When the sun was almost two hours from twilight, they came across the body of one of the large carnivores that dominated this part of the giant planet. Its lips were curled back, exposing a long thin curved jaw with sharply needled teeth. Its snake-like tongue lolled out to the side, covered with mud, striated with bite marks. The creature’s head was thrown back and great bloody bald patches covered its belly from its own claws. Tufts of blood-soaked fur scattered across scrape and claw marks in the mud. Its legs were braced against the air. The ground around the animal gave no indications of a fight, save for the thrashings the animal had made in its pained death throes.
Glancing at Denten and the other two scientists, she saw that they seemed as puzzled as she. Late, when things had settled down, Pala might let them return and study the remains. But not now. She moved the group out again, while another mystery seared through her mind: Did Cabot know about the transmitter in her canteen? The image of Cabot’s stare in the clearing, just before the sphere attacked, would not leave her head.
CHAPTER
7
Eight weeks before the mission to Colossus, IPC Marshal Devlin Riyst took a sharp right turn down a small, whitewashed hallway. He stopped at General Grollier’s red, wood-grained door, pushing it open without knocking.
Walking up to Grollier’s finely polished desk, he stood waiting, arms crossed over his chest. “What is this about my babysitting a research team?”
The general looked up from his com screen, eyebrows raised. He nodded at the junior aide beside him. The aide gathered a stack of papers and took long hasty strides, focused intently on the door. Riyst didn’t know him, but he wasn’t surprised. The Interplanetary Peace Coalition was a big organization. Bigger than most people realized. Suddenly, Riyst didn’t like him. Maybe he could pawn his new assignment onto that guy.
Grollier’s gaze flicked from Riyst’s face to his clenching hands. He cocked back in his chair and coolly answered, “That’s right.”
Riyst hardened his gaze and said each word slowly. “I. Don’t. Babysit.”
“It’s a done deal. Your unit’s already on the way to Firone. They’ll wait for you there.”
“We were just at Firone.”
Grollier stood, peering at Riyst while he shut off the com and set it in his desk drawer. The movement of the drawer was smooth as silk with almost no sound. “How was it?”
The shift in topic made Riyst suddenly very tired. He dropped into one of the two deep burgundy chairs in front of the desk. “Tough.”
“What happened?”
Riyst waved his hand in dismissal. “Long story. But we accomplished the mission. Found a new recruit I’m working on: an empath I’ve been hunting for awhile.”
The general walked over to a side table and poured two glasses of whiskey. “This mission to Colossus is drop and go, and I need someone that I can trust. Someone who Stastny trusts. You’ve been part of our program from the beginning. I need you there.”
“This isn’t drop and go. It’s a drop and come back later. That’s a lot of wasted time. You can train someone else.” He had better things to do. Still, Riyst took the offered drink.
General Grollier leaned against the edge of his desk and stared at him, a calculating expression on his face. He twirled his glass between his fingers.
Riyst shook his head and gritted his teeth. He’d seen that look before: the general was pulling rank. From here on, he would only get himself in hot water if he refused. It never went well to anger someone in power who covered your butt.
CHAPTER
8
When they’d left base camp, it had taken two days at a halt and crawl to reach the point where Cabot had been killed. Moving with a new purpose, it only took seven hours to return. As Pala and her men neared base camp, the remaining clouds cleared away, leaving them a brilliant sunset arching across the sky. The rain had just ended here. Water still glistened with miniature sunsets of blue, gold, red and every shade between. Puddles splatted under the rangers’ feet, joining together with rivulets that gathered speed and cut grooves into the ground. Bubbles rose and popped between tiny claw marks laced across the caked black mud.
Pala signaled her cadets to fan out in a wide ring around the base. The air was filled with the raw sorghum scent of decaying flesh. It overshadowed everything, and the stench was thick enough that she could almost touch it. The wind hummed through the legs of the examining tables in the center of the camp and wide flat leaves rattled and scraped across the clearing. From where they were, she could see bodies.
