by Ken Bebelle
He put his hands on his knees and dry-heaved. Cam pulled out her own bandana and handed it to him. Jonesy accepted it and mopped his face and took another swig of water.
She contacted O’Neill, “Clear in the front. We’ve got lots of bodies. Not sure what killed them, but don’t touch any of them. Over.”
O’Neill’s gravelly voice came through the comms. “Copy that. Same on this side. We’re ready to head in.”
Ringheads liked to break necks or spines in their killing frenzy. Yet here they found a mix of corpses, with some of the villagers posed in a grotesque vignette who didn’t look mangled in the usual Ringhead kill style. It was not looking good for the possibility of survivors. Cam steeled herself. It was her responsibility to keep the team safe, but they needed to find survivors--if there were any.
“Weapons tight. Eyes and ears open for survivors, people.” Cam pointed to the Inn and Jonesy stood up, moving to point and bringing his custom modified blaster to bear. Nell fell in with Mack just behind him. Cam brought up the rearguard and they picked their way across the rubble to the main entrance. The tall oaken doors were smashed inward, ripped off the hinges. The ornate metalwork of the hinges littered the ground, shattered into wet fragments.
The lavish interior of the Inn opened on a scene of bedlam. The doors had landed at the far side of the lobby, obliterating the registration desk. Dark stains on the rug hinted at a body underneath one of the doors, crushed on impact. The bodies of some three dozen staff and guests lay strewn about, all with their eyes wide open. The dark wood panels glistened, as if wet. Cam took in the gruesome scene before her and immediately scanned the ornate, large-paned windows. Nothing outside but encroaching darkness.
This attack had happened fast. No time for warning, no time for evacuation. In this warm climate, they’d assumed they were safe from the Ringheads. We were wrong. Now these poor souls were gone.
How could the cold-seeking aliens survive in this warm climate? New armor? Do the Ringheads have a new weapon? Both thoughts were too frightening for Cam to contemplate. Stick to the mission.
“South side is clear.” O’Neill reported. Then in a lower voice, “LT, you’ve got to see what’s in the kitchen.”
Dread slithered in her gut at those words. She shoved it down. “On our way.”
Cam signaled to Jonesy and he strode through the foyer, his black assault boots sinking into the plush carpeting, to a door marked staff only. Under her feet the carpet felt spongy, squelching like wet moss. Cam swatted away the niggling thought that it could be blood drenching the carpet as she and her team moved into the banquet area.
Jonesy and Campbell stood on each side of the tall elaborately carved double doors to the banquet hall and pushed their way in, revealing Bravo team awaiting them. Water puddled across the dark parquet floor. Not blood after all.
She nodded to O’Neill, “What do you got for me?” He nodded towards the swinging kitchen doors. Fingers of frost crept out from around the door and along the walls. A fine white mist flowed steadily out from the bottom of the doors.
Cam pushed through the doors and was assaulted with a wave of bitter cold washing over her. Her breath fogged out before her and her boots crunched through shards of ice and shattered tile.
A thick white frost covered every inch of the kitchen. An icy draft blew down from a ragged hole in the ceiling, open to the clear night sky. The hole had clearly been created by the impact of the alien artifact standing ominously in the center of the room. An alien cylinder, eight feet tall, embedded into the floor, and surrounded by dazzling fist-sized ice crystals. It was dark blue-gray and covered with sinuous cables which entwined around each other like mating snakes. Faint blue lights played along the lengths of these cables.
Campbell crossed herself and whispered a prayer under her breath.
Burke popped his head in and then let out a long sigh. “I’ve been sweating like a pig out there. Looks like the AC only works in here.”
Campbell punched him in the shoulder and then stepped away. Probably getting away from Burke’s usual rank B.O.
Cam took another look around and cursed. Looking behind the artifact she saw several cables shot through the far wall of the kitchen. The cables clustered over the sink, boring through the old brick. Blooms of frost surrounded the cables where they entered the walls.
We were fools to think that the monsters would stay confined to the colder parts of the world. It was only a matter of time.
O’Neill cleared his throat loudly. “LT?”
