Camallay: An Infinite Worlds Novel (Marik's Marauders)

by Joel Babbitt

“What do you see, Wolf?” Alexander asked, switching his situence glasses to thermal mode.

  “It’s what I smell, boss,” he answered as he drew his own blaster pistol. “Large carnivores, a pack of them at that. Dinosaurs by the smell of them, probably pack raptors.”

  Washington looked at Wolf in alarm, but quickly looked back into the shade under the canopy. She’d never had a run in with any dinosaur, but she knew the pack raptors found on the eastern continent were stealthy, deadly predators, and they were relentless stalkers.

  “What do you recommend?” Alexander asked.

  “The scent is near fresh,” Wolfman answered. “We need to move up the shoreline, maybe to a more secluded beach a few kilometers at least.”

  Alexander nodded. “Washington, go tell Thompson and the crew to load up again—quietly.” he emphasized.

  Less than five minutes later the expedition had set off again. Yet, as the last boat put into the water a trio of large, reptilian snouts peeked out from the foliage at the edge of the tree line. As the company departed additional raptors gathered around the first few and watched the expedition with interest.

  * * *

  “That looks like what we need,” Alexander confirmed over the linker as he sat next to the outboard propeller, steering the small boat toward a secluded beach that sat in front of a tall promontory. The lower arms of the promontory that segregated this part of the beach off from the rest of the jungle were hard-scrabble rock, weather-beaten and pocked from the lashing of relentless storms over the ages. But though the sea was getting rougher as the evening turned into night, the water that lapped on the white sand beach was gentle, soothing in its steady rhythm as the three boats of the company beached.

  Quieted somewhat by the echoing of the much smaller area, Sergeant Thompson was still quick to disembark and begin ordering his three specialists and the four yazri around, though mostly with his stern glare and sharply pointed fingers. Within moments piles of gear were being heaped up in a large defensive circle around a central area.

  Jim Ryker walked up behind Alexander. “Do you think those raptor things will track us this far?” he asked.

  Alexander raised one eyebrow and turned around. “Why Ryker, I thought you liked dinosaurs.”

  Ryker grimaced and fingered his Mk-12 in its holster at his hip. “I liked them better when they were just in books. I suppose they were here first, but I don’t think I like the idea of sharing this area with them.”

  Captain Washington just smiled watching Ryker nervously eyeing the thin tree line at the top of the promontory.

  “Well, I wouldn’t worry too much, Jim,” Colonel Alexander said. “Captain Washington here already made contact with Terra Alta Colony. They’ll be here first thing in the morning.”

  Ryker looked quizzically at the older man. “They can’t get here tonight?”

  Alexander shook his head. “Too dangerous. Things are still out there hunting for dinner. They’ll wait until midnight to leave, after the big ones have bedded down for the night.”

  Captain Washington smiled as Ryker walked back muttering toward the ad hoc perimeter Thompson and his crews were forming out of their supplies, but she still hefted her blaster rifle and eyed the promontory above them warily before following the Colonel back to camp.

  * * *

  Sergeant Hobbs sat sorting through the gear that Marik had sent with him on the transport that had delivered him to Taysom Island only a few short days ago. The black slap plates that they all had with them didn’t provide anywhere near the protection as the Light Combat Infantry Plating, or LCIP, that he pulled out of the gear bags Marik’s supply folks had packed for them. As Hobbs passed the suits around to his three companions, they each examined the integrated wrist T-Link, toxicity detector, motion sensor, vacuum seals, basic heating and cooling system, re-breather with its port for an oxygen tank, atmosphere filter, and bio-monitoring systems, all of which were built into the semi-rigid green interlocking plates of each LCIP suit.

  “These will surely stop a bolt from a blaster rifle,” Soar said in amazement.

  “Any personal laser weapon, chemical slugs up to ten millimeters, hyper velocity slugs up to four millimeters, and smaller gyrocs,” Gunner growled in admiration as he stood to size up the plating. “Ah! This one is too small!”

  Sergeant Hobbs took the suit from him, read the name on the back, then switched the suit with Soar. “Here, you stupid monkey,” he chided Gunner, “this one is yours.”