Pala pressed her lips into a thin line. This was going to be bad. Judging by the smell, she didn’t expect to find many, if any, alive. She faced her men, meeting each gaze one-by-one, reassuring them with her calm stare. At last, she pointed to her temple and then to Physe.
Her young sergeant nodded and pulled Laramie and Bardef aside. He reached for Denten, but the scientist jerked his arm free and gestured to the camp.
Pala shook her head. One misstep could give them away. For a brief second, Denten held ground and stared firmly at her, but then his shoulders drooped. He resolutely turned to join the other two with Physe. Sooner or later, she was going to have to explain to Denten that she didn’t need a scientist hero.
Pala took the rest of her rangers and crept into the camp. Around the perimeter of the base, piles of small MR-201 collection spheres rose up in silver jumbled towers. Some were unopened, and she shuddered to think what agony two days in the blast of the sun had caused any live animal samples. Other 201s were cracked with putrid, brown liquid slowly oozing out of them, and still others were blasted wide open. These were empty, whatever creature inside loose again. They’d been the lucky ones.
Her StarGazer, The Hawk, sat where she’d left it on the far side of the base, as did its shuttlecraft. Bloated bodies of the ten personnel they’d left behind littered the ground between and around the hardened tents and the research tables. Swollen flesh stretched black-rimmed wounds inside out, turning them into raised hillocks and ridges, like continents on a map or globe. It looked as if these people had been gunned down shortly after Pala and her rangers left for the field.
More black marks scored the ground, presumably from gunnery spheres chasing people as they ran for weapons. Someone had programmed the 405s quite thoroughly. Pala searched for Quade. He was walking from body to body, squatting and visually tracing trajectory lines. He stood and held four fingers high above his head for the rangers to see.
Four spheres. Two were now dispatched. Two were presumably still out killing. The equipment in The Hawk could help locate them. She pivoted toward her ship and slung her cannon over her back, wincing as it thudded against her wounded ribs. The familiar dull sick feeling flooded over her, though it didn’t crawl through her stomach this time. She’d have to thank Denten again for his long-acting painkillers.
By the time she reached the StarGazer, Quade had caught up to her. He followed her to the front of the ship. “Since I’m not a complete fool, why don’t you tell me what’s going on. You stopped bein’ sorry about Cabot awfully quick.”
She slid her fingers across the ridges of her thin, black braids and dropped in the pilot’s seat. When she removed Cabot’s academy ring from her thumb, it felt like ice shards slicing through her chest, reminding her of the possibility of her boyfriend’s betrayal, and his death. She set her jaw. Holding up the platinum band, she said, quietly, “I think Cabot may have been involved somehow. Things he said. Things he did. He gave me that canteen. Made a huge deal out of it so I’d be sure to use it.”
Quade sucked a sharp breath in though his nose and stared at the ring. “That doesn’t mean he knew about the attack.”
“No, it doesn’t. I hope he didn’t. I just don’t know what to think.” Pala didn’t know what more to say. The evidence seemed to be mounting against Cabot. Still, if he’d known about that ID transmitter chip, he’d have been sure not to grab her pack by mistake. Unless he'd had a change of heart and
wanted to save her.
Turning away, Pala lowered the silver sheen that was the visual screen. “I don’t think the spheres were programmed via radio frequency. I think it’s all internal. Something built into the program. At least that’s what I would have done.”
On the foot-wide monitor in front of the pilot’s seat, she brought up the schematics on the spheres and located the code. Immediately, the tiny triangulated map in the upper right hand corner of the big screen showed yellow dots swarming around the eight red dots that represented the base camp units. The yellow dots were spheres and, judging by the activity, they were attacking. There were so many of them. Someone had wanted to make sure no one survived.
