Several of the creatures leapt ahead in massive multi-meter bounds, sprinting over their own dead and somehow–impossibly–dodging the flurry of incoming bullets. A larger one–big as a man’s torso–jumped twice in succession, covering thirty meters and slamming into a marine. The impact sent the young man straight backward until he fell to the ground. The eight-limbed monster held onto the trooper’s chest armor firmly with two hind legs and two smaller arms. Its two larger arms clicked back–almost ratcheting into a coiled, loaded position–then snapped forward faster than the eye could see. The bulbous wrists of the largest arms cracked into the armor plate protecting the marine’s vital organs with enough power to break the ceramic in two. His meaty chest lay exposed and the creature cocked its arms back again.
Dustin watched the entire scene play out through his weapon’s scope and knew he had to fire.
His risky shot laced its way between the infantry and tore the attacking bug off the marine’s body, smashing it into a wall of sandbags.. The creature twitched and palpitated in its death throes and the young marine crawled to get away, his breath punched away and his face wracked with pain. The second leaping insect met an end in a wall of automatic gunfire not an arm’s length from the infantry position.
The movement in the grass stopped. The men ceased their fire, and took a moment to reload, and take stock. They were overwhelmed, but fought their rising fear.
The invading waves of Selvan . . . things . . . had been turned away or annihilated, if only for the moment.
“What the fuck was that?” Waren said as he swapped in a fresh magazine.
“Check that man!” Hauptman barked, pointing at the fallen marine Dustin saved. Several of his unit friends descended on him to render aid.
Dustin looked back out into the field and scoped the tree line. He saw a new array of eyes watching from the depths. Strange eyes that blinked, assessed, and disappeared.
“Top,” Dustin said. “we got big problems.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Pioneer 3 central hangar in Gharian orbit
30 September 163 GA
A week had passed since Rhapsody exploded and her entire crew was vented into space. To a one, they had died. The deceased received a burial in space, and the investigation into the explosion–and a second bomb found on the Beagle–went into full-swing.
“Andy, I was explicit.”
“I’m aware, ma’am,” Andy replied. “I was very thorough in my inspection.”
“Not nearly enough!” Leah bellowed, her red hair came loose out of its bun, spittle hitting the flight sergeant in the face. “Your goddamn lack of attention to detail almost cost you and your officers their fucking lives! Do you hear me? There was a fucking bomb on your boat. A bomb in plain view that you somehow managed to not fucking see.”
She yanked off her cover and brushed a lock of red hair out of her eyes. Her bun came completely free and the ruby strands of her hair cascaded down her back. She put the hat back on and walked in a circle, furious.
Inside the skyscraper-sized docking bay on the mid-ship ring of Pioneer 3, the sergeant did his best to stay calm and accept the ass chewing. In his opinion he deserved it, and his flight crew deserved to watch him get it. Andy had almost cost them their lives and he would never forgive himself for the oversight. He stole a glance over his shoulder at Beagle. The starboard airlock door sat open like a mouth under the ship’s wing, and a small explosive charge could be seen in the upper corner of the door, inside the fuselage. The bomb looked like a flattened tooth in the mouth of a monster. Explosive ordnance disposal teams had disarmed the charge in space before they brought the ship into the hangar but they left it where they found it for further examination by the police. The other ships in the Selvan fleet were inspected in the same way, and no bombs were found elsewhere. Beagle and Rhapsody were the only ships tampered with.
“You’re gonna be busted down. Straight to private then discharged. Fuck it. Maybe I’ll bring you up for dereliction of duty, too, you fucking twat,” the captain said, continuing to storm in a circle as nervous flight officers from the Selvan fleet watched the lynching in the cavernous room.
“Captain Kingsman,” Melody interrupted.
“What the fuck do you want, Lieutenant?” Leah said, stopping to glare at her.
“I have a theory. It won’t be popular.”
