by Geoff Brown
The sergeant's visor was flipped up. What could Tantas read on his face? Resignation? Relish for the approaching fight? Certainly not fear. Sergeant's right eye quivered, the liquid metal changing as it gathered data, scrying the battle to come. “This is it then, Private.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Tantas murmured. Him must find his own emotions. Sergeant had taught him a lot, but he couldn't teach this.
“Looks like there's a couple of hundred,” said Sergeant. “We number a thousand. This going to be smooth and easy.” Sergeant had a reassuring manner. You trusted him.
Tantas dared a scan of the enemy. Them a little closer now, five minutes closer. You could see the shimmering metal of their hive interface helmets.
“You ready for this?” asked Sergeant
“No, Sergeant!” Tantas snapped out the response, hoping to make the sergeant grin.
The sergeant's good eye rolled towards Osiris. “Do your best, Private. I got a feeling that you going to get through this.”
It was a feeling Tantas didn't share.
Sergeant strode off, shouting encouragement to the five quints him directing. Five times five, in a makeshift battalion of a thousand men and women. Tantas wondered how many were proper soldiers, and how many were like him: amateurs fighting for their life.
Him didn't want to let the sergeant down. It made him 'shamed to recall how him had chaffed against military discipline in them first few days of training.
“But I'm not a soldier,” Tantas had complained. “I don't see why I should have to ...” Like a child, ridiculous, whining at unfairness.
“All you need to do is to be able to point and shoot, and follow orders, can you do that?”
“Yes, I suppose, but I'm not quite sure...”
“Yes, what?”
“Look, I'm obviously off-world, Sergeant,” him explained.
“So,” said Sergeant. “You think this no your fight?”
“I'm a poet,” explained Tantas. Well, him waited tables. Not much money in poetry. That's why him moved to Lyceum, the last stop on the galaxy's underground. Cheap to live out here, on the fringes of the conglomeration. Plus him thought that it would be romantic, on the frontier. Them lots of artists types living in Capital, or at least there had been.
The sergeant had sighed. “Just fight, when time comes, Private Jackson.” Him looked so weary, that it made Tantas 'shamed. Think on, Tantas. Who the sergeant lost? Capital's military base had been assimilated in the first wave.
If it wasn't for Sergeant, Tantas no be here. Dress it up anyway you wanted, but that was the truth. The hivers swept through Capital like locusts, consuming everything in their path, everything.
Only because of Sergeant trundling through Capital streets, gathering up survivors into that armoured bus of his had Tantas survived.
* * *
Map took his place alongside Tantas. Map was Acting Private Clayton Shalm, a middle-aged food corp executive. Him showed an aptitude for parsing the spatial topography of the military helmets and it was him who'd take direction from Sergeant during battle.
“This will give you something to write about, Wordsworth,” said Map.
Once the quint had found out that Tantas was a poet, the nickname was inevitable. Give someone a tag and you built up a connection, a shared knowledge that kept you separate from the rest of the world.
“Do you think that friendship is a necessity of war, Map?” asked Tantas.
“You do talk rubbish, mate,” said Map.
Tantas smiled. Him said it to wind Map up. Him too straight for Tantas' liking, what with Tantas being a poet and a bohemian, and all.
Him said it, also, to remind himself that he was himself. Tantas didn't think like most of the soldiers, amateur or regular. Except maybe Joy. Maybe there was only two people on Lyceum who could name Phobus and Deimus. Maybe there were a few more who could sense them, maybe.
“I'm glad not to being going back in there,” said Tantas pointing to the trench room which they shared with three other quints.
“Yeh,” agreed Map. “Too many women in too small a space.”
“No such thing as too many women, my friend,” said Tantas. A lie. It had been difficult for Tantas, to be holed up in the trench room. It wasn't just the display of flesh. It was the intimacy, the smells, the sound, the sighs of sleep. It had been curiously un-sexual for Tantas.
“We sitting ducks,” said Map. “Them could just lob a bomb in.”
“They don't do that,” said Tantas. “Everyone is valuable to them. They don't want to kill us. They want to assimilate us.”
Map was sweating. “You reckon it's true that them harder to kill than us?”
