The Seeds of War Trilogy

by Lawrence M. Schoen

  “No, stand ready for the moment,” he ordered the company commander.

  He switched the link and called Captain Whitehorse. “Captain, can you drop the hammer on the alien lifeforms at these coordinates?” he asked blinking in and uploading them. “I’d like it with one fell swoop.”

  “Let me check, sir. Wait one.”

  “What are they doing?” Topeka asked.

  Colby shook his head, reaching one hand down mindlessly to pat Duke’s head.

  “General, the disposition of the alien plants is haphazard, so our GIP Cannons would require multiple salvos. Additionally, you and your Marines are too close. You’d have to retreat back a minimum of 500 meters.

  Crap.

  If the Gardener was in there, he wanted it trapped. If the Pattani had to fire in salvos, that would give the boss plant warning, and it could slip away during the bombardment.

  Wait, can’t they adjust their beam cannons?

  “What about your. . .” Colby started before he had to query his implant to see what the Pattani carried. “. . . your BTY-1210. Can’t you start that in a circle, then focus it in on itself?”

  “With Betty? That’s affirmative.”

  “Great! And is that danger close? I mean, do we have to move back first?”

  “No, sir. It’s focused finer than a gnat’s ass. You won’t be touched.”

  “OK, then I want you to encompass the entire growth here. Burn the native. . . I mean the Earth crops as well, but I want this entire field eradicated. Nothing escapes, understand?”

  “Got it, sir. I’m passing this to Guns now.”

  “Guns” was Lieutenant Commander Tannibeth Rystal, the ship’s weapons officer.

  “I want that in 60 seconds Captain.”

  “Uh. . . no can do, sir.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “We’ve got the ship-to-ship lens on Betty now. We need to change that out.”

  Colby wanted to lash out. In typical Navy fashion, the Pattani had its most powerful weapon in ship-to-ship mode, leaving the rest for ground support. The Gardener hadn’t shown signs of naval warfare, and as it turned out, the ground-and-pound guns were not suitable for this mission.

  “How much time do you need,” he asked, fighting to keep his voice calm.

  “Twenty minutes, maybe less.”

  “Make it fifteen.”

  He cut the connection, scanning the field with his naked eyes. Fifteen minutes seemed like forever, and he had visions of the Gardener slipping away before the Pattani could fire.

  “Captain Singh, stand by. We’re going to ash the plants in fifteen. As soon the Pattani stops firing, I want your company in there. If there’s a speck of green left, burn it.”

  “Roger that. No problem.”

  Colby told Topeka what was going to happen, then checked in with Manny Sif. Manny reported huge swathes of alien life, but none of the melon pods. Three Marines had been burned by plants, but none of the plant soldiers had actively attacked them.

  It was only here, between the hop-bean farms and DeStaffney Station that the plants went into attack mode. That had to signify something—just what, he didn’t know.

  “Give me a countdown,” he told Captain Whitehorse needlessly.

  “Roger that,” she said, probably wishing he’d stay out of her knickers.

  OK, that’s the last time I ask.

  Nine minutes later, he asked how much longer it would be.

  “Look at that,” Topeka said before the captain could answer.

  In unison, like a sped-up version of sunflowers following the track of the sun, the melons moved to “aim,” for lack of a better word, at the eastern sky.

  “Captain Singh, get ready!”

  But the captain had already acted. The Marines aimed their weapons, ready to take on whatever came their way.

  “Captain Whitehorse, we need your Betty now!” he passed to the Pattani’s commanding officer.

  Several things happened at once. The small soldier plants, the ones that had attacked the Marines, seemed to collapse. The nearest line of melon pods twisted to orient on the Marines, and the rest shot up into the air, like watermelon seeds squeezed between two fingers.

  “Fire!” he shouted at the Marines, taking over the company net.

  The first salvo let loose just as the nearest line of melons. . . spurted. . . a greenish-yellow mist.