It brought her back. She finally made the connection her shocked mind had been running around. “Jesus. It’s just like The Needle.”
Everyone heard the capitalization. These mini-Needles looked like they had the same xeno-forming capabilities as the massive alien artifact in Antarctica. Nell backed up a step, her hand coming up for her cross again.
The lights began to pulse brighter and faster and the entire structure glowed, almost swelling in the strange light. The ice crystals at the base of the structure cracked and shattered. A yawning chasm of fear opened up in her chest.
Cam barked, “Back! Everyone back off!” Anxiety gripped her in its relentless fist as her troops slowly backed to the door.
A dull thud sounded, a beat she felt through her boots. A hammerblow of crippling cold flowed out from the Needle, driving everyone back several steps. O’Neill dropped to a knee and gasped. The cold bit sharp and deep into Cam’s lungs, knocking the wind from her. Behind her, someone was heaving--it sounded like Jonesy.
The artifact resumed its steady glow, and the rime of frost on the floor grew, intricate patterns of ice reaching out for them.
“Shit.” Cam could barely speak. “Everyone out!”
Cam and her team stumbled out of the kitchen and back into the lobby. The door swung shut, shielding them from the pulsing waves of cold. Cam stood, and took a shaky breath. The sharp pain in her lungs was fading. An unpleasant sensation she recognized as fear now rose in her chest, her mouth going dry at the at the implications of what she had seen. She shivered, this time from distress. Ringheads confirmed.
Cam cleared her throat, disturbed but unsure what to say. O’Neill fiddled with the zipper on his tactical vest, giving her a moment. They both knew what a grim development the appearance of this icy room signaled. The Ringheads were cold climate creatures, their pale blue hides pebbly and tough. They only struck humans in the coldest regions--until now. Had these aliens figured out a way to withstand the desert temperatures in Nevada?
Two
This is Recon Only
SASHA
Earlier that day
In the afternoon light from the lone window in their barracks room, Sasha checked the duty roster with a grunt of disgust and chucked her tablet on her bunk. Third generation West Point, decorated with two Purple Hearts, and relegated to patrol duty again. She blew out a long breath of frustration, ruffling the short, dark bangs on her forehead.
She glanced in the corner of her quad. Ace still slept, nearly hidden under his drab olive comforter. Sasha envied him his late night out and day off today. That boy was getting all sorts of action on and off base with the pilot bunnies. Good thing he’d had his shots.
Their bunkmates, Carmichael and Akins left much earlier leaving behind neat bunks. Sasha appreciated having tidy roommates. Sasha picked up the tablet with its offending duty roster postings, stowed it, and then tightened the corners on her bunk again. Now every bunk but the one Ace was snoring away in matched, their lightweight gray blankets and snowy white sheets sporting neat corners.
At least after duty she'd have time to get to the lab and work on Betsy. She’d been tinkering with the plasma railgun customization, a smaller version of the one mounted on the armored vehicles, working on the portability problem. Stan had helped, for weeks now, and Sasha thought she may have finally solved it.
Still, patrols and lab time were a poor substitute for a spot on the front line blasting Ringheads.
She lifted her right hand to her face, studying its smooth alloy contours and clenched and unclenched slowly, testing all the mechanics of her cybernetics. Her whole right arm was a product of modern engineering, and she could practically lift an armored personnel carrier with it. Certainly capable of lifting a little old plasma rail gun, and Sasha wanted to share her beautiful creation with the Wolves. Nobody else had an enhanced arm like hers. She’d even given her new arm a name--“Ripper” in honor of Cal Ripken, baseball’s original “Iron Man”.
In some ways, she loved this new arm, trusting that it would never let her down the way her mere flesh had. In other ways, she just missed her fucking arm, the one she had been born with. Still, Sasha dressed in her customary white tank, refusing to hide Ripper. Hell, she liked having Ripper. Liked watching the play of dim light in the mirror showing off the bright flashing contours of her cybernetic arm.
Sasha let her right arm release and decided to quit moping like a damn loser. Her time here in the West Coast base had been spent learning how to use the new arm, building weapons, assembling her fledgling team, and getting some action from one of the hot lab techs. Overall, not a bad way to pass six months.
