Relic Tech

by Terry W. Ervin II

  “Understood, Sergeant.”

  He removed my com-set. “Nice equipment, Keesay.” He adjusted the settings. “This’ll be hard to trace. Our platoon’s name and call signal is White Mule.” He continued to manipulate the settings. “Command is Channel A. Our frequency is Channel B. Rock Mole platoon to our left is Channel C. Copper Mink platoon is to our right. Channel D.” He handed it back. “Alternate frequencies are A1, A2 and so on.”

  “Understood.”

  “Areas in the trench line marked in red paint, don’t say anything important. Troop movements, dispositions. Got it?”

  Those would be areas vulnerable to enemy eavesdropping. “Understood.”

  “How are you armed, Keesay?”

  “Twelve gauge shotgun, .357 Magnum and .38 caliber revolver.”

  “Can you handle anything more advanced?”

  “Yes, Sergeant. I am competent with MP pistols and carbines, and trained in light and medium-duty laser carbines. I also have a CNS modulator to nullify the Stegmar sounding.”

  The captain nodded and spoke up. “Corporal Ringsar informs us that you’ll stand and fight. What combat experience have you?”

  “Our transport was caught in a firefight on approach to the Zeta Aquarius Dock. We were boarded.”

  “You were successful in repelling boarders?”

  “Unknown, sir. I was ordered to escort an important civilian to an escape shuttle.”

  “So,” sighed Captain Ermot, “you haven’t seen combat.”

  “Incorrect, sir.” May as well toot my horn. “I wasn’t counting, but estimate killed or incapacitated a dozen Stegmar. I killed or assisted in killing three elite Gar-Crax and four Gar-Crax while defending the transport and the civilian.” He and Sergeant Trahk exchanged glances. “However, I was led to believe that the majority of the boarders were reserve troops.”

  “What was the transport?” asked the captain. “And who was the civilian?”

  Pillar knew I’d departed on the Kalavar, so I was willing to provide that much. “Civil transport Kalavar. I was not given the civilian’s name.”

  “You were part of Security on the transport?”

  “Correct, Captain. That is all I can say.”

  He frowned and glared.

  “If you want to know more,” I said, “Major Voisard will have to authorize it.”

  All three pairs of eyes rose at my statement. “That will be all,” Captain Ermot said. “Corporal, issue Keesay a medium duty laser carbine. We’ve enough recruits with old-style assault rifles. Show him the map, and give him the tour.”

  Ringsar saluted. “Yes, sir.”

  Pillar handed me a medium-duty laser carbine. “The captain wants everyone to have some ranged firepower.” He handed me a helmet, backpack, bedroll and canteen before leaving the storage bunker. “Okay, Keesay. Point the direction of the three pillboxes.”

  Despite standing in a seven-foot trench, I pointed three different directions.

  “And HQ? Good. Our tank-bot? Good, Keesay. Even I had to think on that one.” He smiled and put his hands on his hips. “And your assigned position?”

  “That way,” I said, pointing south. “It’s the only place we haven’t toured. And I haven’t spotted a known face yet.”

  “Right, Keesay. Let’s go.”

  We trudged, retracing some of our steps. The trench walls showed signs of mechanical digging and high-energy laser slicing, without a doubt A-Tech, Umbelgarri. A foot or so of compact soil lined the rims. What had eroded, formed a muddy trench floor. Carved or emplaced stone along the trench floor provided steps for firing positions along the wall. Scattered aluminum ladders provided easier exit and entrance to the trench line.

  “White Mule defends a one-kilometer front,” said Pillar. “You’re on the end of the line. Next to you will be the Rock Mole platoon. Weak outfit.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “We’re stretched thin as it is.”

  “You know the fallback position and rally points?”

  “I do,” I said, and named them off.

  We made it to the end of our assigned trench line. Pillar bellowed, “O’Vorley! Front and center.”

  The muddy face of Security Specialist Kent O’Vorley emerged from a tunnel. He looked as surprised as me.

  “I’ll leave you two little girls to get reacquainted,” said Pillar. He turned. “Moorsheen, you’re on duty.”

  “Kra!” called the young sec-spec. He removed his helmet and gave a mile-wide grin.

