CASPer Alamo (The Revelations Cycle Book 9)

by Eric S. Brown

  “This is Dr. Polland,” Colonel Travis said, introducing the tall, lanky man standing next to him. “He’s the closest thing we have on hand to a scientist. If anyone can tell us what the things we’re dealing with are, it’s him.”

  Major Bowie’s CASPer stepped forward, taking hold of the corner of the tarp in the jeep’s rear and yanking it off the corpse. “This here’s one of them, sir.”

  Colonel Travis scowled as the stench of the creature hit him.

  “Do they all stink like that?” Colonel Travis asked. “Good Lord!”

  “Don’t know, sir. It’s hard to smell things in a CASPer,” Bowie joked. Colonel Travis frowned at Bowie’s inappropriate display of wit.

  “Didn’t you read through the data I sent you while you were in transit?” Neill asked as Colonel Travis stared at the corpse. The monster was roughly human in size and shape, but its body was covered in scales. It was like something that hell had coughed up and spit out. A small tail, barely a foot long, extended from its back just above its buttocks. The thing had no visible ears, but there were inward-curving holes in its head where they should have been. Its eyes, now dull and glazed over, were yellow, the pupils slitted like a cat’s. Long, gleaming claws tipped the three fingers of each of its hands. Equally deadly-looking teeth filled its open mouth.

  “What in the devil is this thing?” Colonel Travis demanded of Dr. Polland.

  Dr. Polland appeared as disgusted and horrified as the colonel.

  “I’ve no idea, sir, but if you can see it gets to the medical area we’re getting set up over in Building II, I’ll properly examine it,” Dr. Polland answered.

  “Look at those claws,” Colonel Travis said, stepping closer to the body of the monster. “They look sharp and tough enough to rend metal.”

  “They are, Travis,” Neill spoke up, deliberately choosing to return the slight. “If you had read through the information I sent you, you’d know that already.”

  Anger flashed in the colonel’s eyes as he turned to glare at Neill. “In your reports you talk about them doing so, but I find it best not to trust anything until you have proof that it’s true. And I certainly didn’t think it prudent to take the word of a man who can’t even keep his own recruits alive!”

  Neill was in Travis’ face before he realized what he had done. In that moment, he didn’t care that Travis was in charge. All he knew was that he had just been blamed for the deaths of his own men, and that was inexcusable. He reacted without thought, without regard for consequence.

  Colonel Travis seemed surprised when Neill grabbed him by the collar of his uniform and pulled him close enough that their noses touched. Neill’s hot breath hit him in the face as he spit out each word. “Don’t you ever speak to me that way again! Not in front of my men! Not in private! You are nothing more than a bully with better toys, and you would do well to remember that. The security detail on this planet is mine to manage, and you were brought here as reinforcements, not to take over. Do I make myself clear?”

  The armored hand of Major Bowie’s CASPer shot out, grabbing Neill by the back of his neck. Bowie lifted the security chief effortlessly with the amplified strength the suit provided him. He flung Neill away from Colonel Travis, sending him rolling across the dirt toward the spaceport. Neill hit the ground with a grunt that emptied his lungs of breath. He fought for air as Bowie’s CASPer lumbered toward him.

  “Enough!” Colonel Travis shouted.

  Bowie froze in place as Neill sucked air back into his lungs and staggered to his feet. Neill’s hand hovered over his sidearm. It was a stance that any seasoned gunslinger would have recognized.

  “Draw that sidearm, and Bowie will rip you in half.”

  Neill straightened up, rubbing his neck with both hands.

  “If you touch me again, Commander, I will have you shot,” Colonel Travis said in the gruffest of voices. “Is that clear?”

  “Try it if you like,” Neill gasped. “But I don’t think Father Valero will go for that. Just remember that I am your peer out here in this wasteland, not a subordinate, and until he says differently, that is the way things are. No merc boss is going to tell me what to do!”

  Colonel Travis studied him carefully, the cords in his neck still taut with rage. Everyone had stopped what they were doing and were watching them. Neill had surprised him. The man had more steel than he’d given him credit for. “This isn’t over,” Travis said. “We just aren’t going to do it out here in front of the men. You will learn your place here soon enough. Don’t be surprised when it happens!”