  “Nose filters!” rang out over the net from a dozen voices as the mist flowed toward the Marines, engulfing them in seconds. Nose filters or not, the Marines started to stumble and fall as Colby shouted out for the platoon around him to fall back.

  It was useless. The mist rolled over them, and Marines began to tumble. Topeka, too. Colby held his breath for as long as he could, running to get out of the mist, Duke on his heels. Finally, he had to breathe, and he knew he’d be taken down, too. He gulped in the air. . . and nothing happened. There was a minty taste to his mouth, but he was fully functional. As was Duke, who sat and looked up at him, head cocked to one side.

  All around them humans were on the ground. Only the two of them were upright. There had to be a reason for that, but he didn’t have time to figure it out. Most of the melons had taken off.

  “Captain Whitehorse, we’ve had a launching. Burn everything leaving the planet.”

  “We see it, General. There are over a thousand of them all broadcasting signals similar to the telemetry recorded from the alien ship you commandeered.”

  “Just burn them, Captain,” he roared aloud.

  “We can’t, General. We just got the ground lens on. Betty is no longer configured for ship-to-ship. We’re engaging with all other weapons systems and missiles now, and I’ve called back the Portnoy Bay and the Gazelle.”

  “Get them all. Not one escapes.”

  “Sir, there are thousands, and they’re tiny. I. . . I’m not sure we can. Sorry to cut you off, sir. I’ve got a fight on my hands.”

  The captain cut the connection. She knew her duty. They couldn’t allow any of the melon pods to escape.

  She’d have made a helluva Marine.

  He looked around. Marines were on the ground around him. His heart rose to his throat as he dropped to his knees next to a Marine, a lance corporal with “Kukuro” on his name tag. The Marine’s eyes were open, and Colby could see the fear in his eyes.

  He’s alive, at least.

  “Lance Corporal Kukuro, can you hear me?” he asked.

  The Marine didn’t respond, but there was something in his eyes that lent belief that he was conscious.

  “If you can hear me, roll your eyes.”

  Was there the tiniest bit of movement there? That might be wishful thinking, but something told Colby that the Marine was alive. He looked around. All of the Marines he could see had open eyes.

  There was nothing he could do for the hundred-plus humans at the moment, so he marched down to Mz. Tine’s farm. The front row of pods, the ones that had spit the green mist at him, had collapsed upon themselves and hung limply among the small dead soldiers. Colby gingerly stepped between two of the pods, stamping on the plant soldiers. Beyond that front rank, the pods had all gone, leaving a base of leaves that were wilting as he watched.

  “General Edson,” Captain Whitehorse passed on the net.

  “What is it? Have you stopped them?”

  “Negative, sir. We’ve downed a couple hundred, but there’re too many. And there’s no doubt about it. They’re heading for the wormhole.”

  Shit, shit shit!

  “See what you can do, Captain. Get as many of them as you can.”

  “You know I can’t do that, sir. You know I have my orders.”

  “But. . . but, that means. . .”

  “That’s why we get paid the big credits, sir. We’ll do our duty. Commander Brockmorton will take over and pursue all the surviving pods.”

  There was nothing else he could say. Their orders were clear.

  “It’s been an honor, Captain, a true honor.” />
  “Likewise, sir, likewise. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got quite a bit on my plate at the moment.

  The connection was cut as Captain Alicia Whitehorse maneuvered the Pattani to enter, but not pass, the wormhole.

  “Commander Brockmorton--” Colby started to pass.

  “I’ve got it, sir. We’re chasing the pods, but their awfully small and agile.”

  “No matter where they go, you’re not to give up, understand?”

  “Roger that, sir.”

  Colby felt defeated, and he shook his head. Duke whined beside him.

  “Why us, girl? Why are we still standing?”

  Because we’ve got some of the plant in us now. We’re connected. We’ve both been touched by the damned things.

  For a moment he wondered if he was being controlled somehow, and that scared him. But he felt like Colby. He thought he was still himself, still Colby.

  As his gazed wandered, he realized that there was one pod still upright.

  Malfunction? he idly wondered.

