Timberwolf

by Tom Julian

  TIME TO LAND

  Kizik came down from the hammock he had spun for himself over the bridge of the Arnock troop carrier ship. He was relieved that he had been able to manipulate Timberwolf into turning off the security system. Timberwolf’s mind was so tough; interacting with him was usually like climbing through valleys and mountains.

  The thought of climbing up a mountain made him think of home, of going up to the surface and ascending the Twilight Ridge. He longed to take the pilgrimage up the strip between light and dark. He hadn’t done that in fifty years, but he longed to—to see the blazing desert that always faced the sun to the left and the windswept badlands to the right.

  Doing this gets us back to home, he thought, but he doubted he would ever get back even if he survived this. The other masters were closing themselves to him. They communicated with him, but hid their deep mind and thoughts. He knew they were scared as hell of him and what he had become. There would be no place for him back on Arnock Prime when this was over. He would be too strong a reminder of these dark times. When passing a young navigator in a corridor before, the girl could not control her thoughts. The word farhallen had slipped out. Farhallen…monster. Creature of the badlands. Beast of the wind.

  He heard the human yelling again and skittered down a corridor. Timberwolf’s brother Relaund, still in his hospital bed, was in an alcove. Lufare, a master that was the Arnock equivalent of a doctor, was trying to move him onto a flat slate so she could examine him. Kizik had insisted that he be treated as a guest and not be chemically or mentally subdued, but of course finding himself on an Arnock ship was terrifying to him. Relaund swore and screamed as Lufare worked on him. “Kill me, you spiders. Kill me,” echoed out to Kizik.

  Relaund writhed as much as he could in his wrecked body, but when he saw Kizik appear in the alcove he was silent a moment, eyes wide. Lufare took the opportunity to gently move him to the slate. Small machines began to float about him, taking his readings. Glowing restraints came out of the slate and secured his arms and legs.

  You are paralyzed, Kizik thought to him.

  “No shit!” Relaund said aloud.

  Your fifth vertebra is severed.

  “That’s what they told me. You’re going to experiment on me? Aren’t you? Take me apart bit by bit. I get it. I’m going to die slowly.”

  We will be exploring you.

  “I’ve had enough. Just do your worst. My brother won’t let this go.”

  Kizik hovered closely. After the landing on Highland, we’ll talk again.

  Kizik backed out of the room, watching as Relaund writhed and yelled some more. “We’ll kill every one of you! Every last one!”

  The fifth vertebra, Kizik thought to himself as he traveled back up to the bridge. The spine of a human, the twilight ridge, splits the sun and the wind.

  Kizik scolded himself a moment. Dealing with Relaund was a distraction. The Highland security net was down. He entered the bridge and the whole crew turned to him. He reached out to all of the Arnock with him over Highland—masters, warriors, navigators, medics, sentries, and more. It’s time to land.

  RESIDUE

  D.P.E. Archangel —Nineteen Hours Out from Highland

  Dr. Tier hadn’t left her quarters since they’d bumped Challenger. Communications were coming out of Tach-One in a deluge. Conrad and the other analysts were monitoring them and were to report any change of a tactical nature—more ships dispatched to Highland or Assault Corps moves against Department of Peace Enforcement facilities. So far there had been nothing above and beyond the current levels of folly. Secretary Bozeman had contacted her and she had ignored him. He obviously knew that she had bumped Challenger. There wasn’t anything they could have said to each other that wouldn’t have amounted to bluster.

  She hadn’t touched the Terecine since her conversation with Cardinal Jacob. She felt numb and small and exhausted. With Timberwolf presumably dead, she didn’t even have a half-friend in a position to do anything on Highland. What the hell is my plan? she asked herself. They were streaking towards Highland and had bumped Challenger, but for what? So they could have themselves a last stand against half the Assault Corps fleet? So she could order Izabeck to blow the place to hell? She put her head in her hands. There was a knock on the door, even though she had insisted on not being disturbed.

  “Come in,” she said.

