by Chris Fox
Gone
“Mills, take us down over there. Land on the south pad,” Hannan ordered, gesturing at the wide plasteel pad the local police on Mar Kona used. It was curiously empty, as was the entirety of the Mar Kona colony. No ships flitted between skyscrapers. No pedestrians clogged the pristine streets. Hannan didn’t like it, not one bit.
“Sarge, where did everyone get to?” Edwards asked, leaning forward over Mills to peer through the shuttle’s view screen. Mills gave Edwards an annoyed glance, but didn’t say anything. He guided the shuttle down until it bumped gently against the pad.
“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Commander Nolan said, before Hannan could offer a reply.
Her jaw clicked shut, and she suppressed the urge to deck the smug bastard.
“Sergeant,” Nolan said, “scan for communications, please.”
“Yes, sir,” Hannan replied, nodding to Mills.
Mills tapped a series of commands on the shuttle’s console, and a green light began to blink slowly. After a moment it turned yellow, then a solid red. Text scrolled across the screen, and Mills turned to face her. “Looks like there’s a single distress beacon about two clicks into the jungle south of us, near some old ruins.”
“Ruins?” Edwards said, still looming over Mills. “I thought this was a human colony.”
“It is,” Nolan said. He’d already risen, and was walking to the back of the shuttle. He pulled a tactical vest from the wall, fitting it over his simple grey body armor. The vest carried everything from spare clips of universal rounds to a couple of compressed MREs. “This place didn’t always belong to humans, though. The Primo empire was much larger, once upon a time. The ruins belonged to them at some point.”
“Edwards, stow the chatter. Get focused,” Hannan said, rising from the co-pilot’s chair. She grabbed a tactical vest as well. “Duncan, you with us?”
The wide-eyed kid was even more wide-eyed than usual, probably from the cocktail his suit was feeding him—or maybe from the remorse of getting another soldier killed. He blinked up at her. “Present, Sarge. Ready to kick some ass.”
“Mills, I want you roaming. Stay within two hundred meters,” she ordered, slapping the large red button next to the shuttle’s deployment ramp. It whined as it descended, hissing as the shuttle’s atmosphere normalized with Mar Kona’s. The place smelled like flowers, and she could hear birds and monkeys chattering in the background. It was damned unnerving after a lifetime spent in space.
“You won’t see me, but I’ll be there,” Mills said, snatching up his rifle as he passed. He leapt off the ramp and started trotting south.
“Duncan, I want you on point. Edwards, take the rear. I’ll be in the middle with our esteemed commander,” she said, walking down the ramp. Edwards and Duncan moved into their assigned positions and they all began moving south, away from the city. Nolan moved into step next to Hannan.
“You don’t like me, do you?” the commander asked, low enough that only she could hear.
The question caught her off guard. She didn’t like him, but it was rare for an officer to be direct. That was a small mark in his favor.
“No, I don’t,” she said, deciding that honesty was best. She scanned the jungle before her, an intimidating mass of trees and flowers. Anything could be hiding in there.
“Why?” Nolan asked. He’d drawn his sidearm, and cradled the weapon in both hands. At least he’d been trained to shoot, though she doubted the low-caliber pistol would be much use against Tigris. Not unless he got a head shot.
“Because Mills was right. You’re a paper pusher,” Hannan said, quickening her pace. Both Duncan and Edwards matched it automatically, and after a moment Nolan did too. “You were exiled to the 14th because you pissed someone off. Scuttlebutt is that you slept with the wrong woman, but I don’t give a shit about that. I care about your ability to command in combat. If you mess up, my men pay the price. We can’t afford to have a paper pusher giving orders. That’s how people die.”
“That’s fair,” Nolan said, nodding. He already wore a thin sheen of sweat, and his breathing was a little ragged. Too much time behind a desk. “I’m not trained to be a Marine. Hell I’m not trained to be a Fleet Commander. I worked in tactical, and my whole goal was to work up the OFI command structure.”