  Neill seemed unfazed and disregarded the threat. “As I mentioned in the report, these beasts can claw their way through metal. There’s your proof, colonel. If you have any further questions that I can help with, feel free to ask.” He ended with a smile.

  Travis looked on the verge of a meltdown. He pulled a cigar that had seen better days—but no fire—out of his pocket and clamped it between his teeth. “Step aside,” he said, heading back to have another look at the monster. “Polland, over here, now!” Colonel Travis waved Dr. Polland over to inspect the beast closer, hoping the doctor would find something to contradict Neill and make him look like a fool.

  Dr. Polland, however, was a man of science, not politics, and he reported exactly what he saw. “In my estimation, those should be able to tear through metal all right,” he confirmed. “They’re made of a chitinous material that appears harder than the nails on most of the creatures I’ve seen before. These are as sharp as obsidian, but not nearly as brittle—I wouldn’t be surprised if they could tear through CASPer armor, just as the commander said. Look at the muscles of this thing’s arms. Its strength must be staggering. Put enough force behind an attack made with those claws, and the damage would be immense.”

  “They’re fast when they want to be, too,” Neill added. “If your CASPers hadn’t showed when they did, I’d be dead right now.”

  “One of the great regrets of my life,” Travis muttered.

  “It would look bad if we’d lost the colony’s head of security on day one,” Major Bowie said. No one laughed. There was an edge of threat in Bowie’s tone.

  Colonel Travis and Neill glanced in the direction of the spaceport as a young lieutenant and a wild looking man in a brown leather jacket approached the command center.

  “I do hate to have missed a good scuffle, gentlemen, but I’m sure there’ll be another one ‘fore too long,” the man in the jacket laughed. No one seemed to appreciate his attempt at light-hearted banter. The man sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “Anyway, this kid here told me I needed to pay you a visit, colonel.”

  “You’re Crockett, the explorer, aren’t you?” Colonel Travis asked, shocked by the appearance of such a famous figure on such a nowhere world.

  “I am,” Crockett nodded. “Or at least I am unless I owe you money. Then, I’ll be someone else.”

  “Lieutenant Blair, you’re dismissed,” Colonel Travis said. Blair raced away as Travis eyed Crockett.

  “That’s a pretty nasty looking beastie you got there, colonel,” Crockett gestured at the corpse in the rear of the jeep. “I hear there’re a lot of them about these parts. In fact, I can guarantee there are.”

  Colonel Travis wasn’t about to pass up the chance to question an explorer like Crockett about the alien.

  “Have you ever seen anything like it before, Mr. Crockett?” Colonel Travis motioned for him to take a closer look at the body.

  Crockett waved off his offer. “I’ve seen these before, and they’re like Durin II’s version of fire ants. Nasty, nasty critters. I’d be willing to bet that this fellow here has a heap of kinfolk out there. Usually I’d say creatures like that don’t come out to hunt above ground much, unless something really ticks them off. Whatever’s been going on down here has got them all riled up. Remember what happens when you kick the fire ant nest. This won’t be any different.”

  Colonel Travis raised an eyebrow. “You think the colonists’ presence here
is what’s drawn them out?”

  “No doubt about it,” Crockett replied. “Creatures like that one don’t care for folks messing with their turf, and these kind, colonial people came here to mine, didn’t they? First thing I did when I found out those beasties were out there was tell Father Valero to pack up and get the heck out of Dodge, but he wasn’t having it. He hired you and your boys instead.”

  Commander Neill reeled at the revelation that Father Valero had been warned about the monsters on this planet and blatantly ignored it. “How long ago did you warn Valero?”

  Crockett hooked his thumbs into the lapels of his duster and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Oh, it’s been a couple of months at least. He and I go way back. I don’t think he took me seriously when I told him. He thought he knew best about how things would be on this planet. Figured that if God had led him and his people here, that God would also take care of them. It’s a notion I can appreciate, but God also gave us the good sense not to go poking around in a fire ant’s nest…or else we suffer the consequences. Of course there are dangers to living on a frontier planet. That was another part of his reasoning. You go into the desert, you risk dying of thirst. It was a calculated risk on his part. Still, he was in over his head, and I was the only one who knew it. I think he’s come around to my way of thinking right about now, though.”