  Gunner held up the new suit, saw that it was marked with his nameplate, and immediately started putting it on. Priest and Hobbs followed suit, while Soar tentatively tried to follow their lead. The adaptive plating was made to support the yazri muscle structure, compressing and flexing as needed, though it would harden with any sudden pressure. This made it rather tricky for the uninitiated to put on. As Sergeant Hobbs and Gunner were slamming armored fists into each other’s shoulder plates to test the hardening reaction of the armor, grunting and shouting with the joy only warriors feel, Priest helped the new warrior Soar to finish suiting up.

  A few moments later the colonel came over to the group holding machetes.

  “Those are some mighty fine suits of armor you have there,” he said.

  Sergeant Hobbs stood up a little straighter. “Yes, sir. Marik’s people sent it.”

  “Well, good!” Colonel Alexander replied with a smile. “LCIP is a wonderful thing to have. Makes the ordinary infantryman feel near invincible. Now, how would you like to try out your new systems and go get us some stakes out of the woods?”

  “Stakes?” Hobbs asked.

  “Sharpened sticks about as long as you are tall,” the colonel explained. “As it turns out, our perimeter fencing went down in the sea with Sergeant Thompson’s life raft, and I just won’t feel all comfy out here on this little camping trip until I have a perimeter fence, so I need you four to build us one.”

  The four yazri looked at each other, shrugged, took the machetes the colonel offered, and headed for the nearby tree line.

  * * *

  Jim Ryker sat near the fire tapping at his dark matter radio interceptor, setting alerts on the dimmer to perhaps capture any communications from Rianna as Colonel Alexander came walking up.

  “Mighty fine piece of tech you have there,” Alexander said cordially as he pulled the fingerless nanomer- weave gloves from his hands and sat down on a gear case next to him.

  Ryker looked up. “Ah, it’s just a tool to help with the job.”

  Alexander nodded appraisingly. “Marik said you might be out here,” he said.

  Ryker looked down guiltily at the dimmer’s screen.

  “He said you were out here on a personal errand.”

  Ryker winced as Alexander hit the mark. Giving a sigh, he looked up with a determined look. “You know what my sister did. Everyone knows what Rianna did!”

  Alexander put a calming hand on Ryker’s shoulder. “I know your sister has been confused since her husband was lost in that core overload.”

  Ryker gave a troubled sigh and looked away. “I guess you could say that.”

  “Well, I just did,” Alexander said with his best fatherly-advice tone of voice. “I think we all know she’s not been herself since then. Marik decided to give her some space. Perhaps you should too.”

  Ryker turned quickly and pointed an angry finger at Alexander. “Marik is only an uncle!”

  Alexander sat back and raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I meant no offense,” he said calmly. “I just think you’re torturing yourself chasing around the Dominion after her. When she’s ready, she’ll come home.”

  “How would you know!” Ryker said accusingly.

  “Jim,” Alexander said as he put a hand on Ryker’s shoulder to calm him. “We’re here to help you, son. Most of us have lost someone we love for a time, sometimes forever. I don’t think that’s the case with your sister, though. She’ll come back when she’s ready.”

  Ryker gave a r
esigned sigh and stared down at the dimmer screen again. It was several moments before he spoke again.

  “I wish I could know that for sure.”

  Alexander grimaced and nodded. “Nothing is ever for sure, Jim. But sometimes you just have to wait for people to come back. Your sister’s a good woman. She’ll find her way home.”

  After a few moments, Alexander patted Ryker on the shoulder and stood, looking around the camp before heading back toward the wood line to help the yazri with sharpening stakes for their perimeter.

  Sitting across the fire from Ryker, Sandra Pastore sat with her knees up to her chest and wondered how one so callous about the death of his own lieutenant could then turn around and talk so tenderly about loss. Shaking off the cognitive dissonance, the doctor put her head between her knees and sank back into her own deep emotional abyss.