  It was a young officer from the bridge, one who had future command ranks written all over her. “Sorry to disturb, Doctor. I need your thumb print.” She handed Dr. Tier a tablet computer. It was the official authorization to bump Challenger. She pressed her thumb where indicated and the officer left. Less than a minute later, without knocking, Captain Tirani entered.

  “We need to talk, Doctor Tier.” There were two security personnel with him. No one she knew. Capote, Gordon, and Roberts were nowhere to be found.

  She leaned back in her chair. “What is it, Les?” She was friendly with Captain Tirani and they typically addressed each other by first name. His face stayed a mask.

  “Doctor, you have one order I am going to let you give and that’s to name your replacement.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “When you ordered the bump, you were high as a kite. You’re on enough Terecine to knock a Phaelon into next week!”

  She took a measure of the situation. Cardinal Jacob had told him. That was obvious. But how did Les know for sure? she thought. Terecine didn’t show up in blood tests.

  “I suggest you back out of here, Captain. There is no way you can prove these allegations and frankly, Les, they are reckless. If you used that thumb print to scan my blood, you’ve found nothing.”

  “There’s residue on your damned fingers! We found it on the arm of the chair you were gripping on my bridge. We matched your prints just now to be a hundred percent certain. You put this ship and crew in incredible danger while not in control of your basic faculties.” He paced. “You had us commit an act of aggression against an Assault Corps ship that I and my command staff could be executed for!”

  “Les, I want you to calm down.”

  “No goddamned way am I calming down, Doctor. I’m dropping us out of the stream now. This adventure is over.”

  Her lip quivered with anger. She was burned for now, but had one card left to play. “No, you’re not. You said I could name a replacement. Conrad Stonefield is in charge. I’ll give him all my files.”

  He bent over her desk. “A fucking joke, Thea?”

  “Not at all,” she responded.

  “I want you to call this all off, not name some junior assistant as your replacement! You have eight other analysts on board—McCord, Cheng, Bloch to name a few.”

  “That’s my one order.”

  “Is it because he’ll do exactly as you would? Your lap boy to see this through?”

  She stood, finally showing her anger. “Jacob will have nothing on him! He’s under his radar!” she snapped. “And he might have the clarity to get us all the hell out of this.”

  “I picked the wrong goddamned team,” Captain Tirani said. “I’ll give you fifteen minutes with him to hand things off. Then you’re confined to quarters.”

  Dr. Tier nodded. She could tell in his eyes that Captain Tirani felt sorry for her, that he felt her a thing to be pitied. Les was a good man and being held in contempt by him was almost unbearable. He turned to go.

  “Here.” She threw her bottle of Terecine to him and he caught it, the tablets rattling within. Without another word he turned and left.

  THE BULLET

  On Santa Maria, Achilles had Salla helping him scan for the Arnock. The Bullet, sitting on the plain eight thousand miles from Highland, was still humming and poised to launch. They continued to scan more space, looking for the elusive cloak signatures. “It’s out there. I know it still is.” He grinned. “The Arnock think it’s safe to land and they will be very surprised.” He rolled a cigarette of sweet tobacco on the dashboard, unmistakably satisfied. “Thanks for not killing T
imberwolf,” he said.

  “You’re welcome,” she answered. “Block eighty-two, four thousand cubic miles. Nothing. I can’t see them.”

  He lit up his cigarette. It smelled like cranberries and cinnamon. She took in the pleasing smoke. “We could have left, but this is going to be a hell of a show,” he said.

  “Wait, there’s something. It’s a big signature. Eighty miles up. Sixty miles spinward. Uncloaked and visible.” She projected the readings up to a hologram in the cabin. The image of the Arnock snail-shell-shaped command ship appeared in crystal clear definition. It was gorgeous, truly a beautiful vessel.

  “I loved that ship. Zoom in.” At his voice, their view moved in closer to the hull of the ship. “Infrared.” When the infrared filter came up, it was small but clear as day. Alona was written on the side of the vessel. “That was my mom’s name. She was Alona Dacha. Four-foot-ten beauty queen of Stalingrad.”