  Neill was outraged. “A lot of lives could have been saved if he had listened!”

  Crockett nodded. “I expect so. But Father Valero isn’t a frontiersman, a soldier, or a tactician. He’s a man of faith, and sometimes that clouds your thinking. Me, I think there’s a place where those two things can intersect. I believe in God, but I also believe in using my brain. My brain would have told me to get off this rock and travel to someplace safer.”

  “If you’re that concerned about these things Mr. Crockett, why are you still here?” Colonel Travis asked. “You aren’t tied to this planet in any way. Are you?”

  “Yeah, about that…” Crockett said. “My ship, the Bear, she’s got some major astrogation issues, Colonel. I was hoping that you might have a spare nav unit I could trade you for. That ship you hired sped out of here before I got a chance to talk to her captain about getting the part from him. So, effectively, I’m stuck. At least until your transport comes back, and I can see about cutting a deal for the part I need.”

  “I see.” Colonel Travis frowned. “I’m afraid I can’t help you, Mr. Crockett.”

  “You don’t have a nav unit then?” Crockett asked, matching the colonel’s frown.

  “We do not,” Colonel Travis said firmly. “However, you are welcome to use our comm gear if you need. This world may be on the butt end of space, but some ships still pass through here, and they might respond to a call from someone such as yourself.”

  “Thank you, Colonel,” Crockett said with a slight nod. “Father Valero has offered the same, but it appears the universe is sending me a message that I need to stick around.”

  “As you wish.” Colonel Travis shrugged. “Your expertise with such completely unknown lifeforms would be a most welcome asset. I don’t have much experience with these…fire ants…as you call them.”

  “No offense, Colonel, but my ‘expertise’ tells me we’re all dead men unless we get off this rock,” Crockett said. “You and your boys better be bloody tough, because you’re going to need to be when these things come calling. You may be able to hold the fort for a little while, but I can guarantee there are far more of them than there are of us. You don’t have infinite supplies of ammo, do you?”

  “Is that even a serious question?” Travis said, frowning. “Of course we don’t have unlimited munitions.”

  “Just think about what I’m saying,” Crockett persisted.

  “What I’m thinking about is putting this merc company’s bottom line back in the black. There’s money to be made with this job—quite a bit of it, actually—and that is what we are here to do.”

  “You won’t be the first folks I’ve seen die trying to earn a dollar, and I am sure you won’t be the last. I’ve done all I can, though; I’ve told you my honest opinion.” Crockett turned and walked away, heading back toward the spaceport.

  Colonel Travis grunted but let him go. He looked over at Bowie’s CASPer. “What do you think?”

  “I think we need to hit these creatures right now, sir,” Bowie answered. “We have the element of surprise on our side. Other than any of the creatures that might have gotten away at the mines, these things don’t have a clue about the amount of firepower we can rain down on them.”

  “Sending men into those mines after those things is murder, Colonel,” Neill spoke up. “They may not have a clue about the kind of firepower you have, but you also don’t have a clue about how many of them are inside those shafts.”

  “You’ve seen my men in action, Commander,” Bowie reminded him. “We saved your butt without taking a single loss, didn’t we?”

  “You killed what, three of them?” Neill pointed out. “How many do you think will be waiting for you in those mines? CASPers or not, going in there is asking to die. Remember, their claws will cut through your suits. I’ve seen the damage they can do.”

  “I think it’s our best option, sir,” Bowie said, ignoring Neill. “Hit them hard, hit them fast, before they can come at us and we end up on the defensive.”

  “Sometimes the odds are against you, but you have to try anyway and hope,” Colonel Travis agreed. “How many men do you think you’ll need?”

  “There’ll be areas in those mines where things are likely going to be pretty tight,” Bowie said. “The fewer it takes to get the job done, the better. I’d say maybe three squads. All in our standard CASPers though. Not the Mark VIs you bought for this job.”

