The Omega Egg [A Fictionwise Round Robin Novel]

by Mike Resnick;Various Authors

  Chips struck off a nearby boulder by another bullet stung Spence's face and he scrambled down the slope, kicking stones and dirt loose until he was accompanied by a small landslide. Behind him the Leonardins’ keening cry warned him they were in pursuit.

  The sound ululated and then peaked with a painful bark. Having been part of the first unit to land on the planet after it had been bombarded, he knew that war cry only too well. One of the aliens chasing him was from the warrior class. The thought inspired him to hurry down the slope even faster. Two more of his pursuers took up the same cry

  The agent's foot snagged on the root of a bush covered with flowers a shade of yellow never seen on Earth. He slammed down onto one shoulder and tried to roll. The roll turned into a fall when the slope dropped off unexpectedly. When Spence had stopped tumbling he was on his back, one leg was tangled in a bush, and lying face up in a small stream.

  The war cries sounded louder as Spence pulled free. He was close now to a grove of red and yellow trees that reached twenty meters into the red Leonardin sky. Dragging himself up, the Space Intel agent followed the water down into the tall, thin trees.

  It was easier going in the stream and Spence gained some ground on the warriors who were fighting their way through the growth on the land side. His breath came in gasps as he tried to lose himself among the trees. Finally he found a spot he liked and leaned against a tree. Not for the first time, he decided he was too old for this. Only his cybernetic leg didn't hurt.

  He could tell when the Leonardin Warriors reached the forest. They grew quiet. He had seen it before at the start of the occupation, when they had hunted Nards who would not surrender. It would be the three from the warrior class. With only one human, they would never share the kill.

  He knew that there was no way he could outrun three warriors. Their long legs gave the Nards the edge. They also had reach and were as strong as most humans. In a fair fight he would lose at odds of three to one, but the Space Intel agent had no intention of giving them a fair fight. The gadgetry built into his clothes would give him a chance to survive. It was time to use it. Rubbing his temple, Spence caused his replacement eye to change to infrared. At first the effect of seeing different images with each eye was disorienting and he felt even more vulnerable. The confusion receded, and the agent began removing portions of his clothing. He tapped a long code onto each, then placed them in the locations where they would be most deadly when they exploded. As he recovered from the strain of his dash down and fell into the familiar rhythm of preparing a kill zone, Spence began to smile.

  Finishing his preparations, the agent used his artificial arm and hand to break off two branches and shape them into rough spears. The warriors would split up and methodically sweep across the forest. Once they had separated for the search, he would have a few seconds with each one before the next could arrive.

  The infrared signature of the first warrior gave him away even as the Nard slinked silently toward the human. This one had a gun; it was likely all three carried weapons. From the shape it was a Space Force gyro pistol. They were the standard issue sidearm for the diplomatic corps, firing a self-propelled round that accelerated after leaving the weapon. Gyros killed by electrostatic force. The energy of their flight tore apart anything they hit. They rarely wounded, only killed. Spence had no intention of letting the warrior fire it.

  Setting what remained of his jacket on the ground, Spence moved silently to one side and readied a spear. He crouched low, using his enemy's height against him. The humanoid was wearing only military pants now. That confirmed to the agent his warrior status. The purple Nard had wide-set eyes that were placed almost on the sides of his head. Both focused on the discarded shirt sitting in center the small clearing. As soon as he saw the warrior's eyes lock on the shirt Spence struck. The spear, flung by his cybernetic arm, rammed through the warrior's chest and into his neck. But the Leonardin was tough: even as he died the humanoid slapped a small button on his thick belt. A loud siren, also buried in the belt, began to warble.

  The sounds of both warriors rushing through the trees were audible even over the mechanical alarm. The next warrior to arrive raised a gun in Spence's direction. Spence recognized him as the warrior who had fired at him earlier. Falling and rolling toward the side of clearing, Spence almost managed to dodge the bullet. He felt his arm shoved back and for an instant waited for the deadly effect of a gyro pistol. A second later he found he was still alive. The agent realized that the shooter had only a slug pistol. The round had grazed his arm. Then the pain started. It had hit his good arm. Why did they never hit his cyber arm? With that arm he literally could turn the pain off. But the bad guys always shot him in the good one.

  Before Spence even finished diving he touched two fingers to his thumb and pressed hard. Behind him, where the tall warrior stood lining up another shot, the trees exploded. Hundreds of splinters literally stripped away the flesh from the arm closest to the blast. Hundreds more buried themselves in the thin humanoid. He died almost instantly.

  A few splinters from where a gyro pistol round tore into a nearby tree slammed into the side of Spence's head. His ear and cheek were bleeding and throbbing with pain, but the agent had no time to worry about it. He dived again, this time ending in a roll and then crawling several meters away into the forest.

  The agent fought to control his breath. The air on Leonardo was similar to that of earth, but a bit thicker so that sounds carried better. For a moment he lay still, his arm throbbing. The local creatures had been frightened into silence after the noise of the first explosion. Even breathing hard could give away his position. Or that of the last warrior. He could hear nothing.