Sasha eyed the pullup bar and the mounts on the side of the doorway. She took a small hop and grabbed the bar with her left hand, absurdly proud that she didn’t need a goddamn stool given how high up the bar was and her short stature.
She proceeded to knock out five one-armed pull ups with her left arm, her neck taut from the strain. Taking a breather, she flexed and stretched her left forearm and wrist before reversing her grip to underhand and finishing five one-armed chin ups.
Warm now, and feeling pretty good she sauntered down the wide gray hallways from the sleeping quarters to the mess hall. Before the arrival of Ripper in her life, Sasha thought she was hot shit doing one armed pull ups with her opposing hand wrapped around her engaged wrist. Now she called that cheating, instead letting Ripper dangle by her side while her left arm really got a work out.
She remembered the way Ace sneered at her, “Easy for you, Tiny. Some of us have more muscle mass to lift.” She still kicked his ass during the one-armed pushup challenge and he’d done her mess hall cleanup duty for a week.
Ace liked to brag about his tough workouts and sported a ripped eight-pack of dazzling corded muscle for his labors. It was nice to take the pilot down a notch. Of course all the Wolves were in damned good shape, and bored out of their ever lovin’ minds. That meant they hit the workout room a lot. Or slept with anything that moved. Or both.
Phillips and Gunny kept them all busy with chores and more chores, but what they needed was to kick some saggy blue alien ass. She picked up her pace, agitated as she thought of the forced inactivity. She left the barracks and headed across the exercise yards and PT spaces to the squat utilitarian main buildings.
Along the long gray corridors, the stomp of her boots echoed against the dark industrial tiles, a dull rapid staccato. Closer to the mess hall, the tantalizing scent of bacon called to her. Mmm, bacon. She smiled at the thought. She loved when they served breakfast all day. Three squares was always good but when all three included breakfast foods? Bonus.
As she entered the mess hall, a large open room with rows and rows of metal tables and benches, Sasha made a beeline to the coffee dispensers set on the back tables. Taking a double shot and dosing liberally with cream, Sasha downed it, savoring the hot brew. No question, life in the private sector had definite perks, and the searing hot coffee was right up top, just below the sweet weaponry and primo armor.
In a better mood now, Sasha surveyed the room, with the small clusters of Wolves chowing down at various tables. Out of habit, she ignored Alvarez and her team. Marines. Enough to kill her appetite. Almost.
Sasha piled up a mountain of crisp bacon and hit the dispenser for some mystery juice. Her flimsy metal tray fully loaded now with protein and sugar, she practiced balancing the flimsy and precarious tray with just Ripper as she made her way to the table where some respectable Army folks had camped out.
Simmons and Lee lifted their chins at her in greeting, but kept chewing. Good kids. She’d recruited them herself from the Yukon station. Lee showed some real talent with the carbine, and was surprisingly stealthy for such a big guy. As for Simmons, he didn’t talk much and Sasha appreciated his quiet competence.
Sasha plopped herself down and tucked in, eating the lukewarm bacon with her fingers. The three of them ate in companionable silence, pausing only to hand the salt and pepper around. Mesmerized, she watched Lee methodically spread butter over his pancakes, lay out three strips of bacon, drizzle corn syrup and then hot sauce over it, and then fold his pancake into some kind of magical breakfast taco. That kid was a genius. For a few minutes, only chewing and the clink of forks could be heard.
Finally pushing away her empty tray, Sasha eyeballed Alvarez and her unit over at the next table. She actually didn’t know most of them. Except Jonesy. That Jonesy was sure easy on the eyes. She wouldn’t mind climbing that mountain. Jonesy liked personally customizing his weapons too, a big plus in her book.
The two of them had shot the shit in the machine room, and he was nice enough to give her suggestions on modifying Betsy to get the weight down. It’d been a pure joy listening to the big guy rhapsodize about guns, and she’d found herself itching to trace those metallic neural patterns on his face. Down, girl.
For all of her natural suspicion of Marines, Sasha freely admitted that Alvarez and her mates were tight. That was something Sasha was still working on with her own fledgling team.