Tantas shook his head. “It's just propaganda. If we believe that they're indestructible, it does half the job for them.”
“I just hope that I no see anyone I know,” said Map.
Just imagine that. Someone you knew, bound into the terrible concordance of hiver thought. Someone you knew, who you had to kill. Tantas leant to one side, heaving up thin bile.
“Better out than in,” said Map, slapping him on the back.
Joy, Trigger and Barns joined them. Tantas had never took a liking to Trigger and Barns. Didn't matter no more because the signal on the internal screens flashed for the push.
“This is it,” said Barns, squeezing Trigger's hand.
“Go. Go. Go,” shouted Map.
Scaling the trench. Running towards the enemy. Tantas firing his laser-gun, thrumming.
“Keep to the quint,” Sergeant had told them. “That way you be over-lapping circles of power. Keep to that and don't think about what you have to do.”
Tantas watched his laser firing, slicing into the body of a hiver. The hiver's arm sliding off, obscene. No sound. Them died. Them were flesh. Once them human, but now them silence.
Casually almost, a hiver stepped in front of Tantas. A woman. Him fired his gun, looking into the woman's eyes. Eyes crazed with fractured lines and a smile on her face. The hiver breathed, releasing the viral particles, all the weapon them had. Tantas cut the woman down, praying that his helmet mask was functioning, filtering out the assimilating breath.
Them moved ahead as a quint, protecting each other, moving into the centre of the melee. By chance avoiding assimilation. That was all it was, just chance. A certain proportion of them were marked for Atropos' shears. It didn't matter.
“Keep going to the right. To the right,” shouted Map. Him getting on Tantas' nerves. Even though him knew that Sergeant was directing their progress, and Map was a relay. Sergeant had a little baby computer in his head, able to process all the data. Him sending them into the optimum place for attack.
Tantas cut down another hiver. Them sickened him. Them, the silent enemy within the battle field, dying quietly, utterly inhuman. Them hive insects, linked by metal cankers. Them unfeeling. Only the swarm mattered.
The quint advanced, to the right, always to the right. Tantas saw the other members of the battalion freezing like statues. He shouted wildly, “What's happening, Map?”
Map put a hand to his helmet. “Them sent a freeze virus into the armour,” he said. “Get it off. Get out of your armour or it'll be in your coffin.”
Quickly Tanta stripped off. Him stood in his vests and shorts, almost naked, cold, on the field. The rest of is quint did likewise. “What do we do now?” Him clutched the gun to chest. The hivers had lost cohesion. Them were moving erratically.
“One of the sergeants manufactured a confusion counterattack. It'll hold them for a few minutes,” said Map.
“But what do we do?”
“We get the hell out of here,” said Map. “We bloody run for our lives.”
“What?”
“Sergeant says we can't fight without armour. And almost all the battalion is immobilised. We got to retreat.”
“No,” said Tantas.
“I shoot you myself, if you don't move your arse,” shouted Joy. Her took off at a sprint.
&nb
sp; Tantas ran, feeling like a coward. Barns and Trigger at his side.
But one of the hivers, unaffected by the confusion loomed in their path. The hiver stumbled towards Trigger, crushing her into an embrace. The hiver drew back his fist and smashed Trigger's face plate. His face drawing close to Trigger's.
“No,” shouted Barns. Her gun shot a line of light, burning into the hivers' back. The hiver fell. So did Trigger. Trigger began to convulse.
“She's infected,” said Tantas. Joy and Map were far ahead.
“I can see that,” said Barns. Her eyes were dead as she held her lover.
“Do you want me to ... ?” asked Tantas.
“No.” Barns lifted her gun, shot a beam into Trigger's chest. An obscene flower of burnt flesh bloomed. Tears flowing, Barns turned from the dead body of her love. Silently, her ran towards Joy and Map. Leaving all behind.
Tantas followed. Gasping, him ran. It was hard to leave. His heart bursting. One step over the other, creating momentum. It was all right, him following orders. Him reached the crest of the hill joining the rest of the remains of the quint. Them had made it. All except Trigger. Another figure followed behind them, Sergeant Connell.
