Precursor Revenants (The Precursor Series Book 1)

by Cain Hopwood

  “Focus you two. Sale, Skip, cover our six,” said Jon. “Ingles, up front, cracking pace, go.” He got three snappy ‘sirs’ in reply.

  A moment later, the whole squad was moving.

  Jon didn’t know what Peggy meant by ‘go native’, but from what he knew of Murdoch’s background, he had a good idea of what the wiry sharp-shooter was capable of. He’d have never let Murdoch shed his pack, and separate from the squad otherwise.

  But whatever the half crazy Aussie was going to do, and however he was going to do it, the squad could help by making whoever was shadowing them rush to catch up.

  So Jon knuckled down, and picked up the pace.

  — 21 —

  Jon paced quietly back and forward, stepping lightly amongst the sleeping forms of his squad. He was dog tired, having double timed it with the rest of the squad from the canyon, to their earlier camp site.

  The first thing he did when they arrived, was order everyone two hours sleep, while he took watch with Skip. For the first time since they’d arrived on the starship, Jon was pleased that the chamber they were housed in had no day-night cycle. Somewhere out there, Murdoch was himself stalking whoever was stalking them. And while darkness would have made Murdoch’s job easier, it would have made the whole squad more vulnerable to a surprise attack.

  He didn’t really believe they were in any great danger. This was probably an exercise. If it wasn’t one of the colonel’s making, then maybe one their Galactic hosts had devised. But until Murdoch reported in, he would treat it as the real thing. Even if this was just a test, he didn’t want to fail. If only to deny Gritz the satisfaction.

  Regardless of who was stalking them, and why, after an hour and a half of standing watch, he was getting tired. The half dose of Bright he’d administered for himself and Skip two hours ago, was wearing off. So he stepped around his sleeping troops, and made his way to the high end of the camp where Skip was stationed, making sure to keep a close eye on the ground down slope.

  “Anything?” he whispered, letting the tac-link take his words direct to Skip’s implant.

  “I thought I heard something half an hour ago sir, but I could be mistaken. And, nothing on overwatch?”.

  “Nothing from my side at all. We’ve got twenty minutes, then we can hand off to Sale and Ingles, and get some kip.”

  “I can do another watch if you need sir.”

  “That’s just the Bright talking corporal, in half an hour you’ll be singing a different tune.”

  Jon made his way back past the sleeping men to the edge of the camp. The ground fell away slightly, providing good visibility and little in the way of cover. He didn’t expect an approach from this direction, not with an obvious sentry on duty. The direction to approach the camp was from over the hill, where Skip had enough hardware out to give a mouse a hard time making an unnoticed approach.

  After nearly two hours of tense, watchful tedium, something finally happened. Without an implant ping or announcement, Murdoch’s voice came through Jon’s tac-link. He’d patched himself in somehow, and sounded as if he was just a couple of meters behind Jon.

  “Lieutenant, can y’ hear me?” The rangers voice sounded distracted. It was also a lot slower than usual, and had a deadpan quality that Jon hadn’t heard before.

  Jon subvocalized, there was no point in waking the others just yet. “Yes. What’s your status Murdoch?”

  “Been following this lizard fella.”

  “Does he look dangerous?”

  “He looks nasty. He ain’t got no gun, but he’s got a big old knife.”

  “What’s he doing?”

  “Just sitting there. He’s done a lap of our camp, now he’s waiting.”

  Jon did a long slow scan of the ground below the camp. Before he was even halfway through, Murdoch’s voice interrupted.

  “Oh, you won’t see him lieutenant. He’s good, though he’s no top end ghost.”

  “How far away?” muttered Jon.

  “About three hundred meters, your ten o’clock.”

  Jon resisted the urge to look in the direction Murdoch had indicated. Instead, he finished his slow scan. Then he thought for a moment.

  He opened a tac-link channel direct to Skip. “Skip, wake the others one at time. Tell them to pretend to be asleep, but be alert and ready to move. After you’ve done that, position yourself so you’ve got eyes on me, and can give me some cover. But, don’t be obvious about it, we’re both being watched.”