  I extended my hand. “Security Specialist Kent O’Vorley.” We shook, then patted each other on the shoulder. Kent looked youthful but tired, except his eyes. They were dark and held understanding beyond his years. Nothing like our first meeting back on the Mavinrom Dock. I wondered if my eyes mirrored his, or worse.

  Kent couldn’t stop grinning. “Pillar warned he had a new recruit lined up. The last was Moorsheen, a marketing and sales analyst. Let’s go inside.”

  He led me through a three-by-three foot opening made of rock and cinder blocks. After the small entryway, we took a narrow set of steps down about eight feet. A small room had been carved out of the rock. The hanging chemical lantern cast shadows, emphasizing the hewn walls.

  “Sturdy construction,” I said, before sitting down.

  “Excavation.” O’Vorley sat down next to me and rested his back against the stone wall. “Thirty centimeters of soil, then rock. All this was carved and tunneled several months before the invasion. Or so I’m told.”

  “How’d you get here? Mavinrom is a long way off.”

  “We were hit by a Crax fleet. They destroyed half the station, but we drove them off. Mavinrom was a staging area. A battle group was preparing for departure when the attack came.”

  “You don’t speak of it as a victory.”

  “A Primus heavy cruiser led the attack. Took out two battleships, one battle cruiser and a heavy carrier. We held our own against the Selgum Crax. I think some new ship armor. But by the time the Primus was destroyed only a monitor and several escorts survived.”

  “And the Crax? What about them?”

  “They recalled the boarding troops on the dock. Many of their ships were damaged, almost half escaped.” He stared off into space a moment, reliving fragments. “Most of the surviving dock personnel were offloaded before the second attack came. They finished the job. Destroyed the dock. Wiped out the mining operation.”

  “And they shipped you here?”

  He nodded. “A fast transport. I heard it was destroyed in orbit when the Crax attacked Tallavaster.” O’Vorley paused. I knew he was recalling lost faces. “Pillar and a few other marines, and nineteen station personnel came here with me.” He glanced up through the rock to the sky. “One pilot told me they’re pretty thick up there now. How’d you get through?”

  I shrugged. “I was in cold sleep. Probably because we’d commandeered a CGIG long-transport shuttle. They’re working with the Crax.” His eyes widened. “That’s the truth.”

  I told him of the combat aboard the Kalavar, and the escape to and from the Capital Galactic quarantined planet. I paused. “Don’t think the CGIG corporate heads ever read Machiavelli.”

  “Name’s familiar,” said Kent.

  “Ancient author of politics and strategy. One of his suggestions mentioned when dining with the devil, bring a long spoon.”

  “You think Capital Galactic cut a deal with the devil?”

  “The Crax are close enough.”

  “Kra,” O’Vorley said. “Thanks. I never understood why you looked out for me on the Mavinrom Dock.” His voice trembled in a hoarse whisper. “It was a nightmare. The Stegmars tore us limb from limb. The Crax had shields.” His back stiffened. “The marines took it to them. You got one to train me. Or I’d never have survived.”

  “I try to do what I think is right. This time it worked out. You don’t know how glad I am.” Now I struggled. “Some of the decisions I’ve made cost lives.”

  “We’re in a war,” Kent
said, his eyes filled with empathy. “We can only do our best to survive and win it.”

  “Easy to say,” I said, pushing faces of the dead back into hidden corners in my mind.

  “We’ll get our chance soon, I think,” Kent said. “They took the two other colonization cities. I’ve spoken to a few refugees. The Crax used a kind of neutron explosive. Like a tactical nuke, but high radiation, short duration. Kills defenders, but leaves buildings intact.”

  “Is that why we’re entrenched eight miles outside the city?”

  “Could be. General Yakumi planned some radical tactics. Trenches. Mixing R-Tech arms and I-Tech. I saw old-style, towed artillery and what I think was fission artillery shells just behind the Mink position.”

  “Chances of survival are pretty grim?”

  “Maybe not.” He led me back to the entrance. “Crab aliens supervised the digging of the trench network, or so Pillar said.” O’Vorley lifted a fitted section of rock. He pointed, and I looked at a dull metal rod imbedded there. “Some kind of shield tech, like the Crax.” He replaced the floor slab. “Captain calls them static defense screens. A-Tech, but crude he said. Don’t try to cross an activated one. They surround the artillery and pillboxes. Most bunkers like ours have one.”