“Oh,” Hannan said, grimacing. The OFI was a dirty word to enlisted personnel. The Office of Fleet Intelligence existed to make life difficult for every other branch of service, and acted like they were the sole reason humanity had held its own against the Tigris.
“That said, since I’m here, I’m going to do my best to be a good officer,” Nolan continued.
Hannan, studying the jungle as they approached the trees, didn’t answer that. “Shut up, sir,” she said, dropping to one knee behind a giant root that snaked from one of the trunks. She held up a fist, and both Edwards and Duncan took cover. Nolan did the same a moment later, but she wasn’t watching him.
“What is it?” Nolan hissed.
“Mills,” she said, nodding to a tree about fifty meters into the tree line. Somehow Mills had scaled one of the massive trunks, and was using a mirror to reflect sunlight back in her direction. “He’s spotted something.”
“Contact,” Edwards yelled.
Something was sprinting through the trees. Hannan couldn’t make out much; the figure was using some sort of stealth tech and, except for a faint ripple, it blended almost perfectly with the foliage around it. The only reason she was able to track it was the swaying of the bushes as it passed.
The figure paused, and two head-sized balls of blue energy shot in their direction. The first obliterated the root she’d been hiding behind, and Hannan dove out of the way. She rolled through mud and leaves, coming up behind a thick tree trunk.
She risked a glance around the trunk, then darted back into cover. “It’s at six o’clock. Edwards, Duncan, move to flank that thing. Now.”
“What about me?” Nolan asked. He was crouched behind a trunk, peering around it. Damned fool was going to get his head shot off.
“Keep out of sight,” she snapped, darting forward a few feet and diving behind another root. Three more balls of energy flashed, sending up a spray of debris as the area she’d just occupied exploded. “They’re using plasma weapons, so keep moving. Cover won’t save you.”
“Mills,” she barked into her comm. “End that thing.”
“Acknowledged,” Mills murmured back.
There was a sharp crack from the tree where Mills was crouched, and the insubstantial figure suddenly stumbled forward. Whatever cloaking tech it was using failed, giving her the first look at the alien. It was tall—maybe two meters—and bipedal, with some sort of rifle clutched in one hand. Its armor was a smooth blue alloy, like nothing she’d ever seen. Its chest tapered down into a waist far narrower than a human’s. The legs were just as thin, though clearly still powerful.
For a moment, she thought it was a robot of some type, but Mill’s shot had cored the thing through the chest and orange blood had spattered the ground all around it. The creature turned, and blurred back into the jungle.
“Holy crap,” Edwards called. “That thing is moving fifty clicks an hour.”
8
Ambush
Nolan rose slowly from behind the tree trunk, scanning the area where the strange armored figure had been shot. Orange blood splattered the leaves, and a trail of it led into the jungle.
Hannan spoke into her mic. “Mills, get back to the jungle floor and track that thing. It’s moving in the direction of the distress beacon.”
“Belay that,” Nolan ordered, holstering his as-yet-unfired pistol. He moved to stand next to Hannan, who was glaring up at him as if awaiting an explanation. Was he making the right move? “Sergeant Hannan, have your squad take up defensive positions, and get ready for incoming.”
“What makes you think we’re about to have incoming? We ran across a single scout, which is wounded and probably making for its un
it,” Hannan protested. She was much shorter, but still managed to intimidate the hell out of Nolan. “We need to move, and move quickly. These things could already have reached the beacon.”
Nolan considered for a long moment. He was an inexperienced paper pusher, as Hannan had pointed out. But he’d also been through officer training, and had been the top analyst in his division. Something about this situation didn’t sit well. Where were all the people? Even the Marines guarding Mar Kona had been taken.
In the end the captain’s words decided it for him. If he was going to be a part of this crew, then he needed to act like a leader. That might mean making mistakes, but even mistakes were better than inaction.
“Just do it, Sergeant,” he said. “This is strategy, not tactics. Your disagreement is noted, and I encourage you to include it in your report to the captain.” He glanced around the clearing. “Tactical placement is your call, but get these men into a defensive perimeter.”
