The screen dissolved into lines and squiggles.
Kylo Carter swiveled toward Archard. “In your estimation, how much damage can the Martians inflict in the forty minutes or so it will take us to get there?”
Archard gave it to him straight. “If they wanted to, they could destroy the entire colony.”
CHAPTER 19
Levlin Winslow scuttled along a dark tunnel with Nilista at his side. Ahead and behind flowed a river of Martians, part of a vast force converging on the colony of Wellsville.
He supposed he should feel guilty about taking part in the gathering, as the Martians referred to it. But he didn’t. God help him---not that there was a God---but he didn’t feel a shred of shame, regret or misgiving. The only emotions he felt were a sense of excitement and delight.
Winslow had never been so happy in his life. All the cares and woes of his former existence had been washed away by the new sensations his changed state had brought about.
As if to demonstrate that fact, Nilista’s consciousness merged with his. “You are mistaken, my bindmate.”
“In what way?”
“That which you call God we revere as the Source of All. The Source is in all of us. In you. In me. In the fullness of the Unity.”
“I would never have expected it of your people.” That last was a slip of the tongue. Winslow meant to say ‘species.’
“Thank you for acknowledging we are fellow sentients. And need I remind you that you are one of us now? We are your people.”
“But to believe in God…”
“How can we not? You have experienced the Unity, and the Unity stems from the Source. You have felt our conscious selves joined in totality. The many become one. And from our union, harmony results. From harmony, inner peace, and a long and joy-filled life.”
Her comment sparked a question. “I never thought to ask. How long are our life spans?”
“These bodies last an average of nine hundred of your Earth years,” Nilista answered. “At which time we can choose to be provided with another or merge with the Source.”
Winslow was so startled, he stumbled. He would have fallen had he not grabbed at the side of the tunnel, and stopped.
Nilista stopped, too, and came to him. The other Martians veered around, paying no attention whatsoever. “What is wrong, my bindmate?”
“Did I understand you right?” Winslow projected in astonishment. “I’m going to live nine hundred years?”
“Nine thousand should you so wish. Few do. After two or three thousand, most are eager to advance their sentience to the next level.”
“Nine thousand?” Winslow inwardly repeated in a daze.
“I feel your emotions are in a whirl. What is the cause?”
Winslow laughed. Without a mouth, without lips, he laughed and laughed until Nilista took hold of his carapace with both her grippers and shook him.
“What is this strange behavior? Has the exchange gone awry?”
“No, no,” Winslow assured her. With an effort, he smothered his mirth. “Nilista. Nilista. My sweet, wonderful bindmate. You have made me the happiest sentient alive.”
“I have?”
Winslow sensed that she was extremely pleased but also confused. “My lifespan in my other form would have been barely ninety years. Now, thanks to your scientists and your incredible technology, I’ll live forever.”
“No one lives that long.”
“Nine hundred years or nine thousand, you have no idea of the gift you’ve given me.”
“You truly are happy, then?”
“I have never, ever been happier,” Winslow thought, and realized it was true.
“And you are not troubled at taking part in the harvest of heads?”
“What’s to be troubled about?” Winslow replied. “We’re not really killing anyone. We’re taking the heads so their sentiences can be transferred into new bodies. And then they can live as long as we do. We’re doing them a favor and they don’t even know it.”
“An excellent way to look at it, yes. Now open yourself to the Unity. Feel what we feel and think what we think. Relish this opportunity for your former fellows to experience the same happiness.”
Winslow laughed. “I’ll relish the hell out of it.”
Katla’s nerves were jangling. It was eerie, walking along the deserted streets, the entire colony as quiet as an Earth cemetery.
Piotr Zabinski must have felt the same because his hand tightened in hers.
“We’re all right,” Katla sought to comfort him, yet again. “We’ll go to the Visitor Center and stay put until they signal the all-clear.”
Trisna was rocking Behula in her arms and whispering in Hindi.
Katla was sorry she’d gone to the Broadcast Center. She should have known how they’d react. To Cain and everyone else who had never seen one, the idea of Martians existing was preposterous. Not once in all the years the three colonies existed had anyone encountered a Martian. Until now.
“I have the feeling people are looking out their windows at us,” Trisna said.
Katla scanned the mix of homes and businesses on both sides of the street. All the windows in the house modules were tinted so those inside could see out but no one could see in.
“Maybe they are. Who cares?”
“You would think someone would offer to take us in,” Trisna said. “There is such a thing as the cup of human kindness.”
“Hindus believe in that?” Katla absently asked.
“My dear Doctor, kindness is the very essence of
Hindu belief. We were doing until others long before you Westerners stole the saying from us.”
Katla saw Trisna was grinning, and laughed. “My specialties are medicine and science, not religion, but I seem to remember that a lot of them teach the Golden Rule.”
“And who do you think started that?” Trisna said, chortling.
Little Behula raised her head and smiled.
Piotr, too, smiled. He was visibly relaxing now that the adults were more at ease.
Katla kept it going with, “Aren’t Hindus the ones who worship cows?” She winked at Piotr and said “Moo!” and he laughed for the first time in days.