  He wandered over to it, hoping to gain an insight that would help the two remaining ships destroy them. As he approached, the pod split open from top to bottom. Colby stepped back, and pulled his sidearm out of his holster, suddenly feeling vulnerable.

  Like a baby passing the birthcanal, the Gardener emerged, looking much like it had in the moment before Topeka had cut off its head. Duke erupted into a flurry of barks and lunged at it before Colby could grab her.

  Instead of attacking, the Gardener knelt, one of its leafy hands outstretched to the dog. Duke stopped, whined, then leaned forward, her nose almost touching the thing. Suddenly she wagged her tail and licked the arm.

  Colby was flabbergasted. What had just happened?

  His implant activated as if receiving a call, but it wasn’t from Captain Whitehorse or one of the other two ships. He wasn’t sure what it was for a moment as the transmission swept back and forth as if trying to find the right frequency. He almost understood something a few times, but then it was gone, leaving a trace of familiarity.

  Realization hit him. It was the Gardener.

  “What do you want?” he sent to it.

  Maybe it took both of them sending, because almost immediately, the Gardener’s thoughts filled his senses.

  «Extraordinary Meat. Meat with language. Meat with the trappings of Mech. Meat in space, on other worlds, on this world. My world. Short-lived, arrogant meat. This world was barren thousands of cycles past. Barren until I arrived. I seeded its oceans with plankton to change the atmosphere. I introduced fungi to change the surface of the land. I set these in motion to to do my work and went away. I returned two hundred cycles past, and as I intended this world was ripe for planting, for the garden I had planned. It was majestic, exquisite, but still so young. I fine-tuned the design, adjusted the ecosystems I’d spawned, and went away again. And then you, arrogant foolish Meat arrived. You ignored what your own senses told you, and sought to undo all my efforts.»

  Colby had already suspected this, he realized. He just hadn’t wanted to admit it, that it might be humans who had been the aggressors here.

  «Meat destroys. It always has. Your own history acknowledges this, though you choose not to apply this truth to your own species. You despoil everything you touch. You will go. You will take these others with you and leave my world so that I may restore this garden.»

  “But it doesn’t have to be this way. We didn’t know you were here. Hell, we didn’t know you existed. There has to be another way here, one that does not result in death and destruction.”

  The Gardener seemed to dismiss the concept, but there was something, a hint, a germ, that Colby picked up. The possibility intrigued the boss plant. He tried to formulate another tack when a voice shouting “Edson! My God, where are you?” reached him.

  What the hell is he doing here?

  “I see you, Edson, I see you!” Vice-Minister Greenstein shouted out even louder as he daintily picked his way through prone Marines, arms held high as if to avoid contact with them.

  He pushed into the field and approached Colby.

  If you want to knock out my Marines, why not knock out him, too? he thought at the Gardner.

  There was no answer. He received the slightest whiff of curiosity instead.

  “My God, Edson, what happened here? Are they dead? And is that the head plant there?”

  “They’re unconscious—”

  “Sir, I’m Vice-Minister Asahi Salinas Greenstein. I’m here as the representative of the Republic. Of all humanity. I am authorized to speak to you in the name of the chairman.”

  Bullshit. You don’t have authorization for anything.

  “And let me tell you, my friend,” he said, pushing past Colby as Duke gave a low growl. “We have huge potential here. Huge.”

  Colby wanted to tell Greenstein that the Gardener couldn’t understand Standard, but he realized that the bossplant was, not listening per se, but paying attention. Suddenly, he knew that he was playing the part of translator. He heard the vice-minister’s words, and the Gardener was picking them through his thoughts.

  “I’ve seen what you’ve done here, and I’m impressed. Truly impressed. We can take those capabilities and totally revamp the agricultural business. Hell, a backwater dump like Vasquez could supply all the crops needed by humanity, all of them, just using your agritech. We’ll be rich, and I mean filthy rich.”

  Colby was shocked. This was beyond the pale, even from a snake like Greenstein. He wanted to take the man by the throat and shake him like a terrier on a rat, and only the Gardener’s presence held his hand.