  “Understood lieutenant.”

  Behind him he heard Skip yawn and start moving around the camp as if preparing for a shift change.

  “Okay Murdoch, I’m going to see if I can have a chat to our friend. Just one on one, nice and non threatening. So, talk me out to him. Also, stay on your toes. If he gets threatening, I may need backup.”

  “Sure thing lieutenant, walk in the direction I told you before. But he’s well hidden, you won’t see him till you’re right on top of him.”

  “Good,” muttered Jon, and started walking. “Talk me in until I’m within earshot.”

  Jon walked purposefully, but not quickly, giving Skip time to wake the others. By walking out towards him, Jon’s intent was to keep their mysterious friend focused on him, giving Skip time to prepare the others.

  “Bit more to the right sir,” came Murdoch’s voice, still seeming to float just behind him. Jon adjusted his track slightly.

  A thought occurred that a purposeful but slow walk, something he figured would be non threatening, might not be perceived as such by one of the Galactics. So to make doubly sure his intent was clear, he slung his weapon, and kept both hands in plain sight.

  “Okay you’re about half way there, sir. You see that scraggly looking saltbush straight ahead.”

  “Yes, is that where he’s hiding?”

  “No, he’s about twenty meters farther on. That’d be a good place to stop I reckon.”

  Jon spied what he thought was the ‘scraggly looking’ bush and headed toward it. When he was about five meters away, he whispered, “Is this it?”

  “That’s the one sir.”

  “Okay, I’ll try talking once I’ve stopped. Let me know if he moves.”

  Jon approached the bush and stopped. He looked around but couldn’t see anywhere where a two meter bipedal lizard could possibly hide.

  “Still here Murdoch?”

  “Yep. He’s gone to ground, but he’s still there.”

  “Where is he? I want to face him.”

  “Eleven thirty, twenty meters away, under that bush that’s a bit taller than the others.”

  Jon faced what he hoped was the right direction. He thought he could identify the location Murdoch was talking about, though all the damn bushes in this chamber looked the same. He wracked his brain, thinking back to the language lessons the Galactic translators had been grilling them on for the last few weeks. Then, more for backup than anything else, he activated his implant’s translation software.

  He cleared his throat and pitched his voice loud. “Fair watch to you honored shipmate.”

  Nothing happened, then Murdoch’s voice in his ear gave an uncharacteristic giggle, “That got his attention sir.”

  Jon didn’t know what Murdoch was talking about. All he could see was seemingly endless desert, punctuated by the occasional scraggly bush. The greeting was the starship equivalent of ‘hello’. Assuming the language coaching sessions were to be believed.

  He pitched his voice a little louder. “Again, I say fair watch to you honored shipmate. I would like to talk.” With any luck that would goad the Galactic, wherever he was, into action.

  Like a surfacing submarine, the Ka-Li rose, sand streaming down his flanks. He drew himself to a standing position, which must have been only slightly shy of two meters, then shook the sand off his body in a single, fluid, whip like movement. Jon’s arm twitched toward his rifle at the suddenness of the creature’s emergence, seemingly from nowhere.

  The thing standing in front of
him was the first Ka-Li Jon had seen in the flesh. In fact, the first non-human sentient Jon had ever seen, apart from the translators, who barely counted. The Ka-Li looked like an upright lizard, or more like an upright anorexic alligator. His only stitch of clothing was a combination belt and double bandolier. Although the bandolier’s chest straps didn’t seem to hold ammunition, instead they featured several boxes with slots cut into the surface.

  The whole ensemble looked a little worse for wear. Several of the boxes on the creature’s bandolier didn’t look securely attached, and the bandolier itself was frayed and faded; he had seen better days.

  “Fair watch stranger,” the Ka-Li said in a high pitched scratchy voice. He sounded like the translators who’d been teaching Jon, and the rest of the unit, the Galactic common language, Galingua. Jon’s implant and datatacts added an English translation that hung in the air between them. Not that he needed it for such a simple phrase.