Pala shifted her attention to the set of statistics at the top left of the screen. Each set of numbers represented a unit. Her unit was Base Camp Three. She centered her focus on the first set, the one for Base Camp One. Like the visuals in her visor, the ship’s sensors read her eye movements and immediately lit up the large screen with a melded landscape of several views from 53 different visors. Or should have. Most were missing and of those images still transmitting, many moved in rapid jerks as the rangers fought. Two views were stationary on the ground.
The visuals for Base Two were completely stationary or gone. If anyone was alive and still had their visors, there would have been movement of some kind. It didn’t mean they were dead, though. Like her unit, they may have just gotten rid of the visors.
Base Camp Four's unit showed only four views from four cadets, but they were moving at least. The views showed a slow creep through a mass of long jungle vines that swung from black trees.
The remaining bases had views like that of Base One. Quade said, “If we jam the visors, the rangers will have to dump them. We can issue them new ones as soon as we take care of those gunneries. That will still leave the chips implanted under the skin, but it’s better than nothin’.” He stood.
Pala glanced up at him. Reaching across the co-pilot’s seat, she programmed the jamming device. Immediately, green static filled every section of the large screen. “Split into teams of two men each. One scientist in each team for medical assistance. We'll hit the closest bases first. You take the shuttle. Drop one team at Base Camp Two and move on to Four. I’ll take a team in The Hawk. We’ll go to Seven.”
Quade shook his head. He spoke slowly, carefully. “Pala, anyone who goes out to the fight may have to get out and get dirty. You know that. An injured person will distract everyone too much. Bardef needs to stay behind. And, like it or not, you’re the best option to stay with him, given your injuries.”
She blinked. Did he just ground her? Her voice was curt. “I can still pilot th—”
He raised his eyebrows and lifted his hand, cutting her off. “You know I’m right. You’ll jeopardize the mission if you have to bail. Furthermore, you can’t lift and carry any injured personnel with that wound. You need to stay here with Bardef. He’s in bad shape and shouldn’t go either.”
Pala turned her head away. She’d never been grounded before. He was right, but it stung. “Fine. You take The Hawk to Seven, then. Make sure Suez goes to Two for medical. Drop Physe at Four. I’ll check on the other bases while you brief the teams.”
In the periphery of her vision, Quade jerked his head in a quick nod and moved with a purpose. He didn’t seriously think she and Bardef would rest, did he? The bodies littering the camp had to be moved quickly, and new tents and cots had to be set up before the wounded started to arrive.
Grounded! She snapped the viewer to reach Base Unit Six, using their StarGazer to triangulate through to the unit commander. She hoped she’d find happy faces at the far end. But, it looked like it had been hit as hard as hers. The sergeant she spoke to was in a panic.
“Where’s your commander? Where's Kong Khamasa?”
“I don’t know,” he whispered, looking around. “The spheres just started attacking. Do you know what’s going on?”
“No, I don’t. Soldier, I want you to find your CO and tell her my men are enroute to Bases Two, Four, and Seven, for assist. As soon as she can, she needs to gather her troops and join me at Base Camp Three. Do you understand?” Until Pala knew what was happening, she wanted all the units together, ready to defend themselves, if need be.
“Yes, Ma’am. I just don’t know where she is.”
“Find her.” She broke the connection. One by one, she checked each of the other bases. They’d all been hit. From Base Five she got no movement whatsoever.
Pala sat up straight and spoke into the com, her voice schooled. “This is The Hawk. Remove your chips and visors. Rally on me.” She adjusted the jammer and the signal went to every ship across Colossus.
Shifting frequencies to the big battalion cruiser orbiting above, Pala said, “Sultesque, this is The Hawk. Come in Sultesque.” The battalion cruisers were too big to land. Besides the 500 man battalion, the giant ships also held six to ten smaller and more versatile StarGazers, such as The Hawk, which easily traveled into a planet's gravity. Then, each StarGazer carried smaller, four-man shuttles for quick runabouts.
When no answer came from Sultesque, she tried again. “This is The Hawk. Marshal Riyst, we need your assistance.” Again there was no answer. She flipped through three other frequencies, but was rewarded with the same dead airspace. Coding a message on auto-replay, she sent it for whenever Riyst would reappear again.