  “So when the nukes fly, we hide in here and pray we don’t get buried.”

  “That’s the plan. When they send the ground troops, we rise and resist.”

  “I showed him my CNS modulator.”

  “Got mine last week. We’re not supposed to talk about them.”

  “They work,” I said. “You’ve heard the sounding?”

  O’Vorley nodded slowly. “On the Mavinrom Dock. I could hardly think, let alone aim and shoot.”

  “This’ll even the odds.”

  Someone tramped down the bunker steps. “Colonist Carver Potts?” I said. “You made it!”

  “Refugee,” he corrected. “That red-headed engineer recognized me. Said you were in town.”

  “What happened to the Kalavar? Who else made it?”

  His face twisted and he bit his lip. “To you, this’ll sound kind of funny. It’s classified?” He looked to O’Vorley. “Brought supper.” He hefted a sack and chuckled. “Field rations again.”

  O’Vorley groaned and stood. “Don’t you ever get tired of that joke? I’ll let you two eat and catch up.” He turned to me. “Don’t want to leave Moorsheen on watch alone. Still trying to train him. We can finish later.” Carver Potts sat down and handed Kent a set of binoculars as he went by.

  “Specialist Keesay, you’re a tough one,” said Potts while pulling several pouches and a long loaf of bread from the sack. “We’ll see how tough you are after a few weeks of this.”

  He set to work. “Hand me those plates.” He tore the bread in half and set one portion aside. Then he mixed a pouch of golden liquid with a dried powder, making a paste. He poured a dark syrup in it. “May I borrow your blade?”

  I handed it to him.

  He whistled. “Where do you get your equipment?”

  I shrugged. “Here and there in my travels.”

  He sliced the bread in halves and applied the pasty mixture. “It’s okay the first dozen times. It’s filling.” He offered my quarter portion.

  I tasted a wheat bread with wheat paste, a hint of apples and an unusual, not sugary syrup. “Kind of sweet.”

  “Syrup comes from the sorghum. What the goats don’t eat. That’s one of the other staples. Goat meat, goat milk, goat cheese, and sometimes honey.” He began to eat, speaking between bites. “We’ve cal-packs in the bunker, but may need them if we get isolated.”

  I ate fast, and waited until Potts finished his meal. I handed him a canteen. “What happened to the Kalavar? Her crew?”

  “Don’t know much. I think some of the security recordings survived. Of course, they didn’t share any with me, but I’ll tell you what I can.” He sat back. “After you left with the kid, we got in a firefight with some Crax and Stegmars. They got Mer. Winged the chief, but Club’s reinforcements took them from behind, like you did.” He held up a hand, then patted his slung firearm. “Unlike you, it took six with assault rifles.”

  “They killed Mer?”

  “Yeah. They did. Then we got into condensed space with a bunch of them still on board. We got them all, but they got most of us.” His eyes became distant. “Club went down in a firefight. DeLark finished the Gar that got her.”

  Potts’s feet shifted, alternating. I don’t think he was aware as he continued. “Had to climb over the Stegmar corpses to reach her body. The XO lured one Gar onto a tarp that he’d pissed on. Burnt out a section of the electrical system when he discharged a cable into it. Got caught in the backlash. Died of the burns, later.” He nodded with strong affirmation. “But he drained that Crax’s shield.”

  Potts began to rub his hands together. “Played cat and mouse for about ten hours. They getting us, we getting them. But without the Gar-Crax the Stegmars were pretty easy.”

  “Who survived? Tahgs, Benny? Who?”

  “Yeah, Specialist Tahgs made it. Like I said, the chief, the captain, me, DeLark, some colonist kids. You called them Athena, Little Elvis, Chopper. A doctor, two maintenance techs, a med tech, an engineer, and a weapons tech from the Roberts. Sorry, I don’t remember their names. I’m the only colonist that took up arms, and survived.

  “Oh, and seven first-class passengers,” he spat. “Hid and didn’t fight.” He rubbed his chin. “You know that priest? Lured a gang of Stegmars from those three kids. We never found him.”

