by Randy Dyess
“Even if I get captured by spiders or Senate goons, no reaction.”
“Understood, Sergeant Major,” the scout leader said before racing off to her hiding spot.
“Are the other squads dispersed?” Rutger asked.
“Yes, Rodney and Sam both reported that all squads have found locations that cannot be scanned by known technology. If the spiders have better scanners than ours, which we can assume, I don’t know what will happen. If it’s your friends, though, we are safe.”
“I wish they were my friends—then they could just take us off this damn planet and drop us off on some tropical planet with plenty of water to scare the spiders away.”
“Keep wishing,” McCoons chuckled. “You’re in this for the long haul, like it or not. Your butt is going to be right beside mine, fighting these monsters wherever and however we can—even if we have to go through the entire Senate Intelligence to do so.”
Rutger just smiled, thinking they might have to do that before it was all over. “Want to bet on who it is?”
“What?”
“Your friends or my old friends. If it’s your friends, I’ll buy you a nice bottle of brandy. If it’s my old ones, you buy me one.”
“It’s a bet,” Sergeant Major McCoons said, holding out his hand to shake on it. “Come on, let’s get to our positions until we know who’s coming to visit us.”
“Lead the way, Sergeant Major McCoons, sir. Marines are always first—isn’t that your motto?”
“No, but I like it. It’s our motto, now.”
“What was old your motto?”
“Here to serve.”
“You’re kidding! Serve what—breakfast and tea?”
McCoons chuckled, “Something like that.” Both men crawled under the heavy metal table that would block their heat signatures from the vessel and they watched the small dot in the distance grow larger.
“Recognize it?” the sergeant major asked a few minutes later.
“No, do you?”
“It looks familiar, but I can’t quite place it. I don’t recognize those protrusions on the top.”
“Almost looks like weapons,” Rutger replied.
“I know, but they’re way too big,” McCoons replied.
“Whatever they are and whoever they are, they’ll be landing in a few minutes.”
Once the ship had landed on the tarmac at the marine base, Sergeant Major McCoons let out a whistle. “I recognize the ship now, but if those are weapons on the top, they’re new and they’re damn big.”
“Who is it?”
“You owe me a bottle of brandy,” he smiled as he crawled out of his position.
Chapter 18
Woryant had spent a third of a rotation in Klachur’s office, having his harvest plans and schedules ripped apart. After being yelled at by Klachur the entire time, they ended up exactly where they’d started. He had reassembled Woryant’s harvest plans and schedules into his “new and improved” plan and sent him back to his office to “work things out correctly, this time.” Woryant was exhausted, but he couldn’t rest—Klachur wanted an updated status in forty sub-rotations.
“Analysis complete,” his computer announced. He had forgotten he’d asked his AI to perform an analysis on the latest harvests and make suggestions.
“And your analysis is?”
“Recommend changing to harvest plan Creagnit.”
What is harvest plan Creagnit? Woryant thought. “Display harvest plan Creagnit,” he commanded.
The AI displayed the details and schedules for the new harvest plan on Woryant’s display. This might work. It even allows for the use of the harvesting fleets and not the invasion fleet. Klachur would never know. Harvest plan Creagnit called for the harvest of multiple planets at once with the Freack creating a temporary base on strategic planets. No planets would be skipped during the harvest and the motherships would only return to the home territory when they were filled. They would then deposit the humans on farm planets, so they could be harvested as needed. They would be able to be kept viable in status for blems without affecting the taste of their meat.
“Do you want to implement harvest plan Creagnit?” the computer asked.
“What are the statuses of farm planets in the home territory?” Woryant asked.
“Five farm planets report a status of blue. Two more could be ready in two blems.”
“Good, and the status of the Nabval Freack?”
“Nabval Freack would take one-eighth of a blem to activate. Recommend activation immediately to harvest planets M98978 and M98979.”
That would work, Woryant thought. His earlier plan had called for skipping any planet too moist for the Freack harvesters, but the Nabval Freack were suited for moist worlds. He did not have as many of them as regular Freack, but they only had to harvest areas the regular Freack missed.
“Do you require activation of the Nabval Freack?”
“Yes, activate immediately. Adjust the plan to include the immediate harvest and occupation of planets M98971 and M98972. Establish bases on both planets. I want all human-colonized moons and asteroids skipped on the first scheduled harvest to be included in this harvest. If the Freack cannot harvest the colonies and asteroids, destroy them.” Woryant looked up at his display. “Zoom in on the Ea sector of Emea.”
“As you command,” the computer replied.
“Display all planets already harvested and your estimations of remaining human populations on those planets.” The computer complied with Woryant’s order and he could see that there would be plenty of humans left for the second round of harvesting to satisfy Klachur’s quota. “Recalculate the plan and schedule to have all humans harvested from these planets using regular Freack and Nabval Freack.”
