells into its chest. It shrieked, a terrifying sound, a combination of surprise and fear. Jack pushed down on the butt of the rifle, bring it up along the creature’s chest and towards its head.
It had no protection there and Jack’s burst ripped through its flesh, splattering him whatever the hell made up the inside of the alien. He felt it spatter against him, sharp pieces of chitin digging into his skin. He heard the thok-thok-thok of the shells as they impacted on the inside of the rear carapace of the alien and then there were multiple shots exiting the top of the creatures head.
Dead, it slumped, its full weight bearing down on Jack, its skull balanced on the barrel of his rifle. If he had been Anderson, he could have been able to stay standing, but the creature was too heavy for him to hold. He felt himself being covered by it, falling into the insides of the thing. There was a terrible smell, not fishy like he expected, but sulfur-based. It burned his eyes, and he pulled his helmet goggles down to cover and protect them, the slick fluid from the Shiveen sealing the goggles against his skin.
He began panicking, terrified that this was how he would die: crushed under the dead body of a Shiveen. This was nothing like the simulations at all, although Bandura’s had been close. It was almost as if normal simulation artists had little idea what it was like to get up close and personal with the aliens.
He had to get out from the thing.
If he could just turn around, he could get on his knees and crawl out from underneath it.
Jack rotated himself with difficulty, the alien creature wrapping itself over and around him, creating a form of sensory-deprivation chamber. He could hear the rapid beat of his own heart loud in his ears, but nothing else, not even his movements as he turned.
Now on his knees, he pushed his back up and raised his rifle, using the barrel to get the creature’s head up. Looking out, he saw the second Shiveen making its way towards him. It surely knew its comrade was dead.
It probably still had orders to take Jack alive.
With a surge of strength, Jack used one hand to replace the barrel of the rifle under the Shiveen’s head and let the barrel drop towards the advancing alien. He flicked the ammo switch and fired.
The shot landed in front of the Shiveen, exploding and sending it reeling backwards onto its back.
Jack fired again.
And again.
And again.
Once more to be sure.
The tunnel was full of light, but little of the noise reached Jack from inside the alien.
He crawled forward, his body completely drenched in alien fluids and body parts, the smell of sulfur strong in his nose and mouth and throat, and slipped out from under the dead Shiveen. He felt like throwing up and began gagging, his throat convulsing. He put his hands under him and raised his head from the ground. The undigested contents of his stomach came up and landed on the ground in front of him. His body arched, and he continued retching, his stomach emptying. He couldn’t stop it. It reminded him of when he had alcohol poisoning in boot camp and spent three hours over a bowl while his bunkmates continued drinking and laughing.
The retching turned to dry heaves. He swallowed, trying to stop them. He turned his head and saw that the second Shiveen was laying motionless on its back, a huge hole ripped in its underbelly.
Thank god for heavy explosives.
He rolled onto his back.
Two more down.
His odds of surviving had increased.
Hopefully the next part of his plan would work better than this part had.
20 An Understanding
Grel had felt the first private fall, their psychic connection between each other severed as it exploded apart. He had a momentary vision of the panhuman pointing its weapon at the private and firing several rounds towards it. There was a burst of pain, bright, yellow, tasting of metal, and then the panhuman fired again, and there was no more connection.
He also felt the second private die, each metal shot being fired into the private’s chest, its neck, its head. The last image Grel received was that of the private standing atop the panhuman.
When the third private died, Grel saw the panhuman lying under the body of the second slain private, pumping out round after round of explosive shots towards the third.
The panhuman was resourceful. Grel hadn’t met many personally who were. They were horrible and brutish creatures who didn’t know what they had done. And if they had known, they most likely wouldn’t comprehend the immense terror of it.
It was more paramount than before that it be captured, studied, and interrogated.
The creature is dangerous. Stun it and bring it to me, he sent to the remaining privates in the pod. Do not let it escape.
He reached down and picked up his own weapon, his fingers entering the weapon through the interface slots. He changed the formula of the rifle ammunition, changing it to create a gas that had been shown to make the panhumans fall unconscious with only a few side effects.
Come to me, panhuman. Come to me and meet Grel, Shiveen champion.