  “What’s happening?” Salla asked, noticing something on the readings coming up through the atmosphere from Highland. A spiral was appearing in the cloud layer, like the top of a funnel, the vapor sweeping away. Moving thousands of miles an hour, a black object rose out of the opening. Salla moved to the window and she could see a black speck rising, growing larger. It swept towards them, maneuvering thrusters puffing and slowing it, passing within just a few miles. It was the giant, black, bullet-shaped object that had shaken itself free of the mountain below. After a minute or two of staring at it, Salla realized that Achilles was following The Bullet now as it headed towards the Arnock ship. “We’re chasing it?”

  “I have to see this,” Achilles replied, almost giddy. “We’ll stay a safe distance!”

  The cover of The Bullet began to drop away, long strips coming off like the peel of a banana. Soon a tightly wound bundle of something was left atop the booster. It looked like a haphazard machine, thrown together—massive, black, shiny, ribbed tubes and levers. Then it started writhing. Salla turned her attention to the holographic projection again and zoomed in on what was happening. Individual pieces of the bundle were coming free. “Oh my god, they’re alive!”

  She zoomed in closer on one of them and saw a demonic face on a creature the size of a bus. Three horns came through an armored helmet. A breather the size of a vending machine covered its mouth. Massive front and back limbs were tipped with powerful and unforgiving claws. Small puffs of maneuvering thrust came from pods on its hips.

  “They’re Sabatin. New model. Trikes. For demolition. What do you think of that?”

  “I’ve got nothing,” she said, astonished by the scene.

  The horde continued to unravel; over a hundred Trikes leaping from The Bullet now, directly onto the Arnock command ship. Red lights blinked up and down the length of the vessel as it rotated to meet the threat. White lasers lashed out from it, but there were just too many attackers. A first wave of a dozen Trikes reached the Arnock ship, smashing their armored heads against the hull like wrecking balls. They tore through the cover easily and poured inside. Salla zoomed in again and saw a Trike reach into the superstructure and begin to hurl armfuls of struggling Arnock into space.

  Suddenly, Salla and Achilles felt it in their heads. The mental scream of the Arnock, the sound of hundreds of them dying at once. Salla winced and held her head. Within just a few moments though, the agony diminished to a low a murmur as the slaughter tapered off. The Trikes were cracking the ship in two now, tearing off the external skin, climbing atop each other and bracing themselves against the spine of the superstructure. Power cells popped and exploded throughout the ship as a few last laser blasts and missiles lashed out meekly.

  The massive command ship cracked in two and quickly went dark, its sharp, functional innards spilling out from the two halves. Amongst the flotsam, some Arnock had gotten into pressurized escape suits and looked like they were running in place against the vacuum of space. Salla and Achilles felt their lives go out one by one as Trikes sliced through them almost playfully, batting them back and forth to each other like spirited guard dogs.

  Achilles smiled. “Jerry worked!” he bellowed. “They never saw that coming. God, Timberwolf. I owe him one!”

  A stray power cell exploded a little too close for comfort and Achilles slipped into the pilot’s chair, backing the Santa Maria away quickly. “Our scopes are out,” Salla said. “That power surge blinded us.” The thrusters stuttered as they backed away.

  “Power will come back,” Achilles said with a hint of anxiety in his voice. “What the hell?” Something outside alarmed him. Salla saw it too.

  “Are they coming for us?”

  Arranging themselves into waves, the Trikes were done with the Arnock command ship and were now headed towards Santa Maria. Dozens of them were just a thousand yards away now. “This thing have guns?” Salla asked.

  “You don’t want to draw their attention!” Achilles tried a manual reboot of the scopes and the thrusters, but it didn’t work. They were still blind and backing away on a fraction of their power. The first of the Trikes scrambled by them, their wide, evil faces contorted with mission. “There’s something…” Achilles managed to spin the ship to face the way they were traveling by venting puffs of atmosphere from the cabin. The turn was agonizingly slow and then they finally saw it.

  “Oh, we’re dead!” Salla gasped.