“You silly Westerners,” Trisna said. “We do not worship them. We respect them, as we do all forms of life.”
“Monkeys, too, right?” Katla said. “I seem to recall that you respect them so much, you let them breed like rabbits. To where there were so many, they nearly drove you out of your own cities.”
“Well, monkeys will be monkeys,” Trisna said, and perfectly imitated the sound a monkey might make.
All four of them were laughing as they went around a corner, and all four of them abruptly stopped at the sight of a pair of soldiers.
“Oh, no,” Trisna gasped.
“They’re going the other way. They don’t see us.” Katla moved toward the recessed doorway to a clothing store with a CLOSED sign glowing in the window.
“Hurry. In here.”
Dashing down the steps, they stood in the shadows.
Katla rose onto her toes to peer out, Piotr clinging to her leg.
Trisna tried to set Behula down, but the girl shook her head and wrapped her arms tight around her mother’s neck. “What will they do if they catch us? Arrest us?”
“That’s the least of our worries,” Katla said, and could have kicked herself. The children were downcast again. Their good spirits had evaporated.
“Do you think the Martians will wait until dark to attack like they did at New Meridian?”
Since the children were already scared again, Katla saw no harm in saying, “They broke into the maintenance tunnels there well before the sun went down.”
“I didn’t know that,” Trisna said. “But the main attack was not until nightfall, am I right?”
Horrific images of the slaughter at the hospital made Katla grimace. “Yes.”
“Then we have a few hours.”
We hope, Katla thought. The truth was,
at that very moment, the creatures could be boring up under every building in the colony and they wouldn’t know it. She glanced up at the golden dome, the apex of Earth technology, touted as impenetrable to everything except a nuclear strike. Perhaps that was true. But the geniuses who designed the domes never imagined that an enemy might penetrate a colony from below. And now look. One colony down, and the second in peril.
“A ruby for your thoughts,” Trisna said.
Katla pointed at the artificial cement under their feet and made a crab-like movement with her free hand.
“Oh,” Trisna said.
CHAPTER 20
Levlin Winslow was so happy, he was giddy. Ironic, given that he was about to take part in an attack on a colony established by his home planet. Rather, his former home planet. Mars was his home now. Even if he wanted to---which he didn’t---he couldn’t go back. For one thing, his former body had been ripped apart. For another, the process was one-way.
The swarm he and his bindmate were part of was nearing Wellsville. A few hundred meters more and the tunnel widened into a gigantic cavern filled with thousands of Martians.
“This is where we will wait for the Aryghr to give the signal,” Nilista inserted into his consciousness.
“Who?”
Their immediate group veered and halted at the base of the sheer cavern wall. Jumping high, Nilista clung to the vertical face, then began to climb.
Winslow did the same. Above them, the Martians who had already arrived hung by their eight legs in long rows, like so many bats.
Nilista didn’t answer his question until she had settled into position. “I must enlighten you further.”
Amazed at how easily he could cling to smooth rock, Winslow said, “About?”
“An Aryghr is our name for what you would call our leader caste, those among us who are yellow.”
“How about you and me?”
“Our caste is known as the Gryghr. Your kind call us soldiers, or workers, but we are more of both than either. We are as much of the Unity as the Aryghr, except our functions are different. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Winslow said. “What about the blues and the browns?”
“The blue caste are the Hryghr. You think of them as our warriors, and that is half-right. They are also our generals in time of conflict. Our Samson’s, as it were.”
“You know about Samson?”
“You would be surprised how much we have learned of Blue World cultures and history.”
“Let me guess about the brown caste,” Winslow projected. “They are your scientists.”
“Yes. The Eryghr. They perform other functions, as well.” Nilista raised her eye stalks so her eyes were close to his. “While I have called them castes to better help you comprehend, that is not the right way to describe their place in the Unity. Our functions are a consequence of our bodies, not a social state imposed by others. A Hryghr could no more perform the tasks of an Eryghr than we could. Nor could an Eryghr perform ours. Do you comprehend all of this?”
An old saying popped into Winslow’s ‘head.’ “Different strokes for different folks.”
“Strokes and folks? I am confused.”
“Yes, I comprehend.”
“Good.”
Winslow wanted to ask her what the giant drillers were called but Nilista’s sentience suddenly merged with his.
“We must be silent. Look. A Hryghr has arrived.”
Down below, a huge blue Martian had emerged from a tunnel and was moving to the center of the cavern.
“The Hryghr will address us,” Nilista said. “Open yourself to the Unity, as I have taught you. To all the others as well as to me.”
Winslow hadn’t quite mastered the technique. He could do it, but it took considerable effort before his receptors were in tune with the rest. The transition was drastic, like slipping into a warm, flowing current, filled with images and symbols and words.
The Hryghr was already ‘speaking.’
“…take part in a great and glorious gathering of Blue World sentients. The harvest is small and we are plentiful. They are weak in body and we are strong. But we must not make the same mistakes we made at their other golden egg. We rushed to engage them, believing our numbers were enough, and discovered that though few and fragile, they have power, these Blue Worlders. Not the power of the Unity, as we do. Their power is in their constructs. In their machines, as they call them, and their weapons. We lost many kindred at that gathering. We must not lose as many here.”