Tantas watched the hivers harvesting the rest of the battalion.
“Don't look. Don't look back,” ordered Sergeant, running past.
Tantas ran. Him ran. Him ran.
* * *
Eventually the running stopped. Sergeant told them to take a rest in the shade of three bast-wood trees. The foliage giving them good cover.
“What happened, Sergeant?” asked Tantas.
Sergeant pushed his helmet up. “We lost. Them infiltrated the armour ware.”
“How we escape?” asked Map.
“No attack is perfect,” said Sergeant. “We was lucky.”
Joy said, “I saw others running. We no the only ones.”
Tantas said, “The other sergeants did the same as you. They'll be others who escaped.”
“That's right,” said Sergeant. “Then we head for the rendezvous, meet up, reform. We still got the helmets. Comms will come back online.” Him tapped the belt slung over his chest. “And I've still got some volatile ware, if we encounter any hivers. We be all right.”
“We're outmatched. Them outclass us at every step,” said Map.
“Maybe we need to step a little faster then,” said Joy.
“What you mean?” asked Map.
“We take the fight to them,” said Joy. “We infiltrate them. Do what them no expecting.”
Tantas felt drunk listening to Joy talk. Her magnificent. Fearless. And him felt good, too. Him no given way to his fears. Him done it. Him wanted to do it again. Make some payback for the others. “We should do it, Sergeant.”
“We should regroup,” said Sergeant.
“No,” said Tantas. “We should get into the hiver nest and destroy it.”
Barns said, “We should destroy the Queen and every filthy hiver.”
“How we going to that?” asked Sergeant. “You know where the Queen is? Any of you?”
“We should try,” said Joy.
“Well, this no democracy,” said Sergeant. “We follow orders. We go to the rendezvous.” Him stand. Him start running. Him angry.
They run for hours until Sergeant calls the stop. Them camped in a cave with a narrow mouth, giving plenty of view of the landscape. Plenty of time to see that nobody creep up on them. Also a trickle of water, coming through the stone, which Sergeant declared clean enough to drink.
Tantas was eating his rations when Joy came and sat beside him. “You've come a long way haven't you? You full of fire now.”
Tantas nodded. “Is it like this for everyone?”
“It's different for everyone, but yeah, I've seen it before with novices.”
“I wasn't scared, Joy.” Seemed curious to him. “There was no Phobus or Deimus for me.”
Barns glared at them.
“Got a problem, Barns?” asked Joy.
“You could say that,” her said. “Talk, talk, talk that all you ever do, Wordsworth. You a man who loves to talk. That's 'bout all you good for.”
“We sorry for your loss,” said Joy. Her bit off a mouthful of dry nutra and chewed it slowly.
Tantas nodded, but said nothing, words were inadequate in the face of Trigger's death. But his silence seemed to provoke Barns. “Best no be solider, if all you want to do is talk,” her said.
“Leave him be,” said Sergeant.
“Well,” said Barns. “I no like him yammering all the time. Deimus this and Phobus that, dressing it all in language, and not seeing the real thing.”
Joy must have told her about Deimus and Phobus. Them been discussing him, maybe laughing at him. “They're the real things, Barns,” Tantas said. “You know, timeless things.”
“Timeless? Ha. Well, let me tell you something, boy ...”
“Him no boy,” said Sergeant, “by any reckoning of the word. Leave it.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” said Barns. Her walked to the mouth of the cave. Her stepped outside, angry, malicious, wounded.
“Should I talk to her?” asked Tantas.
Sergeant shook his head. “You don't want to go there, trust me.”
“I don't think she likes me.”
Sergeant frowned. “Well, what you expect? Her just killed Trigger. Her like you well enough. Her just no want to know you. Her thinks you going to end up dead.” Sergeant took a swallow of his water. “You just have to prove her wrong, eh?”
* * *
They tired, half naked, open to the harsh heat of the sun. They running in the direction of Alice Town garrison. That was the rendezvous.
“We head there 'til we hear different,” said Sergeant.
“We going out die out here, aren't we?” asked Map, joking maybe. Tantas wondered if him could hear fear underneath.
“We not dead, yet,” said Sergeant. “Look ahead, atop that hill.”