“Imagine that. You taking a risk to not be popular. Are you able to do that Lieutenant Cline? Will your ego allow it? I can alert the media that you’ve become humble,” Kingsman baited her.
“I understand you’re angry, Captain, but I sent Andy to check out that airlock during our spin up before leaving Selva. I know he checked it,” Melody said.
“That only serves to prove that he missed it during the inspection.”
“Captain,” Dan Aribella inserted, “I’ve known Andy for a couple years now and I’m willing to go on record and say he didn’t miss it. Couldn’t of. I’ll put my flight wings on the line and bet that whoever put that bomb there did it after the spin up inspection. They knew when Andy would do his check, and waited ’til after.”
“He’s right,” Melody added. “Andy doesn’t make mistakes. Look at his personnel file.”
Kingsman did an about face. “Let’s suppose he didn’t miss the bomb during pre-flight. How do we figure out who placed it? And how they did it?”
Kingsman turned to the gathered flight crews and officials from Pioneer 3, waiting for an answer.
Murmurs swept through the crowd. Near the front, a police officer wearing a storm-gray uniform under a ballistic vest spoke.
“We already pulled fingerprints. I’ve got a guy running them against everyone who made the trip to Selva. We should have results back before lunch tomorrow. We’ve already got a Pacifican bomb team sending over information on how the anti-separatists build their stuff. We brought in a team of EOD marines to look at the charges too. We’ll have it figured.”
“Best shit I’ve heard all day. Thank you, officer. In the meantime we return to house arrest. Every single person from the fleet is on lockdown. No one leaves the hangar and no one goes anywhere until we know what’s up. Pioneer 3 security staff has standing orders from me and from the senate to prevent anyone from doing anything. And I mean anyone, and anything. Got it?”
The gathered officers nodded and replied to her in the affirmative.
“Good,” she said. “Now get.”
The group slowly broke apart and made their way back to their assigned rest areas in the station’s ship warehouse. Glorified cot farms where they could be observed by security. Dan, Melody and Andy stayed behind with their ship. Andy rubbed his face, His eyes were reddened and his cheeks flushed with guilt.
“I’m fucked aren’t I?”
“No,” Dan said. “I’ll do everything I can to protect you. I know you had nothing to do with this.”
“Me too,” Melody added. “They’ll find prints. They’ll find evidence that protects you.”
“I hope so. I also hope they don’t find evidence that makes me look like a part of it. You guys know I would never, ever do this, right? Not to anyone, especially not to you two. You’re my family, I swear with God as my witness.” Andy’s eyes had gone from red and guilt-filled to tearing over.
“We know,” Melody said. “Besides, why would you put a bomb on your own ship?”
But, Melanie thought, some prick put a bomb on my ship back on Selva.
Is he willing to die for his cause?
Has he rigged any other bombs?
Is he willing to kill Dustin?
Oh sweet shit what have I done?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Science habitat, town of Stahl, planet of Selva
1 October 163 GA
Micah Balashov ran pasty white fingers through his messy graying hair. In his other hand he pinched at the stub of a burning cigarette. He dragged on the stale tobacco as he looked down at the specimen table. He exhaled faint blue smoke into the air
.
Such simple joys do last, don’t they? he thought.
Behind him stood the science team leaders, and several of the higher-ranking marines. They waited for him to speak.
On the table sat four clear plastic trays each the size of a dinner platter. A dissected insect sat inside each tray. The bugs all looked different but Balashov knew they were once the same kind of creature. No longer identical, they had been mutated by an outside influence. The ones with the flattened, beetle bodies were the smallest, the size of a cat. The largest of them as big as a Doberman. Demented, horrifying creatures from the depths of Hell.
“Micah, we don’t have all day,” Phillip Eckstein said from behind him. “It’ll be noon in a few hours. They’ll be back.”
Micah Balashov spun and stared down Phillip Eckstein, the weatherman.