“As you command,” the computer replied and quickly showed the new projections on Woryant’s display.
“Now, recalculate to include the complete harvest of all planets remaining in the Ea sector, including the M98978 and M98979 using the Nabval Freack.”
“As you command,” the computer replied before showing the new projections.
“Do we have enough farm capability to hold the harvested humans?”
“I estimate two farm planets would be needed to hold all humans, in addition to the one farm planet already in operation.”
Three farm planets are too many, Woryant thought. I can hide the budget for two at most. “Mix the humans with the species on the farm planet already in operation and recalculate.”
“As you command,” the computer replied. “New estimates show one additional farm planet would be required.”
“Good. Adjust the plan to include the activation of one new farm planet and utilize the existing farm planet to hold humans, as well as the other species.”
“As you command,” the computer replied.
“Now, adjust the plan and schedule to have the entire Ea sector harvested of all humans and repopulated with Gyrdyds and their food sources. How long would it take to begin new harvest of Gyrdyds from those planets?”
“As you command,” the computer said. “Adjusting all planets in the Ea sector to Gyrdyds food source would require one hundred pulses.”
“Would we have enough humans on the already-effected planets to make our quotas until the Gyrdyds can be harvested?”
“Negative. Achieving the quota would require the continuation of human harvesting.”
“Huh,” Woryant said.
“Cannot compute ‘huh,’” the computer replied.
Woryant ignored it as he thought. “Recalculate the plan to include the complete harvesting of the Ea sector and the Mx sector. Harvest at a rate to satisfy the quota and repopulate the planets with Gyrdyds until Gyrdyds are established enough to satisfy the quota. Display the new projections on my display when completed.”
“As you command,” the computer said.
“Did you factor in resistance from the humans based on what we have seen so far?”
“Affirmative,” the comput
er responded.
This might work, Woryant thought. It would require the complete harvest of two trillion humans and the reconfiguration of ninety-five human planets to Grydyd, but it would work.
“Do you require activation of the new plan?”
“How many additional ships and nests are required?”
“Five new mothership fleets and their nests would be required.”
I can get away with that, Woryant thought. “Activate new plan. Call it Woryant Five.”
“As you command,” the computer replied, sending out the signal to activate the new Freack nests, motherships, and their escorts.
*****
Sergeant Major McCoons walked toward the familiar ship with a huge grin on his face. As soon as Dakota powered it down, she ran out of the cargo hatch and gave him a big hug. “I’m so happy to see you alive,” she said.
“We’re so happy to be alive,” McCoons replied.
“How many?” Robert asked.
“Seventy-six marines and five Senate Intelligence agents.”
“Intelligence agents?”
“Hi, I’m Rutger Burchard, ex-agent of the Senate Intelligence Agency,” Rutger stepped forward.
“I’m Robert Sullivan and this is my sister, Dakota Sullivan, of Sullivan Shipping and Security,” Robert said.
“The Robert Sullivan?” Rutger asked as his eyes widened.
“Yes,” Sergeant Major McCoons said. “I told you I had good friends.”
Dakota cleared her throat, “And the Dakota Sullivan.”
“Right,” Sergeant Major McCoons said. “I could never forget the person who saved every one of my marines.”
“How’s that?”
“You gave us these wonderful weapons,” he said as he activated his nano-blade. “Without these, none of us would still be here.”
“Technically,” Robert replied, “you need to thank Cheyenne and her team for those. Dakota just delivered them, like any good freighter captain would.”
Dakota slugged Robert in the arm before saying, “Why don’t you two come into the mess hall? I’m sure you would like some proper food.”
“And a drink,” Rutger replied. “We have a lot to talk about.”
“We have plenty of time,” Dakota responded. “The spider fleet has left orbit.”
“Maybe, but a Senate freighter will be landing on this planet in less than a day. They are supposed to pick up my team with the spiders we were ordered to capture.”
“Maybe we should skip the meal and get down to business, then,” Dakota replied.
“What a minute! No need to get drastic, here—I can talk with my mouth full,” McCoons joked.
*****
“Five landing ships and four assault ships!” Fidel exclaimed.
The rest of the marines and Senate agents had quickly made their way into the Sullivan’s Revenge and Dakota had launched the ship into orbit. Robert and Sergeant Major McCoons were disappointed when she canceled the bombing test and ordered the Sullivan’s Revenge to make its way to Pegasus Prime. She did not want the Senate ship to show up and find evidence of a bombing pattern that would differ from the spiders’ plasma balls.
“Yes,” Dakota responded proudly.
“Your sister designs beautiful weapons,” McCoons said.
“She does, but it may not be enough,” Robert said before introducing his concerns with the change in spider tactics.