“Fine,” Hannan snapped. She turned to face the tree where they’d last seen Mills. He might still be there, but there was no sign of him. “Mills, keep a look-out for approaching hostiles. Edwards, use that V between those two large roots for cover. That should give you a good firing lane. Duncan, you’re watching our rear.”
Nolan watched the Marines move, impressed by their precision. Within a few moments they’d followed orders, and all four of them had overlapping fields of fire. Nolan drew his pistol again, though he knew he wouldn’t be much more than a bystander if it did come to combat. He was a good shot, but he’d brought the wrong weapon for prolonged fire fights.
Several minutes passed, and Nolan began to sweat. Not just because he was overly warm, but also because he was starting to doubt himself. Were these unknown assailants already at the beacon? Had his decision to fortify their position, instead of pursue the aliens, cost whomever set the beacon their life?
“Contact,” Mills whispered over the radio. “At least three hostiles, moving through the jungle in your direction. None of them are leaking blood, so I don’t think it’s the same one we ran into.”
“Paint the lead target,” Hannan whispered back, her voice amplified by Nolan’s earpiece. “The second it’s in range, Edwards and I will light it up. Mills, you’ll shift to targets of opportunity. Duncan, keep your eyes on our northern flank.”
The next few minutes were agonizing. Nolan stayed low behind a tree trunk, most of his body concealed by tall ferns. He darted glances in the direction Mills had said the hostiles were coming from, but occasionally looked back in Duncan’s direction, too.
Then all hell broke loose. Something shimmered in the distance. Nolan wouldn’t have thought much of it, except that a red laser appeared on the thing’s chest. Then Edwards’s TM-601 filled the jungle with thunder as slugs tore into the target. A second stream of slugs, belched at a higher pitch, shot from Hannan’s position, and the shimmering target lost its stealth tech. It faded back into view, its entire body riddled with holes, and was flung backwards to land in a heap at the base of a large tree.
Cracks sounded from Mills’s tree, presumably more shots from his sniper rifle. Nolan leaned up from cover, just a few inches, but couldn’t see what Mills was firing at.
“Help!” Duncan yelled, not more than a dozen feet behind him. Nolan spun to see a figure shimmer into existence next to Duncan. Three glowing blades extended from one of its wrists—some sort of plasma weapon, crackling with blue energy.
Nolan brought his pistol up, but it was like moving through molasses. The hostile was just too fast. It brought its blades down in a tight arc, plunging them into Duncan’s chest. They sank into the Marine’s heart as if his armor were cloth. The teen twitched once, then toppled to the ground.
Nolan squeezed the trigger as fast as he could, and the alien’s head jerked backwards as a shot ricocheted off its faceplate. That got its attention. It darted forward, gliding across the jungle floor like a hunting cat. It was clearly fixed on Nolan, and he knew there was no way he’d be able to run.
A crack sounded behind him, and the thing’s head ceased to exist. Its body toppled to the ground near Duncan’s.
“You’re welcome,” came Mills’s voice over the comm.
“Thank you,” Nolan mumbled, the adrenaline spiking. He stared at the body, wanting to approach but somehow convinced the thing was still dangerous.
“Clear,” Hannan yelled across the clearing. She came striding up to him, a stream of smoke still rising from the barrel of her rifle. “You all right? You look a little shaken.”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Nolan said, though he did feel a little ill.
A boom shook the jungle, much more powerful than any of the gunshots. It was almost enough to knock Nolan from his feet, and he stumbled back into a tree. Then a second boom sounded, and a third. With a sickening feeling, Nolan realized what was happening.
“Get down,” he roared, sprinting toward Hannan. He tackled her into the underbrush just as a fourth boom sounded from only a dozen feet away. It picked him and Hannan up, flinging them into a wide puddle in a spray of muddy water.
9
Ruins
The ringing drowned out all other sound. Nolan shook his head, staggering from the muddy water to the shore where Hannan was already recovering. A detached part of his mind remembered that her armor would pump her full of stims. He wished he had something similar, but his more generic armor didn’t come with the same load-out.
“How did you know?” Hannan asked.