  With introductions over, Jon got straight to the point. “Why were you following us? Do you mean us harm?”

  The Ka-Li’s response came in a rush, which caught Jon a little off guard. Fortunately, his implant’s software didn’t have such trouble.

  “Honored shipmate, no harm intended. I am a Chonai remanent.”

  Jon frowned. “Chonai? But why were you following us?”

  “We are Chonai, we are hunting, always hunting.”

  Jon reached for his rifle. Then relaxed, the others should have him covered. “You were hunting us?”

  The Ka-Li lowered, bringing his head below Jon’s. Again the words came in a rush. “No, No, not hunting shipmate. Honored shipmate, client of Stetlak. We hunt for honor.”

  “You hunt for honor?”

  “Of course, we are Chonai,” the Ka-Li said flatly. Then he lifted his snout. “I do not know your scent. You are not Stetlak, yet Stetlak brought you. I have seen many come through this chamber since Stetlak took the starship. All I knew. But you and your weapons, I do not.”

  It took Jon a moment to digest what the creature was saying; the Ka-Li spoke quickly, and Jon had no choice but to read the translation. He knew Stetlak, but could only guess that the Chonai were countries, or tribes. He engaged the real time translation subroutines and started sub-vocalizing.

  “So you were following us because you were curious?” Jon heard the translator subroutine use the English word for ‘curious’, instead of whatever the Galingua one was.

  “Curious?” the Ka-Li said, mangling the word’s pronunciation into a breathy whistle. “I do not know what you ask. I hunt for honor.”

  It took Jon a moment to remember ‘hunt’ was a very broad word for the Galactics. “You are looking for a chance to regain your honor.” He subvocalized, and was pleased to hear the translation routines used the word ‘hunting’ for his ‘looking’.

  “Yes. Not only for myself, for my clan, and the Chonai.” The Ka-Li’s voice lowered. “It seems a hopeless task. But still we hunt.”

  “Opportunity is only there for those who search,” muttered Jon to himself. His translator subroutines faithfully repeated the musing in Galingua.

  “You speak the truth, though the words you use are odd.”

  “It is something our colonel occasionally says,” Jon added. Then he recalled what the Ka-Li had said earlier about honor. “How did you lose your honor?”

  “We are Chonai.”

  “I do not know the Chonai,” said Jon.

  “How can you not? The shame of the Chonai is taught in the whole Galactic convocation.”

  Jon thought for a moment. He wasn’t sure how much he should tell this complete stranger. This whole situation could be a test. A test designed to see how well, or badly, humans maintained operational security. So he decided to be circumspect.

  “We are new to Galactic society. We haven’t heard of the Chonai, nor how you lost your honor.”

  The Ka-Li opened its mouth slightly, it looked like it was panting. Jon remembered from the briefings that this was a common piece of Ka-Li body language. It could mean either surprise, or confusion.

  Jon decided a little diplomacy was in order.

  “Please accept my apologies. Earlier I was rather brusque with you,” he said, hoping that the Galingua translation subroutines could handle the word brusque. “It is clear you don’t intend us harm. So let’s begin again in a friendlier fashion. My name is Jon Moss, from Earth.”

  The Ka-Li settled smoothly down into a crouch. This position Jon also knew, it was the conference stance, used for serious conversations. Jon sat down, crossing his legs, and faced the Ka-Li. It was the best he could do to emulate the position.

  Once he’d sat, the Ka-Li spoke. “Ahm-Wat of the Chonai. But, just as you have not heard of the Chonai, I have not heard of Earth. Are you not Stetlak?”

  Stetlak Jon knew, it was the Galactic political entity that administered a large swathe of the galaxy. The Galingua translator used the word conclave, and from what Jon knew a conclave functioned more like a state or province, than a sovereign nation.

  “I would tell you more of who we are and how we came to be here,” said Jon. “But I’m afraid my superiors may not approve of that action.”

  “Of course,” said the Ka-Li with a complete and utter acceptance that surprised Jon.

  “What can you tell me of you, and your people’s place on this starship?” asked Jon.