“Looks like one of the old building,” said Joy, “from the first-wave colony.”
“We make our way towards it,” said Sergeant. Him tapped his helmet. “Comm's still not working. That building is good shelter. Might be some food in there and water close by. People don't build where there's no water.”
At the edge of the hill, behind some scrub, them lie down flat to reconnoitre the building.
“Wordsworth and Barns, you go and check it out,” said Sergeant. “Watch your backs.”
Them run to the ruin, half-crouched to present a small target. Barns pushed open the door, Tantas first to go inside. The smell of decay smother him like a heavy blanket. Dirt on the windows, heaped on the surfaces. All dark and quiet. Barns joined him. When them took a few steps, a shadow moved.
“Show yourself,” said Barns. Her voice all nerve-strung. “Could be a hiver,” she whispered, shining the helmet light, this way, that, her finger trembling on the trigger of her gun. “Show yourself.”
Tantas stared at the darkness, willing it to resolve. His hand also on the trigger of his gun.
Again, the shadow moved. This time toppling over a big shelf of pans, glass goods smashing, jam like blood onto the floor, gherkins like tiny-babies released from the amniotic vinegar, acid and jam.
“What the hell?” said Tantas. Him nearest, closing the distance toward the movement, hand still on the gun, stepping on broken glass, helmet lights ripping into the darkness. “It's a boy, Barns.”
“Hiver?”
“No. Listen. He's crying.”
Them both heard him crying, great rasping sobs. Not a hiver. Them no make a noise, even when you slice them up, their pain diffused through their mind join. So shadow-boy ain't no hiver.
“Keep your gun on him.” Barns kicked through doors, checking, establishing safety. “Clean,” her said. “I'll tell Sergeant.” Her left Tantas with the crying boy.
Him look a bit closer. Shadow-boy is a kid 'bout sixteen. “We're army,” Tantas said. It felt good to be saying that. It felt strang
e to be saying that.
The boy murmured, half sounds, like an animal. Tantas knelt beside him. When him lifted the boy's face, him see the crazed eye and the glint of canker metal matted in the boy's head. “Jeez.”
“What is it?” asked Barns, walking back into the room.
“There's metal in his head.”
“Him hiver?”
Map and Joy entered with a lot of noise and questions. Them loomed over the boy. Him began to moan. Him looked pitiful weak, looking half-starved, his face grey with exhaustion.
“Who him?” asked Map.
“I don't know, hiver maybe. But a strange one,” said Tantas. “Back off. You're scaring him.”
“I'll take care of him,” said Barns, lifting her rifle. “Just one less for us to worry about.” Her sighted the boy, placing the death's eye smack in the middle of his chest. The boy seemed unaware what was going to happen. “Bye, bye,” said Barns.
“Are you crazy?” Tantas stepped between the gun's sight and the boy. “Wait.”
“Get out of the way, Wordsworth.”
The trigger point had transferred to Tantas' chest, maybe accidentally. Barns didn't lower it. Joy and Map, them just standing there. Letting it happen.
The sergeant entered the room, taking everything in a heartbeat. In a couple of steps him reached Barns. Him slammed his flat hand upwards, into Barn's rifle arm sending a shot high and into the roof, causing birds to go screeching, pinioning into the sky.
Tantas filled with anger. “You would've shot me, Barns?”
“I wouldn't have shot you.”
“Didn't look like it.”
“Barns always speak true,” said Joy. “You were safe enough.”
“And him?” asked Tantas, pointing to the boy.
“Him, not so much,” admitted Joy.
“Hush,” said Sergeant. “Let me think. What's him doing alone? Them never alone.”
“Can't you hear him crying?” said Tantas. “He's not a hiver.”
“Him look like one,” said Barns. “Maybe it's a trap.”
Sergeant said, “Keep me covered, Wordsworth.” Him smiled at the boy. “Look. I'm not going to harm you.” Him crouched alongside the boy. (But leaving a clear shot for Tantas.)
The boy stayed still as salt. Sergeant turned the boy's head. “Look. The hiver interface has been ripped away.” Wires protruded. “What happened to you?”