  Carefully Spence shifted and then triggered the second of his three explosive arrays. It was lucky the third warrior had been examining the corpses of the other two. The blast was loud, but apparently missed. He could hear the warrior breaking through the trees, but moving rapidly away from him. Spence had bought some time, but he hadn't won. He was still alone on a planet where every Nard wanted to kill him. The warrior would be going for reinforcements. Dozens of armed Leonardins would be tearing this forest apart within minutes.

  The agent had to move. Fortunately there was a good chance that an Intel facility he had hidden among those ruins at the start of the occupation remained. But he had to reach it undetected.

  The red sun was high and the pink clouds sparse. Spence ran toward what remained of the city with his teeth gritted. Each bouncing step opened the tear on his arm with a fresh surge of pain. If that wound infected and he had to get another limb replaced, he was going to make someone pay. Ktonga was a good choice, or Parapara if she was real.

  The Intel shelter was one of several they had placed in easily-found locations all over Leonardo. Establishing those shelters was standard procedure when a new planet was pacified. Once in it, Spence could call for evacuation to the nearest Space Navy base. He just had to get to the ruins and find the hidden base. The Space Intel agent moved slowly toward the destroyed city. Blood still flowed from his arm and down the side of his head.

  A Nard war cry echoed over the forest. Then another cry of rage joined the first, then another, and more alien voices joined in until forest was filled with their promise of death.

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  * * *

  Chapter 10: Holes in the Universe

  by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  As the death cry's echo faded, Kendall Spencer scurried toward the Intel shelter. His arm ached. The wound felt like it was tearing open with each and every movement. He stopped behind a tree, grabbed his shirt with his good arm, and ripped off some fabric. Then using his teeth and his good fingers, he tied a sling, placing his arm into it.

  The Leonardins were silent now. He didn't know enough about them to know if the death cry was always followed with silence or if this was something new. He didn't know anything about Leonardins, not really. Not enough to fight them alone.

  And he was gue
ssing where the Intel shelter would be. He had no real idea. Just like he didn't know where the “most protected place” was on Leonardo, the place the Paras told him about.

  If they were real.

  If any of this was.

  The plate in the back of his head hummed. That was the only sound he heard. That and the slight whisper of a breeze through trees.

  He couldn't even tell what kind of trees these were—they didn't look like anything he'd seen before. They seemed to have no odor, either. But he hadn't smelled anything since the temple—and shouldn't he have?

  He couldn't remember tasting much either.

  Only sight and the occasional voice and pain.

  He squinted. Shouldn't he be experiencing all five of his senses? This felt more like a dream than like any kind of reality.

  Only he never thought of feeling things in his dreams.

  He scanned the nearby trees—searching for more Leonardins. He couldn't see the ruins of the city any longer, but he had a hunch he was getting closer. The trees in this area were black, skeletal and spindly—perfect for hiding a human, but not for hiding the larger, purple Leonardins.

  He didn't like the silence, nor did he like working on his own. He licked his upper lip—tasting salt and a bit of blood from his cheek (odd that he tasted that now, right? After he had thought about it? Or had he been so focused before that he hadn't even noticed most of his senses?)

  The air shimmered in front of him. He ducked—and something slammed into the trees, some other kind of weapon fire, something he'd never seen before.

  He crouched, scuttling through blackened underbrush. It smelled vaguely of smoke.

  Had a fire come through here, charring everything, and leaving the impression of its fury in the memory of its scent? Or had his thought reawakened part of his consciousness so that he was noticing now?

  He preferred to think he'd been too focused to notice. He didn't like the way everything had become uncertain—the fact that he couldn't even trust his own mind any more.

  Everything he had known to be true wasn't any longer.

  Bits of the charred growth flaked off on him, like tiny bits of ash. Some landed on his face, stinging as they went into the cut. He kept going, heading uphill.

  The farther up he went, the more convinced he became that he was going through the remains of a fire. Maybe this was the beginning of the ruins. Maybe a fire had destroyed the city, a fire caused by some great weapon, or the catastrophe that Ktonga had told him about (had it been Ktonga? Or had it been someone else? It bothered Spence that he couldn't keep track of all the things he'd learned—and unlearned—since he'd gone to the Admiral's headquarters).

  The ground crunched beneath his feet, and as Spence looked back, he saw footprints leading anyone who wanted to come to his location.

  So how come Leonardins weren't following him?

  He straightened his back, and looked around the entire area. Spindly trees and blackened undergrowth. The ruined city was visible again in the distance—think of it and it will appear? Was that what was happening to him?—a series of black broken spires rising toward the sky. Pale pink clouds against the horizon, making it look like the entire planet was on fire. The red sun still high, but not as hot as it would have been on Earth.

  He was grateful for that.

  Still, his face was covered with sweat, but the sweat came from exertion and the pain in his arm. The sling had helped. He hadn't noticed any more tearing as he had scrambled up here, but when he looked down, he realized he was covered in gray dust.

  He crouched again—no sense being the only moving thing in this copse of trees—and kept going uphill.