  “How does that sound to you? I mean, you don’t need Republic credits, of course, but I can give you whatever you want. Raw materials? Fertilizer? Weapons? You name it, you’ve got it. My family, we’re big in the weapons business, so, I’ve got the inside track for that.

  Colby felt a mental shudder emanate from the Gardener when Greenstein said “weapons.” Colby was just disgusted. The man was trying to work a deal here, of all things.

  “What about the Marines?” he asked. “Some of them died here.”

  The vice-minister seemed to remember that Colby was still standing there. He frowned, then waved a hand, saying, “That’s why they get hazardous duty pay, Edson. And we can’t let past. . . past disagreements get in the way of future cooperation.”

  He turned back to the Gardener and said, “Speaking of weapons, my family’s are top-of-the-line, but your soldiers, they are pretty incredible. We can take that tech and make new weapons, with the best of both civilizations. No one would be able to stop us, and they’ll all pay top credit to keep up with the rest who’ll buy from us.

  “And if someone balks, well, we’ll have the weapons, so we can pretty much force them to comply, if you know what I mean.”

  The Gardener had been standing motionless, but after the last comment, something changed. The plant shuddered, then from out of the mic on Colby’s collar, spoke.

  «This is what Meat does. What it seeks. Destruction for its own sake. And being impressive Meat you aspire to ever more impressive forms of death. This one revels in it, crafts personal goals predicated on it. Short-lived Meat, why do you not savor life rather than pursue death? I have no weapons, but I can momentarily repurpose other tools to address your desires.»

  A blast of mint-green mist blew out from the Gardener and enveloped Greenstein. Unlike the Marines and Topeka when their mist had hit them, Greenstein immediately started to convulse. He grabbed for his throat as a pea soup of froth came gushing from his mouth. His terror-filled eyes looked at Colby, and he managed to spit out “Edson!” before he fell to his back and lay still.

  “That’s General Edson to you, Dickhead.”

  The Gardener stayed still and silent as if waiting for Colby’s reaction. He wasn’t so sure his connection with the plant species would help him if the boss plant decided to take him out the same way.

  “Beginning fina
l approach into in the wormhole, General,” Captain Whitehorse sent. “Will initiate pluviation.”

  “Understood, Captain,” Colby said, a lump forming in his throat.

  “I’m sending the crew off now. Take care of them, OK, sir?”

  “Will do, Captain,” he said, then following that a few seconds later with, “You know, you don’t have to stay. You can’t do anything to help the pluviation team.”

  “You’re wrong there, General. This is my ship and my crew. I can’t leave anyone to do this on their own. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Yes, I do. I wish there was something I could say.”

  “Just take care of them, Marines and sailors alike. You’re going to be cut off from human space. I’ve got it easy. My job will be done in a few minutes. You’ve got the tougher task in front of you.”

  Colby thought of what could have happened. With his commitment to the Corps, and then his banishment, he’d never married. But Alicia Whitehorse, he could see himself with a woman like her, someone he’d admired.

  “Go with God,” the captain said, just as she’d done two days before.

  “I don’t need God. I’ve got the Republic Navy, Captain.”

  There was a moment of silence over the live connection, then a quiet “Thank you, sir,” before it cut off. The net was still live, so the Pattani was still up there, but he knew he’d never hear from her again.

  He turned back to the Gardener, angry at the wasted lives. He was pretty sure the thing knew what had just transpired, and it probably knew that Colby was angry. Anger would get them nowhere, though, especially if they were trapped on Vasquez. There might be upwards of 700 humans on the planet and one Gardener, but it had proven just how quickly it could raise a division of fighters.

  “This doesn’t have to end like this,” he said. “Turn your pods away from the wormhole and we’ll still have all the same options left to us. No one else has to die. Just turn them around.”

  «They have no will that might be subverted or persuaded. No sensibility that might be reasoned with. I crafted their purpose and navigation into their very seeds. I can no more change their destiny than you can will your arm to bud new hands all along its length.»