  * * *

  Chaos broke in the wood line as blaster fire, screeching raptors, and crashing trees all happened in a few short seconds. Instantly, the small group of specialists that were sorting through the equipment in the camp jumped up and grabbed blaster rifles. Ryker had no experience with the heavy area burst rifles that the yazri had left sitting with the rest of their supplies, so he crouched down behind a large transit case with his Mk-12 in one hand. Wolf and the doctor both sat with surprised looks on their face, though Wolfman quickly crawled over to Ryker and drew his own pistol while the doctor just began to scream.

  “Steady aim! Switch on thermals!” Captain Washington was yelling to Alphabet, Triplets, and Bug, all of whom were huddled behind transit cases in a line with her, Ryker and Wolfman. The distinct sound of gear powering up sounded all along the line. “Mark your targets now! Don’t shoot our friendlies!”

  Immediately blaster fire erupted from the line. Triplets had one furry aspect holding a pair of barrels, while the other two aspects both fired in eerie synchronicity. The confused melee at the tree line was lit up by multiple bolts, allowing Ryker to see the shapes of the four yazri and Colonel Alexander beset by a large group of pack raptors. The medium-sized dinosaurs were about the same size as the yazri, though the lighter gravity of Camallay meant they weren’t as densely muscled as they otherwise might be. But they still had long, wicked teeth they were using to rip bits of armor and flesh from the yazri and curved talons that they were using to try to rip open stomachs.

  “Fire at them!” Washington yelled at Ryker, who had been staring in wonder at the large dinosaurs.

  Jolted out of his amazement, Ryker lined up the holographic dot that danced above his pistol with the closest dinosaur and started firing.

  Out in the wood line, Colonel Alexander hadn’t had time to draw his pistol when the pack raptors attacked. They were quick, silent, deadly predators, and they had taken them by almost complete surprise by jumping at them from behind a large outcropping of rocks at the very top of the hill not five paces beyond where they were working.

  Dropping his machete, Alexander swung his recently sharpened stake around and braced it as a pack raptor lunged at him. He caught the big lizard square in the center, and the stake sank deep into the raptor’s gut, knocking the fight out of the ferocious predator. Jumping back, he grabbed another stake from the pile and swung it down with both hands like a club. He managed to connect with the next pack raptor that was coming after him, cracking the beast on the skull and cracking the pole at the same time. Drawing his heavy fighting knife from its leg sheath, Alexander grabbed the beast by its snout with one hand and with the other hand he sank his knife up through the beast’s throat and deep into its brain.

  Ripping the knife free, he grabbed a burning torch with his other hand from the small fire they had made at the tree line and stood feet apart facing the next two pack raptors with a look of sheer determination and fury.

  “Come on!” he yelled. “Bring it on!”

  The pair of pack raptors saw their two companions lying on the ground, one laying still in a pool of its own blood while the other writhed about in agony, and then blaster bolts began searing into their hides, breaking bones, searing flesh, and puncturing their thick skin with ease. Within moments the two pack raptors and all their remaining companions who could were running back over the hill in full flight.

  * * *

  Doctor Pastore hadn’t inventoried her supplies, and so after the battle was over, and after a couple of pills helped her recover from her hysteria, Captain Washington had already beaten her to the first aid tasks at hand. There wasn’t much to be done, and most of the cuts and flesh wounds Captain Washington and Wolfman took care of with plastiflesh spray and antitoxin. But Priest had been right at the wood line with his back turned to the pack raptors when they sprang their attack, and so the first one had landed squarely on his back and had begun ripping at his LCIP armor.

  The yazri were all fortunate; the armor they had put on just prior to the attack had clearly saved all of their lives. However, Soar had been a lot less fortunate. The two pack raptors who had jumped him had managed to get his right shoulder and upper arm plating off, and before they were driven off they had managed to tear off most of his deltoid, biceps and triceps. What was left of his arm was bleeding profusely and hanging in shreds.

  “This is a mess… this is a mess!” Doc kept muttering as she worked furiously to clamp the artery that swung about wildly, pumping blood all over the sand. Soon Washington had found the advanced medkit and laid it out in the sand next to the doctor as she struggled to grab bits of muscle and fuse it back to dangling tendons with the trauma glove that she had pulled from her immediate response kit.