Riyst was Cabot’s buddy. If Cabot was aware of the attack, then she could assume Riyst was as well. Subterfuge was more his style, but murder? She had to admit she didn’t know him well enough to say what capabilities he had. And now he’d abandoned his post. He’d been General Grollier’s pick for the mission.
Grollier. Was he involved, too? How many more back home?
Suddenly, she felt so alien on the giant planet, so solitary, with no hope in sight except that which she and her men made for themselves. And they’d better make a lot; there were going to be plenty of casualties. Picking up a visor, she programmed it to command mode. Now she’d be able to remote access The Hawk’s information. Quade would do the same when he cleared the spheres.
Pala slowly flicked off the com screen. The silver sheen glimmered and then disappeared. Sighing, she stood and moved to the hold, running her fingertips along the polished hull walls as she went. The metal alloy was cool, even on hot Colossus. The Hawk was a fine ship, the newest in the line of StarGazers. She could dance a circuit around the Sun before most ships her class had even warmed up. Pala had been her only captain, even before being awarded command of the unit. And now, someone else was flying her.
CHAPTER
9
By the time Trgyl got back to his barrio, the others had also returned from their hunt. His pouchbrother, Kryn, was busy slicing strips of flesh from the sharp bones of another bryl. Kryn tore a mouthful of meat from the finger-length stripe he held. The thick aroma of blood filled the air. Trgyl’s empty stomach gave an angry kick.
Beside Kryn lay a large bundle of dryd, their downy purple feathers gently lifting in the wind as if still alive. Already, his brother’s two females were arguing over possession of those feathers. One wanted to pad their joint nest; the other refused to give any reason, but her pouch showed the very tiny bulges of two infant squabs.
Trgyl had often hunted purple dryds by sitting quietly inside bushes covered in tiny white berries. When the birds landed, he snatched their quick darting feet from below. Trgyl’s mate, Dymlr, had used the feathers to make a tiny purple-lined sleeper for her newborn squab.
He hunched over his own bryl and also started slicing meat strips. His claws pulled crisp cuts along the rib bones. He took these strips of meat and laid them on one of the hot, flat boulders that bordered their cave homes of his barrio. Dug at a downward angle into the bluffs above the river, the barrio offered the perfect view of the surrounding forest without being seen from below.
Rym, the barrio father, approached Trgyl. “Kryn tells us that the newcomers have spread. They
seem to be searching.”
“It is so. The newcomers have moved in the direction of the burning trees. There were fierce flashes of light.” Trgyl kicked his bryl. “This creature wore his terror high in his nose. He crashed through the brush without worry of sound. I followed its path. A hard-shelled newcomer had been attacked by the soft.”
Rym asked loudly, “Why have the Ancients not spoken to us about these new creatures? Are they angered? It is possible the paths cleansed by our people are now muddied?”
Quiet filled the barrio, dozens of eyes flicked back and forth. All waited for Rym to speak again. Even the older squabs ceased from their play, shifting positions uncomfortably. Dymlr silently took a strip of meat offered by one of Rym’s mates. While Dymlr ate, the babe in her pouch squirmed. Rym’s mate chided Dymlr’s squab softly, and the spell seemed to break. Voices swelled in discussion, one with another.
Trgyl sheathed his claws and crossed the camp. He reached into Dymlr’s pouch and removed his son, Tylg. He told no one that he held a name for his son. The young were only given names once they reached their fifth turning. At that age, children were on their own and the parents could choose a new mate. Tylg was just entering his second turning.
Trgyl held the tips of his sheathed claws close to his son’s lips. After one brief sniff, the squab brushed his long, thin tongue across the blood on his father’s skin. Warm milky breath washed over Trgyl and he smiled at Dymlr. Neither of them intended to take a second or different mate at the turning. It was rare that a single pair stayed together, but sometimes they did.
Sentient Page 4