Her voice was muffled. Distant. Nolan shook his head again.
“I heard the first three explosions. Back at the OFI training academy, we studied insurgents. Booby-trapping weapons and armor that they were forced to leave behind was common,” he said. His voice sounded strange in his own ears, but the sharp ringing was fading.
Edwards had already approached, but there was no sign of Mills. In the trees, probably. There were signs of Duncan, all over the jungle. Nolan fought back the nausea. He stumbled over to the most recognizable part, and picked up the private’s dog tags. Nolan tucked them into a pocket, aware that Hannan was watching him.
“That’s not what I meant. How did you know that they’d come for us?” Hannan asked, cocking her head. “If we hadn’t set up a defensive perimeter we’d all be dead now.” She offered Nolan a hand. “We owe you, Commander.”
“Thanks,” Nolan said, accepting her hand. She had a firm grip. He released it, and sat heavily on a fallen log. “I just need a minute, then I’m ready to head to the beacon. You asked how I knew? Look around us. Every last person in Mar Kona is gone, and that includes the Marines. Whoever or whatever these things are, they’re tough enough to overwhelm everything. I didn’t think they’d be terribly impressed by one more Marine squad, and saw no reason they wouldn’t try to take us, too.”
“That makes a lot of sense,” Hannan conceded, with a nod. “If they’re gathering people, then they’d want to gather us too. As soon as they knew we were here, they sent a group to overwhelm us.”
“Exactly,” Nolan said, standing up. “I think I’m ready to move now. Shall we head to the beacon and see what’s what?”
“That’s up to you, sir,” Hannan said, giving him a respectful nod. “You’re in charge. You proved that.”
“All right then, disperse your squad as you see fit, and let’s see if whoever set that beacon is still around to be rescued,” Nolan said.
He was dimly aware of Hannan barking orders over the comm. Edwards marched in the jungle behind them, while Hannan led them in the direction of the beacon. Mills was no doubt lurking somewhere above, and it was somehow reassuring that Nolan couldn’t see him. Maybe that meant these strange aliens couldn’t either.
“Commander?” Hannan asked, her eyes ceaselessly scanning the jungle as they advanced.
“Yeah?” Nolan asked, trying with limited success to mimic the way she moved.
“I’ve never seen aliens like this, never even heard of them. You’re OFI, o
r were anyway. Do the spooks know anything they’re not saying?” Hannan asked. Her voice was pitched low, and her attention never wavered from the jungle ahead of them.
“We’ve never seen anything like this, at least not that I know of,” Nolan said, keeping pace. “Their technology is clearly advanced. I’ve never seen handheld plasma weapons this small, or any weapons with that kind of punch.”
“I thought only Primo used plasma weapons,” Hannan said.
“That’s what I thought, too. They’ve never let the tech get out,” Nolan replied. Something about this made him uneasy. “The weapons we saw were both smaller and more powerful than anything I’ve seen the Primo use. I’d hate to see what kind of ship these things arrived in.”
They were silent for the rest of the trek and, fifteen minutes later, finally reached a ridge that looked down on a jungle-filled valley. In the center of the valley stood magnificent ruins cut from some sort of white stone, ringed by a large wall that was broken in several places. Two huge statues, worn smooth by the millennia, stood atop the gate leading in.
“Looks empty,” Hannan said, though her tone was dubious.
“One way to find out,” Nolan said, starting down the trail that led into the valley.
“Hold on,” came a voice from behind them. “We can make this a lot faster.” Mills stepped from the jungle not more than ten feet away. Nolan had had no idea the man was there until he spoke.
Mills began fitting attachments onto his rifle. He stuck what appeared to be a harpoon in the barrel, added a spool of thick wire to the side, and took aim at the wall below. Then he fired, and the harpoon sank into the wall, leaving the wire in its wake, which Mills affixed to a nearby tree, taking up the slack and pulling it tight before tying it off.
“A zipline?” Nolan asked, impressed.
“Yeah, should shave a few hours off our time,” Mills said. He hooked a carabiner over the line, then slid down into the valley.