Jack knew that what he was doing was madness. There was just no other word for it.
He made his way through the tunnel, carrying the severed head of the Shiveen
warrior he had been enveloped in. To do so, he had to sling his rifle over his back, leaving him wholly undefended. He slogged through the tunnel, slowly getting closer to the ritual room, the alien head dripping ichor and ooze below his feet and weighing heavily on Jack’s arms; it should be Anderson doing this. The big guy would even probably get a kick out of the surreal situation.
If any other of the Shiveen caught up with him, what would they do? Were they still under orders to capture him? How would they feel seeing him carrying the head of one of their comrades? Did they feel emotions, or were they as soulless as their alien visage presented them to be?
If this worked, it’d buy him time to run. If not, well…
Every step felt heavy, not just from the weight of the alien head or the alien internal fluids that soaked his armor and combat clothing, but just the entire situation. The relief that Bandura and the others had gotten out had also brought with it a desire to just call it quits. He’d done what he needed to do. He’d performed the best he could as a marine. Maybe it was time to sit down and let himself get captured. There’d be time to rest and then he could plan to escape.
He was so tired.
So very tired.
Jack dropped to his knees, his breathing hard and forced. The alien head fell out of his grip and rolled on the tunnel floor. His arms and thighs shook slightly, and he kneeled, his hands at his knees, concentrating on his breathing. He felt light-headed and nauseous, and it wasn’t from the alien head he was carrying, although it contributed to it.
The Crash.
He’d been warned about this.
The sudden fatigue that hits during or after extreme combat. The body and mind are so wound up and on fire, adrenaline coursing through the body, that you feel superpowered. And then there’s the crash, when the adrenaline cuts off or stops working, and you plummet, weak and tired and confused.
During training, marines were pushed to this extreme so they could not only recognize it but deal with it.
Get through it.
Survive it.
No matter how much they wanted to just sit down and let everything be done with.
Jack couldn’t sit down.
He had to survive.
There was so much more he wanted to do in his life.
So much more that he had to give.
This would not end here.
Jack reached out and grabbed the alien head and pulled it into his arms again, then stood up.
Just another step.
He took a step.
And another.
He took another.
And another.
Grel heard the panhuman before saw it. It didn’t reach for its rifle, knowing that it could dispatch the creature if it needed. A single panhuman was no match for a true Shiveen warrior — except for those made from metal — and this was not one of them. It waited at the offering opening, waiting for it to appear,
When it did, Grel was shocked and angered in a way it had never been.
The creature had defiled the Shiveen by taking the head of a warrior within this sacred place! Grel felt anger course through itself.
Its plan had been to capture the panhuman and take it back to a tribunal for interrogation. The creature surely knew of other plans by the panhumans and would divulge those under the right conditions and chemicals.
But here it was now, limping into the offering room, carrying the head of a fallen warrior. The creature had severed the head of a Shiveen in this sacred place and was carrying it as if it were a trophy.
The monstrosity had to die!
Grel reached for its rifle but then reconsidered. It would not fire its weapon in this place. That would defile it as the panhuman had. It would instead rip the panhuman’s own head from its body, serving justice by mirroring its defilement.
It hissed and moved forward, all four of his arms ready to grab the panhuman and rip it apart.
The panhuman saw Grel.
It stopped.
The panhuman had to know its death was upon it, and that there was no chance for it to escape the reliquary.
It knelt, placing the warrior’s head on the ground.
Ha! It is ready to fight and die! Good! It will be a slow death.
The panhuman raised its arm in the air.
And began speaking Shiveen.
As Jack repeated the sounds he had heard the Shiveen utter before, he hoped he was making a decent facsimile of them. If not, he’d be able to grab his rifle from his back and get at least one round of fire off against the Shiveen. The creature, which had left its own weapon on the ground, was obviously the leader of the alien fireteam. It was much larger than the others and had a presence about it.
If this didn’t work, Jack was dead.
So, it had better work.
He continued uttering what he hoped were the correct-sounding sounds, and he saw the Shiveen slow its approach. Its emotionless black eyes stared in his direction, and its mouthpiece fluttered. Its carapace was dark; no neon lights appeared anywhere on it. Its intent was opaque.