  The Intel shelter wouldn't be in the city itself. That was too dangerous. There would have been an outpost in the city, but the shelter's main location would've been a few klicks away, in some kind of wilderness area (if there were any) to avoid detection.

  Intel shelters were usually on the lee side of a hill, high enough to see for miles, but not on the very top where they were most visible. Often they had a slight holo field around them, making them look like native structures. But, if he remembered his training right, Leonardins never built on hills.

  So the Intel shelter—if it was anywhere near here—would look like something else.

  Or it would be a standard issue structure, as foreign to the landscape as he was, human-sized and house-like, with more forcefields and protections around it than he cared to think about.

  In the distance, something warbled. The warble was followed by another warble, and then by a trill. The trill grew to become an ululation, which then rose in the Leonardin war cry again.

  They saw him.

  He whirled, unable to see any Leonardins at all. How could they all be invisible?

  Sound carried here, but wouldn't he be able to see at least one of them? There was no place for them to hide—not here, not in this kind of desolate landscape.

  The warble-trill-ululation-war cry happened again, and he realized that it all sounded like it came from one voice.

  Before he'd heard countless voices.

  Now he only heard one.

  He'd been moving. Someone watching him could have shot him already. Were they waiting for a reason?

  He decided not to think about it. Thinking too much had gotten him into this mess. Or letting someone else invade his thoughts....

  He couldn't think about that either, not now, not so soon after being shot at.

  Finally, he reached the top of the hill. He stood slowly, in between some more burned-out trees. The acrid smell of smoke was stronger here—along with something else, something quite chemical-like, but the smell was unfamiliar. It could've been part of the trees for all he knew.

  He braced his good hand on the nearest tree, and the entire thing collapsed, splintering around him in a shower of ash. He stepped backwards, hit another tree, and it too shattered.

  They were ghost trees, rotted trees, ruined by whatever had gotten to them.

  And oddly, no one had touched them since whatever it was had happened.

  He wiped at his face, feeling some of the ash smear. His eyes stung. The chemical smell had grown stronger.

  Only a few trees blocked his vision of below. He stepped around them, looking for something that could be the Intel shelter.

  Instead, he caught a glimpse of purple. He blinked, then looked again. A ring of purple, pressed up against the grayness. Leonardin warriors had lined up around the edge of the devastated area. Rows of warriors, an entire unit or whatever the Leonardins called them, or maybe a brigade, an entire force, maybe three hundred strong.

  Lined up like purple rocks around a dead campfire.

  He shuddered.

  They knew he was in here, but they weren't going to follow him in here. Was that because of the chemical odor? Because of what had happened here?

  He turned around, saw that indeed he was right. They had him completely surrounded. They didn't need to follow his tracks. They knew exactly where he was.

  A large column of them stood between him and the destroyed city.

  He swallowed. His adam's apple bobbed against his dry throat.

  They figured he would come out eventually, and then they would have him. They would kill him.

  Or they would let this place kill him.

  He scanned the gray dirt, the skeletal trees, searching for something that could be the Intel shelter. He—

  —picked up the egg and hefted it in his hand. It felt curiously fragile for something so important. He could crush it between his fingers.

  The dragon was headed to the narrow door, the green fairy on its right wrist. The fairy looked over its shoulder, hissed at Spence again, baring its bright teeth.

  Spence—

  —frowned, then put a hand to his forehead. His skin was covered with the grayish ash from the devastated forest. The ring of purple remained below.

  A Leonardin raised a meaty arm and shook it, the gesture looking small a
nd fruitless from so far away.

  Normally, Spence would have returned the gesture, a show of bravado. But he was feeling uncharacteristically woozy.

  His head hummed.

  That plate—

  —shook. A loud crash came from below. He was in the tower. The dragon whirled, looking at Spence—a look of complete horror. The fairy faced the wrong direction, but it too turned, its pretty eyes wide. Then—

  He put a hand to the back of his scalp. The plate was actually hot.

  Had one of the Leonardins fired? Had they hit him and had the shot been absorbed by the plate?

  In this long strange adventure, he hadn't had that kind of luck.

  He pulled his hand away. It was red, the skin irritated from the plate. He had to get the thing off. He should never have let them keep it on him. It had been wrong from the start.

  A shimmer beside him.

  He ducked—

  —the world went white then red then white again—

  — but nothing happened. No explosion over his head, no errant shot. He was crouching, and the air still shimmered just a meter or so from him.

  He reached out, his dirty fingers shaking as they approached the shimmer. Then he touched something solid.

  Plastic.

  The Intel shelter.

  How lucky was that?

  —"C'mon,” someone said.

  Spence couldn't breathe. He was covered in debris. His head hurt. Blood ran down the side of his face, into his mouth. He spat, but the taste remained—rusty and acrid, as if he had swallowed ash-covered nails.

  He sat up, brought his good arm to his face, and felt an ache, a pull, a tear. He looked down. A large piece of wood had embedded itself in his forearm.

  Damn. It had hit his good arm. Why didn't things happen to his cyber arm? In that arm, he could shut the pain off. But he always got injured in his own parts.