The Hryghr stopped, and Winslow felt a swelling of agreement from the assembled Martians.
“This time, we will be wise. We will use craft and guile. While some of us surround their golden eggs to prevent them from escaping, we will bore in under their structures. When we are all in position, the call will be given, and we will burst up upon them and collect their heads for transference.”
“Call?” Winslow thought, but Nilista was too engrossed in the Unity to respond.
“Exercise caution, my kindred. Perform as our plan requires and we will prevail. And once we have, once these two golden eggs have fallen, we will put the next phase of our strategy into effect. The Source of All willing, not only will we convert the Blue Worlders on our world to the joy of the Unity, but all those on their world, as well.”
Katla didn’t budge until the pair of troopers had gone around a corner blocks away. “Let’s go,” she said, and scooted up the steps.
Piotr kept pace, his eyes wide with the fear that had seldom left him since the death of his parents.
Trisna, as always, held Behula, instead of letting the girl walk. Ever since that terrible night in New Meridian, the mother wouldn’t let her child go.
Katla thought of Archard, and hoped she would see him soon. She intended to tell him everything Chief Administrator Reubens had revealed to her. Reubens could take his threat of imprisonment, or worse, and shove it. She detested that man and those like him. Professional politicians who lied and manipulated others for their own ends, the whole time justifying their evil by saying it was for the common good. She would as soon have all of them drown in their own slime.
Lost in her reverie, Katla came to the intersection where the troopers had turned and was about to cross when out of the corner of her eye she caught movement, and stopped short.
The troopers had turned, but they hadn’t gone more than a few meters and were standing talking. They saw her and Trisna.
Swallowing her anxiety, Katla turned and smiled. “Hi there. We know we shouldn’t be out and about. We’re on our back to the Visitor Center.”
“Please don’t arrest us,” Trisna said.
“Dr. Dkany?” one of the soldiers said. “And you, too, Hindu lady?”
The play of sunlight and shadow on their helmet faceplates made it hard to see their faces but Katla recognized the distinct Kentucky drawl.
“Private Everett?”
“And me, as well, Doctor,” Private Pasco said cheerfully.
“It is good to see both of you again.”
Katla was so glad, she impulsively gripped the Spaniard’s arm and pumped it. “Oh, thank heavens it’s your two and not Wellsville troopers.”
“We are Wellsville troopers now,” Private Everett said. “Reassigned for the duration of our tours.”
“You don’t sound very happy about it,” Katla said.
Cradling his ICW, the Kentuckian said, “After New Meridian, I just want to go home. None of us should be here.”
“Si,” Private Pasco said. “It is insane what they do. We warned the major. We told him everything.”
“What did he say?”
Everett answered. “That we must buck up. That what happened at New Meridian could never happen here. That we’re U.N.I.C. and the U.N.I.C. are the toughest mothers anywhere, and we can take whatever the Martians dish out.”
“The major is a very foolish man,” Private Pasco said.
“I hope they can’t hear you,” Katla said. She re
membered that their commlinks enabled them to stay in constant communication with their headquarters and other troopers.
Pasco grinned. “We switched off our mics and helmet cams the moment we saw you.”
“No sense in making trouble for you ladies,” Private Everett said.
“We are grateful to both of you,” Katla said.
“Yes, we are,” Trisna echoed.
Private Everett straightened his lanky frame and looked around. “We’d best escort you to the Visitor Center. No telling who else might come along.”
They started off, the troopers on either side, Piotr beaming at Pasco. The boy had taken a liking to the amiable Spaniard during their long trek in the tank.
“Have you seen Captain Rahn?” Katla was eager to learn.
“Not since we got here, no, ma’am,” Private Everett said. “They kept him isolated from us.”
“But when we were sent out to patrol the streets,” Pasco took up the account, “Lieutenant Burroughs told us that the captain went out with the major and some big brain in the Thunderbolt.”
“What on earth for?”
“To check on the outlying farmers,” Everett said.
“Lieutenant Burroughs is in charge until they return,” Pasco said. “She is a good officer, that one.”
“Once we get you to the Visitor Center, you stay locked in your rooms, you hear?” Everett said. “Two colonists have gone missing.”
“We saw the broadcast,” Trisna said.
“Reubens, that lying sack,” Everett said. “There’s no gas leak. They don’t know what happened to those two. But we do.”
Private Pasco nodded. “Martians. It has to be.”
“Shouldn’t we stick together, then?” Trisna said.
“We would love to stay with you,” Pasco said, “but if we stay off-line too long, they will send someone to investigate.”
“Our EVA’s have GPS chips,” Everett said. “They’ll know right where to come.”
“We appreciate the risk you’re taking,” Katla said.
The Kentuckian grinned. “All those days we spent cooped up in the tank, I’d like to think we became friends.”
Colony Down: Battlefield Mars Book 2 Page 9