  Before them, at just a few thousand yards, was the second Arnock ship—the troop carrier that, up to that point, had not revealed itself and that they didn’t know about—the one with Kizik aboard. Spindly and studded with cylindrical landing craft, the vessel was almost done coming out of its cloak. They heard claws on the roof as a Trike used Santa Maria as a springboard.

  “Two ships? We didn’t see the other. They can’t land. Not the Arnock!” Achilles panicked, kicking the control panel in an effort to scold the thrusters back to life.

  The assault on the troop carrier was a scene of equal destruction as the command ship, except they were right in the middle of it and unable to flee or steer. A Trike appeared right beyond the hood of Santa Maria for an instant and looked directly at them. They could see the protective lenses covering its eyes and its dagger teeth sticking out from under its huge breather. The beast thrusted away and leaped towards the troop carrier, dozens of other Trikes doing the same.

  A cylindrical landing craft from the troop carrier zipped by them, streaking towards the surface. Another cylinder floated free right in front of them and a Trike rode atop it, using its claws like a can opener. Arnock spilled into the vacuum, their usual black color instantly chilled to a frosted white when exposed to space. They all kicked for a moment before stopping.

  Instead of a mass of dying beings like before, Salla and Achilles felt one mind amongst the Arnock. It was a huge presence and singular. It was Kizik, channeling and focusing the panic and fear into action. Even as the Trikes swarmed all over the troop carrier, more landing craft cylinders disconnected from it in an orderly fashion. Salla somehow knew that this was Kizik, the being inhabiting Timberwolf’s consciousness. The breadth of his intellect was staggering. Even with his attention diverted, Kizik was overwhelming, demanding, everywhere. She couldn’t imagine his mind turned to focus on her alone and what Timberwolf must have experienced on a daily basis.

  “It’s on that one!” Achilles held his head, the presence overwhelming. He pointed to a slow and deliberately moving landing cylinder. It seemed to be in a protective bubble. The Trikes thrusted towards it, but turned away when they got close, like it was a hot coal. Kizik’s landing cylinder fell towards the surface, his presence diminishing in their minds.

  Other Trikes tore the remaining landing cylinders from the ship, and then ripped them apart. “Some are getting through!” Achilles was almost screaming. He had the scopes back on now and the thrusters powered up. He turned Santa Maria towards Highland. Below them was a shower of metal and writhing Trikes. Some landing cylinders tumbled end over end and turned into fireballs in the upper atmosphere.

&
nbsp; “It’s cracking in half!” On a scope, Salla saw the troop carrier above them bending at its thin midpoint, the last of its landing cylinders disconnecting. The Trikes leaped away from it all at once and a moment later, the power cells along its superstructure exploded in a chain reaction, one after another.

  “We can’t stay here!” Achilles said.

  “Take us down,” Salla responded.

  “I can’t go down there. That gives away everything!” A hunk of metal, like a giant, jagged elbow swept past them, a Trike riding in the bend.

  Salla begged him with her eyes. Please get us out of here!

  He dipped his head for a moment. “Penny, I’m sorry!” he said, too low for Salla to hear. He punched the thrusters and headed into the maelstrom of debris and Trikes below them. Where they had previously ignored them, the beasts leaped at their ship now from all sides, snapping and trying to latch on.

  Achilles corkscrewed Santa Maria, weaving between the Trikes and debris. Highland took over the full window as its creamy white cloud layer grew closer every second. Salla braced herself against the wall in the back of the cabin, as they dove towards the world.

  Achilles pulled up as the ship began to skim the atmosphere, an orange glow appearing outside the window. Out a rear porthole, Salla saw the darkness of space brighten. But hanging onto Santa Maria’s tail by a claw—was a Trike.

  “We’ve got a trailer!”

  Achilles checked the rearview monitor. “Okay, would you come please take over?” he asked, unnaturally calm.

  Salla struggled across the cabin and into the copilot seat. Before she was in, Achilles was up. The ship spiraled as she grabbed the controls, but she quickly righted it.