  We sat until I broke the silence. “What about the Kalavar? Where is she?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “Hell of a busy trip here. Even the first-classers pitched in. Something about Kalavar’s structural integrity and call for decontamination.” He scratched his head. “I helped a little with the grunt work, unloading pallets. While I was doing that, I think they pulled the engines and the weapons.”

  “I’d heard they spread a nasty microbe or two through the ventilation system,” I said. “Sounds like they salvaged what they could.”

  “I think they cast her off into space. Maybe for retrieval, later. Told me to be quiet about the Kalavar. Anyone asked, I’m a refugee. That was just before the Crax came. And good thing we had time to unload.” He thumbed his rifle. “Had twenty thousand of these on board. Bunch of the neck modules that quiet the Stegmars.” He shook his head. “A bunch of other stuff. Even frozen little fish. There was another Negral transport in orbit unloading too. Weird name. Something Boxcar.”

  “The Peripatetic Boxcar?”

  “That’s it. Mer owned it too?” He took a swig from his canteen. “You were buddies with Mer. That’s how you knew?”

  “No. My cousin Oliver’s a turret gunner on her. Travels to the outer colonies. I think he knew Mer better, and got me a contract with Negral.”

  “Heard it came from Umbelgarri territory. But I’m not so sure.” He saw my apprehension. “Unloaded its cargo. Loaded food stores and days gone before the Crax attacked.”

  “I’m glad you made it,” I said.

  “Well thanks, Specialist. Never thought you liked me much.” He rubbed his stubbled jaw.

  “I didn’t. But you proved yourself on the Kalavar.”

  “I won’t claim to be the straightest man alive. But anyone who doesn’t step forward now.” He stretched. “I’ve got another few hours of watch. Keep looking for relief. They say help’s on the way.”

  “Don’t they always say that?”

  “You’re a true optimist, Specialist.” He rubbed his eyes. “Maybe you’re right. But with all this cargo they dropped. If you listen to the right people.”

  “You the only Kalavar refugee planetside?”

  “Well, I saw McAllister. She was programming our tank-bot. That purple-eyed Tahgs is somewhere in town. The colonist children, and DeLark. He’s with the Iron Turtle platoon.” He rubbed his chin and scratched his neck. “Heard Captain Tilayvaux signed on a
s XO with a damaged escort carrier. Your chief got a robotic leg. I think he and the rest of the Kalavar crew went with the captain. Come to think of it, maybe that’s where they transferred the weapon systems and engines.”

  He inched toward the steps. “Glad you’ll be in the trenches next to me.”

  “I’m just glad to be alive.”

  “Me, too,” said Potts. “O’Vorley’s okay, but next to Pillar, I think I’d rather have you at my back.”

  “You’ve made it this far. You can’t be a slouch.”

  “Well, while I watch, you pray for reinforcements.”

  I tried, but didn’t sleep well. Too many faces. I did pray. I prayed for lost friends and comrades, surviving friends and comrades. I prayed for the traitors. That was hard. But couldn’t bring myself to pray for the Crax. I finally dozed off, holding my neck, the diplomat’s death chatter rattling in my thoughts.

  Chapter 40

  The introduction of organisms on planets and moons identified for colonization is tightly regulated with infractions severely punished. Years of study and experimentation have resulted in establishment protocol. Ecosystems, inhabited by indigenous organisms complicate controlled efforts.

  Ignoring microbes, human explorers have never succeeded in 100% control of species imported, be they plant or animal. Xenobiologists believe no alien colonization effort will ever escape contamination over an extended period.

  Splat! My hand stung as I pulled it away from the bunker’s rock wall.

  “Got another one?” asked Potts.

  I flicked away the smashed brown insect. “German cockroaches you say?”

  “Yep. They’ve got little dark racing stripes on their heads.” He looked around the bunker. “One of the unintended six-leggers on Tallavaster.”

  “Not counting the Stegmar.” I checked my watch before sliding my helmet on. “My watch.”

  “Sure are punctual,” said Potts.

  “It’s only been two days and I can hardly take Moorsheen in small doses. O’Vorley’s been here longer.” I rechecked my gear. “Seems hopeless. Like O’Vorley said, Moorsheen won’t even try to learn.”