  “We are Chonai remnants, the original occupiers of this starship. A few of us escaped the purges when Stetlak assumed its occupation. We stalk in the shadows, and live in the chambers and spaces they are yet to discover.”

  “So you are not part of Admiral Katona’s forces.”

  “No, we are not, nor is it likely we ever could be. We have no honor.”

  It occurred to Jon, that it didn’t matter who this Ka-Li claimed to be aligned with, he couldn’t safely believe anything it said. This conversation was rapidly progressing beyond his lieutenant’s pay grade. He didn’t have the background to decide what Ahm-Wat should, and shouldn’t know.

  “Ahm-Wat, I’m afraid that I am not cleared to tell you any details about why we’re here. However, I can invite you back to our camp. It’s possible that my commanding officer will share more information with you.”

  The Ka-Li stood. “That will not be necessary. While you claim not to be Stetlak, you must be aligned with Stetlak. I must take my leave. Our presence is tolerated to an extent, mostly because the centarch does not have enough guards to map and search the entire starship. But much has changed these last few cycles. We remnants have seen many ships pass through the great hangars recently, and our chief wonders what is causing such massive movements.”

  “Our presence here may be linked to that,” said Jon.

  “Regardless, I apologize for stalking you. I should have approached you more openly.”

  “I understand,” said Jon. He stood too, though the Ka-Li towered over him. “Were I in your position, I would have been equally cautious. In fact I must also apologize to you.”

  Ahm-Wat dropped his nose slightly. “I don’t understand, what for?”

  “We noticed you shadowing us some time ago. One of my men has been following you,” Jon said. “Murdoch, please show yourself to our friend.”

  Something off to Ahm-Wat’s right caught his attention because the Ka-Li’s snout shifted slightly in that direction. Jon followed the Ka-Li’s gaze, but there was nothing there. Then, as they turned to face each other, Jon noticed Murdoch standing, stock still, scant meters away. He stood as if he’d been there the whole time.

  This appearing act obviously surprised the Ka-Li. He dropped into a crouch, and with a flash of movement almost too fast to see, had his big, wicked looking combat knife at the ready.

  With a languid wave of his hand, Jon pointed in Murdoch’s general direction. “My tracker has been following you for some time.”

  Ahm-Wat drew himself taller and sheathed his knife. “I see now why Stetlak ally with you. You are formidable hunters. T
hank you for allowing me to live.”

  Jon recognized the traditional formal ending phrase of a conversation between equals.

  “Thank you for allowing me to live,” Jon echoed back.

  Ahm-Wat gave a short nod of his head, turned and walked away. With only a few lanky strides he became nearly invisible, blending into the red desert landscape like one of the native shrubs. Then a few moments later Jon lost sight of him completely.

  Jon activated his tac-link. “Skip, get an overwatch micro drone on our friend, and make sure he keeps his distance.”

  “Sure thing lieutenant.”

  “Come on Murdoch. You, Skip and I need some sleep. The others can stand watch, and then we’ll head back to camp. I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that this wasn’t one of the colonel’s exercises.”

  Jon spun on his heel and made his way back to the camp. “And Murdoch…”

  “Yes lieutenant.”

  “When we wake, you’re going to tell me how, and why, you went dark to us. I mean, was that completely necessary?”

  “Of course lieutenant.”

  “And, any other unusual skills you may have that I should be aware of.”

  “Absolutely lieutenant.”

  “And stop calling me lieutenant.”

  “Understood…” Murdoch said, leaving a gap that Jon’s overtired brain obligingly filled with the word ‘lieutenant’.

  — 22 —

  Colonel Whitfield put his hands behind his head, stretched back on his camp cot and brought up Moss’s report so he could go over it one more time. The report seemed to float in front of his eyes, as clear and steady as a flexi or sheet of paper. A flick of his eyes was all he needed to scan through the pages.

  He was more than a little old school. He preferred dealing with the administrative duties of his command from behind a desk, even if that desk was oftentimes temporary, rickety, or doubled as a table in the mess tent. So it had taken him a little while to get comfortable running the unit without his usual mess of flexis.