“We noticed that, as well. So, you think the strategic bombing was in response to Rutger’s and Fidel’s trip to Chaovis?”
“Yes, and I think our attack on their ships will cause them to change tactics again. Cheyenne and her team are already carrying a heavy enough load. I don’t know how much more we can ask of them if we need to create a whole new set of weapons.”
“Maybe I can help,” Fidel said.
“How?” Dakota asked.
“I’ve been stationed on Hybee for the past few years and I know the researchers there very well. They don’t care who they work for—they just want to be able to research the latest weapons and equipment. They’re research weenies, not political types, and I doubt most of them even know who their senator is or who signs their paychecks. Once we get back, lend me a ship and I’ll pick up your sister and go have a talk with them.”
“Weenies?” Dakota asked.
“Sorry—slang for someone who doesn’t go into combat. Don’t get me wrong, we wouldn’t be alive without them.”
“Well,” Dakota replied, “don’t let Cheyenne hear you say that, or she might rig your nano-blade to come out backward.”
All the marines and agents around the table pictured their nano-blades coming out backward and what it would do to them. “You’re right. I apologize. We won’t use that term again,” Fidel said.
Dakota and Robert held it in for a minute before bursting out laughing. “We use the same term,” Dakota said between laughs. “Cheyenne just stares at us and crosses her arms until we tell her we’re sorry.”
Everyone laughed at that. “I still wouldn’t make it a habit,” Robert said. “I’ve been in some scary places in my life and met some dangerous people, but Cheyenne is not someone I would ever want coming after me.” The marines and agents looked at Robert, waiting for the joke, but it never came. He was serious about the capabilities of his sister.
Fidel cleared his throat, “As I was saying, if Cheyenne went to Hybee with me, five minutes of showing those researchers what she has discovered so far would be enough to have all of them packing their bags and walking away from the Senate’s labs. They’d bring all their research with them and insist it’s more important than anyone else’s and Cheyenne would have to sort through it all, but they’d come. They know Hybee is in line to be attacked soon, and the Senate probably won’t evacuate them in time. Give them a chance to continue research in a safe place and you’d have them all scrambling to get on board.”
Robert and Dakota looked at each other and nodded in agreement. “I’ll contact Cheyenne and make the arrangements,” Robert said. “I already have a team on Hybee making contact with the researchers, but I’ll pull them off and try your approach.”
“Now,” Dakota said, “I understand you want to make the Senate believe you didn’t make it off of Shaserus. Do you have plans?”
“Not really,” Rutger said. “I mean, all of us have made escape plans, in case we got burned by the Senate, but it’s nothing pliable if the outer rims are being raided. How can you hide if spiders can show up and take you captive at any time?”
“We can find something for you to do,” Robert said. “We’re in this together and need all the help we can get. Let’s talk later about how exactly we can use you.”
“And you?” Dakota asked while looking at Sergeant Major McCoons. “This time, I’m not going to take no for an answer. You can’t continue to let the marines put you in harm’s way. You need to walk away and join us.”
McCoons looked at the other marines before responding. “We’ve already decided to join you. Shaserus was the largest marine base and we lost every marine with any combat experience. There might be a few dozen on Terran Navy ships we can pull in, but no other large groups exist outside Marine Command, and they’re useless.”
“We’ve agreed to let Marine Command think we’ve been captured,” Sergeant Henry said. “We all want to join the real fight against the spiders.”
“We want you to join, as well,” Dakota said, “although, based on a recent conversation with Robert, none of you may like what we’re going to ask you to do.”
They looked at her with a little fear. They’d been through combat with the spiders, but plans that were tougher than spider combat made them worry. “What is that, ma’am?” Sergeant Preston choked out.
Dakota smiled. “The time’s come for people with experience to become leadership. We can’t afford to lose the only marines we have with direct combat experience. I’m afraid you four are now officers in… what did you call it?”
“Rim Wo
rld Combat Marines,” Sergeant Major McCoons replied.
“Right. You’re going to have to lead, train, and help develop tactics—not get yourselves directly in the fight with spiders.”
The four marine NCOs looked at each other before replying, “Agreed.”
“Would we report to you?” Sergeant Henry asked.
“We haven’t worked that out, yet,” Robert responded. “We need to create a fleet organization, along with your land forces. Some of you may be needed to train shipboard marines while others train and organize larger forces.”
“Where are we going to get enough marines to do that?” Sergeant Yamikani asked.
“From the worlds that have already been attacked,” Dakota replied. “It’s time for humans to stop running from these monsters and start fighting back. Who better to join that fight than the ones who have already lost everything and been abandoned by the rest of humanity?”
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On The Run
Copyright: Randy Dyess
Published: 5th March 2017
Publisher: Lazy Dog Publishing
The right of Randy Dyess to be identified as the author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