“Micah?” Doctor Margaret Ford asked. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I am fine,” he replied.
“Can you please fill us in on what you’ve found then?” Margaret prodded.
“I cannot answer questions, only raise them, Margaret.”
Balashov stabbed the butt of his cigarette into an empty Petri dish on a counter. It sizzled and a curl of smoke rose.
“Tell us whatever you can. We don’t understand what we’re up against,” Major Duncan said.
“That I will, Major Duncan. In much the same way the rock bugs have been mutated and turned what I would describe as ‘mad’ by some kind of outside substance these small creatures have been altered as well.”
“Altered?” Lionel asked. “I can see they’re all fucked up, but what are you talking about more specifically? Details, please.”
“They are mutated, Lt. Hauptman. Forcefully, quickly, and I don’t know how or what is doing it. I can say that some form of liquid sprayed onto them is the catalyst for the process. It is organic, but unlike anything humanity has encountered. It is like . . . enforced evolution at a cataclysmic rate.”
“Be more specific,” Lionel said. “Please.”
“If you look here, here, and here you can see similar legs, arms, and thoraxes on the creatures. These are original body parts. This fourth body is almost entirely unchanged. You can see what these creatures began as.”
Micah pointed at large legs and arms and thickened plating that looked different from the others.
“This is what the creatures are being changed into. Something far larger, far tougher, far more aggressive I surmise, and with a much bigger brain. They are transitioning from one life form, into another.”
“Are they becoming intelligent?” Major Duncan asked.
Micah shrugged. “I cannot say for certain. Dissection has never been a good determiner for intelligence. What I can say is this process appears more rapid with this smaller life form. Perhaps ten–shall we say ‘doses’–might be enough to entirely change the creature from one thing to the other. Give it several days per dose and you’re looking at a transition of a month’s time.”
“What about the rock bugs?” Margaret asked, taking a seat on the sole unoccupied stool in the hab. “Do they transform as fast? None of them have been as mutated as these things.”
“Are we susceptible to this . . . spray? Dosing? Infection?” Lima Rasima, the geologist, asked. The geologist looked stiff as a board.
Micah nodded at the two women in turn. “Margaret, the larger creatures do appear to have more of a resistance to the . . . substance. I have no idea why and will not anytime soon. To answer my petite associate’s question, I have no reason to believe humans wouldn’t be affected by it. What I worry about are these tiny glands here,” he pointed at small sacs inside the mutated bugs near their mouths. “These appear to serve no purpose other than for spitting. The original species of beetle does not possess these glands. When sufficiently changed, I believe they, too, will be able to spit and alter their prey to be more like them. More like the master species that is at the root of this.”
“So,” Major Duncan began, “these things can spray other living creatures with a substance that starts a forced metamorphosis?”
“I believe the larger creatures that begin the chain of change can, yes. I think after sufficient change these smaller creatures will become as the larger creatures, and will be able to do the same,” Balashov answered.
“That’s horrifying,” Duncan said, rubbing the top of his scalp.
“What can we do to protect ourselves from them?” the bear named Theo asked. He looked at his FEM comrade Lionel with a look of disappointment.
“I have not tested a proper, fresh quantity of the blue fluid so my findings are based on likely less potent materials. That being said, the substance appears to only affect carbon based organic materials. Perhaps clothing that is wool or cotton.”
“So it wouldn’t harm us in our armor?” Theo asked.
“No, your FEM armor should serve as an adequate barrier,” Micah said, all of his Russian accent lost for the moment. “But I fear what would happen to you if your armor was compromised and the fluid was to gain entry. You would be trapped inside it, expanding . . . kilo by kilo . . . until you and your armor blew apart like a dropped melon. I should also add that expired organic materials might still be affected. Leather for example, might mutate.”
“We need more armor,” Major Duncan said. “The infantry marines are issued standard open ballistic plate. They’re exposed. They’ll only be safe in the tanks or the habs. Can’t fight inside a habitat.”