  “That’s half of our modern suits, Bowie,” Travis cautioned. “If things go south…”

  “They won’t, sir,” Bowie promised. “I’ll lead the attack myself.”

  “Oh, come on!” Neill shouted. “You people are insane.”

  Bowie’s armored hand snatched the front of Neill’s uniform and lifted him from the ground. “I think it’s time you left now, Commander, before something unfortunate does happen to you today.”

  Bowie flung Neill several feet through the air. Neill shifted his body to roll with the impact as he struck the ground, and came up on his feet facing Bowie’s CASPer. His hand reached for his sidearm, but a hand grabbed his arm, stopping him before he drew it. Robbins had returned and stood beside him.

  “It’s not worth it, sir,” Robbins told him loudly and then whispered, “You can’t help any of us if you’re dead.”

  “I said, ‘scram’,” Bowie warned as Neill took his hand away from his sidearm.

  “Let’s get going, sir,” Robbins urged him. Neill allowed Robbins to lead him away from Bowie and the others. Those fools were going to get everyone killed, but for now, there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

  * * *

  Major Bowie left his CASPer with the unit’s tech and ordnance before heading off to where the CASPer pilots were being billeted. Travis had given him several hours to get some rest, gear up, and move out. He planned on hitting the mines shortly after dawn. Everything suggested the creatures were less likely to be out and about during the daytime hours. The colonists had offered up the homes closest to the spaceport as quarters for himself and his men, but Colonel Travis had scrapped that idea. He wanted them all to stay together and alert, in case the creatures did make a move against The Sanctuary. Bowie doubted the creatures would, for now, but one never knew. The colonel had requested to use one of the massive, warehouse-like structures near the spaceport for their quarters instead. Though Bowie regretted losing the chance to sleep in an actual bed rather than on a cot, he agreed with Travis’ thinking.

  As Bowie entered the makeshift barracks, he found a cot and pulled out a whetstone and an enormous knife. Bowie began to drag the blade back and forth, honing the edge to razor-perfection. There
wasn’t much need for something as antiquated as a knife anymore, yet sharpening its blade brought him comfort and reminded him of the arm blades of his CASPer. With the CASPer suits, fighting with blades was a different thing, an act forged more by technology than any blacksmith.

  Most CASPer pilots didn’t like to get in too close to their enemy. Why bother when a Mark VIII CASPer had such powerful weapons at its disposal? Yet there was something more personal about killing with his suit’s arm blades. It was as low-tech as you could get in an era of MACs and lasers, but to Bowie, it was so much more.

  Arm blades never jammed, ran out of bullets, or malfunctioned in any way once they were extended. Killing with them was pure, and it was a last line of defense against whatever came at you. He thought of all the beasts and men he had killed over the years, and how many of them had fallen beneath his blades.

  Very few of the men in his company joked about his up-close style anymore. They had seen it save their own hides too many times to laugh about it. Bowie honestly didn’t much care one way or the other. When their CASPer was nearly blown to bits and there was nothing left but a red-eyed, bloodthirsty enemy racing toward them with a mouthful of fangs, they all saw the need for his kind of fighting. They all came around…eventually. The only question was whether their thinking changed in this life or the next.

  The act of honing the knife’s edge was therapeutic. The simple act of the back and forth motion across the stone had a calming effect. The purity of the job helped him clear his mind, focus on the task at hand, and plot all of the killing he was going to do when those fiends from the mines started rushing out. They had their claws, which were capable of rending metal. He had his knife. In his mind, they were the ones who were at a disadvantage.

  He ran the blade over the exposed skin of his forearm, shaving the hair neatly away. He gingerly touched the tip of the blade with his thumb and winced when he went a little deeper than he meant to, drawing blood. For the briefest of moments, he imagined that it was the blood of something else, one of those things from the mines. He thought about how it would feel, hacking away at them, meeting resistance as his CASPer’s blades met bone, slicing away at the fiends as they rushed at him beneath a hot, steaming crimson rain.