Please work. God, if you’re there, let this work.
The alien creature halted.
Jack continued his faux chanting.
Tense seconds passed as the Shiveen stared in Jack’s direction, its mouth quivering in staccato bursts of movement.
Does it understand me? This was a long shot, the longest of shots, really. No panhuman had ever communicated with a Shiveen before and here was Jack with the misguided belief that he may make it happen.
Well, it was that or shooting his way out of the cave system. It had worked for him so far, but he’d never been good at games of chance.
The Shiveen raised two arms, pointing them both towards Jack. It turned them clawed hands on them palms upward and made a beckoning motion to Jack. There was a sibilant hiss and a semblance of words squeezing out of a mouth not built to speak them.
“Here,” the creature seemed to say. That was most definitely an attempt at human communication!
Jack’s heart beat faster.
This may work!
He bent down and picked up the Shiveen head, still chanting. The Shiveen continued watching him as he walked towards it and the well hole, but remained silent. When he was standing in front of it, it moved back a little, allowing him to step forward to the well.
Grel studied the panhuman. Like others of its kind, it was small and looked weak and ineffectual. Like lower lifeforms encountered in known space, except for rarities like The Builders, it wore its flesh outside its skeleton, making it susceptible to damage. Surprisingly, these panhumans had turned out to be quite resilient; they could take an incredible amount of punishment and had proven to be challenging on the battlefield. Not that the Shiveen had engaged with them often. That was not the Shiveen mandate. That was not The Purpose.
This specific panhuman specimen in front of Grel had the pale coloration that the minority of its kind had, the panhuman subgroup called humans. That the humans co-existed with various other bipedal lifeforms including the artificial ones showed that there was some hope for the species to undo the damage that they had done to the galaxy. Grel hoped that it was not too late for that.
Perhaps this was how it started? A single Shiveen and a single panhuman standing side by side and coming to an understanding. Even if the panhuman didn’t understand the ritual, it seemed to understand the importance of it.
That was something that Grel could use.
The creature carried the head of Grel’s fallen pod mate, carrying it with some reverence.
Of course, this could all be an act. Something that the panhuman could use to its advantage. Would it dare to attack Grel this close? It had done so with the Shiveen whose head it now carried. Grel was a great deal stronger than the fallen warrior. All it would take is a quick push and the panhuman would fall down the well to its death, breaking every bone in its body.
Besides, the rest of Grel’s pod was returning now, called back by its summons. It had to
ld the others that the panhuman was in the Honor Room with it, but that it would handle the creature.
Grel reached out with its mind, attempting to touch the panhuman’s own. It had tried this with countless others in the past, failing each time. It failed again this time. Shiveen and humans were incompatible regarding the normal communication methods the Shiveen used; the panhumans relied too greatly on verbal communication as well as rudimentary symbols for elongated information proliferation. But they understood mathematics, and some were especially gifted in the advanced mathematics involved in music.
So, Grel would have to replicate more of the panhuman words it had learned, synthesizing them using the fronds near the internal gills in its mouth that allowed the Shiveen to utter the external parts of prayers offered to the Great Watchers.
Offer, said Grel, doing its best to speak words the panhuman may understand, at the same time sending the same message with its mind, in case that did help. Offer the Fallen. Feed the Great Watcher.
The alien creature hissed at Jack, a cacophony of noise that sounded more like the wheeze of a dying person than real speech. Jack made out a few syllables but wasn't sure that he was hearing. The wet hissing that came from the alien's mouth blocked out much of what it was trying to say.
"Ohf. Ofr ha fahlah. Fee ha wawa," said the Shiveen, gesticulating with its hands as it did.
Jack struggled with the alien’s attempts to speak.
What was it trying to say?
It pointed a long chitin-covered arm and hand towards Jack then towards the well hole.
No, not towards Jack.
Towards the head of the Shiveen he had killed and decapitated.
It repeated the gesture then began its sibilant praying again. The well slowly lit up with neon brightness, patterns dancing around, reflecting light on the ceiling of the ritual room, which also sprang into light, just as the well room had done already. Jack felt the hairs on his body raise from his skin and smelled what he thought was ozone. A strange magnetic pull latched onto him.
Emancipation Page 17