“Assuming of course the creatures behind this aren’t strong enough to tear our habitats and tanks apart like origami,” Balashov said as he lit a second cigarette with a nearby Bunsen burner.
“Is that . . . possible?” Major Duncan asked.
“One of these little things punched one of your young men hard enough in the chest to crack his armor in half as well as most of the bones beneath. The larger arms of your ‘rock bugs?’ The big thing that took your elite marines thousands of rounds to kill? It has forearms that work almost identically to the ancient mantis shrimp. Do you have any idea what that means?
“The mantis shrimp was an aquatic crustacean from Earth. Ten centimeters in length. Its forearms snapped back like organic cannons and could be fired at its prey with tremendous power. Fast enough to make light and collapse an air bubble on the bottom of the sea. Powerful enough to smash apart crabs much larger than it.”
They didn’t get it. Micah held up his hand, palm first, fingers extended.
“One the size of my hand struck with the power of a pistol bullet. Imagine what one the size of a dog, or even a cow could do.”
Before Balashov could continue, a warning klaxon sounded.
Death came.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Defensive positions outside Stahl, planet of Selva
1 October 163 GA
“Get EVERYONE! Everyone, God damn it!” Dustin yelled from his prone firing position beside Waren.
“Start shooting,” Waren said. “More of those fat bastards are coming.”
Dustin leaned down and eyed the distance through his scope. Waren was right. More of the rock bugs came, joining the dozen or more that already milled toward the settlement. At their feet in the sparse grasses–torched and cratered from days of constant tank fire–he could see hundreds of the smaller, faster insects. They tittered and jumped, frantic with excitement. The larger monsters lumbered, shuffling their reddish shell-armored limbs. One lashed out at a smaller creature underfoot, snapping its large arm down into the ground and vaporizing the nuisance with athud audible almost a kilometer away.
“I’m at the limit for effective range. I’ll start shooting once they get closer.”
“Don’t wait too long,” Waren said as he lined up a row of magazines in front of them. “If they charge . . . ”
Hauptman’s voice crackled in their ears. He sounded almost out of breath, as if he were running.
“What’s going on out there?”
“The rainforest just woke up,�
� Dustin replied. “It looks pissed.”
“What the fuck is everyone’s deal with being vague and poetical today? Specifics, Sergeant Cline. I need specifics.”
“The rock bugs are lining up just outside the trees and brush. I swear it looks like a skirmish line from here. All around them are those little fuckers. Hundreds of ’em, all crazy and hopped up on caffeine and nicotine. They’re gearing up for a cavalry charge or I’m back on Ares drinking iced tea.”
“Well fuck. Alright. I’m on my way. I’ll spin everyone up. Are they coming from that one direction again?”
“Yeah. We would’ve seen them if they came from anywhere else or if they tried to slip around us. It’s too open and flat. It’d be easier if we had UAVs up.”
“Yeah well, we don’t. If they’re bunched up at the tree line make sure that tank is making good use of the lack of disbursement,” the lieutenant said.
“Roger that,” Dustin said. “Punisher One is this is Vigilant Two.”
“This is Punisher One actual. Go ahead Vigilant Two,” the exhausted tank commander replied.
“Light up that mass of bugs with your main cannon. Make use of them being bunched up while we can.”
“With pleasure, Vigilant Two,” the commander said.
The tank ten meters to Dustin’s left spun up its giant rail gun, electrifying the air once more. The turret traversed and the cannon erupted. Dustin tried not to blink from the shock of the gun as the shell smashed into the earth and annihilated a half dozen of the distant, stone-skinned monsters and an unknown number of the smaller, more aggressive creatures at its feet. Stones, dirt and body parts vomited into the air to cascade down on the fleeing creatures nearby.
The tank turret traversed to the right, and fired another round into the fray. A second batch of shell-covered dead launched into the air, pulverized by the power of the explosion.
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