  “Flesh bag, please!” Doc asked in a tense voice.

  Washington dug through the large case with her flashlight in one hand until she found a bag of pink, slimy material.

  “Is this it?” she asked, wide-eyed. Washington was well trained at first aid, but what to do with a patient after that was far beyond her skill set.

  Doc didn’t answer, she just grabbed the bag, stuck it to her wrist and plugged it into the port on her trauma glove. “Get me an artery kit, the small one!” she ordered.

  Washington went back to digging furiously. In a few moments she held up a pair of small bags filled with tubes. “Uh, I can’t tell which one’s the small and which one’s the large.”

  Doc looked up for a moment from where she was spraying new muscle onto the last fragments of biceps in preparation for laying the yazri’s artery in between the two halves of the muscle.

  “They’re both small kits. Just open one and put it right there,” she motioned with her head to a place on the mat that one of the specialists had laid down next to Soar and the doctor. Within a few moments raw, quivering muscle lay starving for blood. Taking the artery kit, Doc Pastore laid the tubing along the bicep then immediately sprinkled the constructive nanites over the muscle before shaking a line of the powder-like nanite batch along the artery. Within moments small arterioles and veins were beginning to form all along the muscle.

  “Another flesh bag, please,” Doc Pastore said, her voice starting to calm a bit as she went to work on Soar’s deltoid, then triceps. Finally, as she finished wrapping the arm with fleshtape and hooked up a full two liter bottle of hemosynth, she sat back and asked for the small specialized linker-like device that served as the nano-batch controller. She tapped away at the device, swiping here and there in between taps, her brow knit in concentration. After a few minutes she looked up at the bald skin of Soar’s newly reconstructed shoulder. The flesh was a light brown color, which was normal for a yazri, rather than the ashen gray on pink that it had been.

  Poking and prodding the arm in various places, the doctor watched the spots where she pressed down to see whether or not the spots would stay white or regain their color. When a spot didn’t regain its color, she held her finger down and tapped something on the nano-batch controller. This went on, going back and forth over the arm until, finally, she looked up and smiled, handing the nano-batch controller back to Captain Washington.

/>   “There, just like new,” she said.

  Standing off to one side, Sergeant Hobbs stepped forward. “He is missing his hair,” he said.

  Doctor Pastore looked up at the yazri warrior, her blue eyes blinked in a face devoid of emotion. Turning to rummage through the advanced medkit, she dug out a small, tube-like device and handed it to Sergeant Hobbs.

  “Here,” she said, handing the hair replicator to the confused yazri. “Put hair wherever you want.” With that, Sandra Pastore went down to the receding water line of the beach to wash the blood and gore off of her hands and arms.

  Thankfully, the nano-weave under armor jumpsuit that Colonel Alexander had insisted she wear had an omniphobic coating that resisted any stains, so she wouldn’t have to take it off and wash it; it was still quite clean.

  Sandra wasn’t the practical type, but after years of having medical methodologies drilled into her head she could at least appreciate the practicality of wearing a no-stain jumpsuit while practicing field medicine. Grudgingly, she thought that perhaps there was one thing she did understand about this whole strange group of people she found herself stranded with in the wilderness; if nothing else, they were eminently practical.

  Chapter Seven

  Morning couldn’t come early enough for the company, yet when it did come it came suddenly. It seemed as if one minute it was dark, then suddenly it was light almost as if someone had turned on a massive set of lights on the eastern horizon. The humans were all off-worlders, used to the gradual sunrises and sunsets on the larger, slower rotating world of Prexlar where Marik Corp was based.

  The yazri had recently come from various places, but they had no appreciation for the sun; their large eyes were always shaded behind coal-black sungoggles that protected their extremely sensitive eyes. Now that they wore LCIP, the armor strip helmets that lay over their heads in layers like a weave came with embedded goggles that gave them a heads-up display with statuses, target outlining, millimeter wave vision for seeing around obstacles, and, of course, adaptive light protection. Situence glasses weren’t a common item among the primitive warriors, so the crawling letters in the display saw little use, but the enhanced vision was immediately appreciated.