Her unit wasn’t complete, either, which was also a sore spot between her and Phillips. Brass bastard had let Alvarez snap up that sharp kid Cho to fill the last spot on that unit and it was slim pickings of late. She was still a man short for her unit.
Alvarez suddenly stood up, her tall frame drawing eyes. “Nell, go find Burke. Meet us at the war room.” Chairs scraped against the floor as the Marines double timed it to bus their trays and assemble in the war room.
Lee swallowed the last bite of his pancake taco and then hollered at the tallest member of the team, “Yo! Mack, what’s the deal?” Mack shrugged and pointed at Alvarez’s back before following her out of the mess hall.
Sasha didn’t buy Mack’s nonchalance. The sandy haired giraffe looked excited, his boots practically skipping on the tiles as he scrambled after his LT. This flurry of movement piqued Sasha’s interest. Something big is going on.
Alvarez pushed her way out the main doors, just brushing past a sleepy eyed Ace on his way into the mess hall. Sasha watched with amusement as Alvarez nearly mowed him over. As usual, his gray Air Force t-shirt looked freshly ironed and his dark gray SDU pants didn’t so much as have a speck of dirt on them.
As the procession streamed around him Ace called out, “Where’s the fire?”
His honey and cigar smoke tone reverberated around the mess hall. One of the soldiers paused and flashed a pert smile at Ace. Of course. Sasha looked on with interest as Ace gave the trim blonde woman a slow smile in return, an attractive dimple creasing his tanned face.
“Hey, Nell. Slow your roll. Have coffee with a lonely soldier.”
She reached up and tousled his short dark hair with casual affection. “I’ll take a raincheck, flyboy. I’ve got some Ringheads to hunt,” And with that bombshell, the sweet faced Nell took off.
Sasha sucked in a quick breath, hardly daring to hope. Ringheads here?
Sasha rushed up to Ace, “Did she just say what I thought she just said?”
Ace nodded, a quick jerk of his head. Sasha didn’t detect any of his usual amusement. Instead his dark eyes met her own, looking as alert as if he had just popped a stim to fly a night mission.
“Well c’mon then. Let’s get to the war room!” Sasha yanked his arm, an enthusiastic tug that caused a wince. Oops. She sometimes forgot not to use Ripper on people.
“Easy, Tiny. I haven’t had my coffee yet,” Ace rubbed his fo
rearm a bit and started back towards the food.
“Ringheads, you dumbass! Get your fucking joe later!” Sasha yanked him again, this time with her left arm.
Ace rolled his eyes. “Fine.”
She knew he would follow her. They sped down the hallways to the war room, Sasha taking nearly double the amount of strides to keep with his longer legs. Her heart pounded, not from exertion, but from sheer excitement.
As they rounded the corner to the war room, she saw the last of Alvarez’s team slip in. Ace stopped her with an arm bar. “You sure you want to go in there, Tiny?” She knew he meant that they would get a massive ass chewing from Phillips for barging in.
Unfortunately, there were no windows on the doors of the war room. Just two imposing panels, utterly soundproofed, and likely blaster proof. Damn.
She hated to wait. Sasha ran her left hand through her hair, leaving spiky tufts in its wake. “He’s briefing them now. Alvarez and her unit are going to get some Ringhead action!” Sasha stopped short of actually whining. But she wanted to use Ripper to punch through the door panels. Actually, that would work.
Ace shrugged. “You don’t know that.”
Sasha jerked her gaze away from the doors to stare at him but then realized Ace was referring to the Ringheads and not punching the door down.
“We’ll wait till they’re done and then get the goods.” Ace crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, his trim frame a study in casual relaxation.
Stoic fucker. She hated when he was so reasonable. She knew he was right, that if she marched in there, that Phillips would just order her nosy ass right out.
Sasha shifted her weight, getting more aggravated by the second. Finally she caved and leaned against the wall too. As soon as she did so, Ace stood straight. “OK, since you’re just going to wait here, I’ll go back and get my coffee. They should be done by then.” He turned and began whistling on his way back to the mess hall.
