by Michael Ryan
“And if we leave here and try to find civilization?”
“The most obvious negative is that we could burn through our power supplies. Then we’d be stranded like we are now, but without means to build shelters and with no weapons. We’re going to be naked and vulnerable if we have to de-suit, and I think that’s highly likely to happen in either case.”
I paused to let that sink in.
“Now, assuming we could locate a city, we might well face unsympathetic locals and maybe even hostile ones, given that we sort of look like an invasion force. Imagine what happens if they aren’t happy to see us. We don’t speak the language. We’re aliens here. They might shoot first and worry about our intentions after we’re dead. Although hopefully our suits would still have enough power to shield us for a time.”
“You make it sound grim either way,” he said.
“My recommendation is to hold tight here, sir.”
“I have to agree with Avery,” Veenz said.
The lieutenant trusted me. That inspired confidence, and I didn’t want to let him down.
“Why?” Bolestand asked him.
“When Command returns, whether for war or peace, they’ll find us,” Veenz answered.
“And you believe this…because?”
“They hunt down the data-boxes from every craft.”
“I concur,” I said, although neither of them seemed to be paying attention to me.
“You’re an optimist, Avery,” Bolestand said, proving me wrong.
“I understand bureaucrats, sir,” I said. “And politics. The heli-jet and our suits represent a big investment. It’s somebody’s job to account for them. Where they went. How they were used. What, if any, damage they inflicted on the enemy. And finally, whether anything can be salvaged.”
“You make war sound like a business.”
“Second oldest I know of,” I said. I instantly regretted my words, but the lieutenant didn’t comment on them.
“This isn’t a democracy, but I’d like to hear what the men think,” he announced.
“I think that’s wise, sir,” Veenz said. “We might be stuck here for a long time. We need to get along and work together.”
I was both impressed and worried.
Most of the space marine types were younger corporals without my years of experience. I was confident that my Raiders would trust my opinion and follow me, whatever I said. Once we opened the door to dissent and discussion, we might not like the results. On the other hand, there was a looming possibility that we’d soon be naked and cut off from all tech, in which case we’d be more dependent on one another than we could imagine.
“Okay, sir,” I said. “I’ll call a meeting for first thing tomorrow morning if that’s acceptable?”
“Yeah, sleep on it,” he said.
The next morning, Callie set up a meeting protocol that would allow us to discuss our options in an orderly fashion. We began shortly after sunrise, and I wondered how I was going to feel if we had to de-suit and had no access to coffee.
The men assembled in a clearing by a brook. Most sat; a few stood. A couple of them stretched out on their backs with their feet up. I realized that I’d have to suggest that Veenz take over the senior lieutenant’s duties, or ask for the command myself. If we didn’t maintain order and discipline, we’d have to face the eventuality that we’d cease to be a military unit.
Which didn’t sound like the worst possible outcome, given the circumstances, although I’d never have said it out loud.
There was a good chance we’d never be located, and that our military careers were effectively over. If that were the case, once we de-suited, whoever had the greatest raw physical strength might claim leadership. Especially with a couple of well-planned alliances. Without weapons and an enforceable code of justice, prehistoric instincts would take hold.
The mighty would rule.
As I considered the prospect, I realized this was the world I’d already been living in throughout my entire life. We were just dealing with it on a different scale.
“I’m calling this meeting to order,” I announced over the squad comm. “We’ll follow the protocols and rules created by Master Sergeant Dunn. Questions?”
Callie set up a forum in which questions and comments would scroll through a feed on our display screens, so we could simultaneously see what opinions were being offered. Callie and I kept our private comm open between us, and I suspected others had done so as well.
Unsurprisingly, “What are we going to do?” was the most common question.
After a minute of seeing the same issues scroll through my feed, I interrupted the free-for-all. “Hold your questions, and let me give an overview of our situation. If we’re not rescued, we’re going to have to de-suit in forty-five to fifty days.” I explained the two options that Callie and I had discussed with the lieutenants the night before. I went through the pros and cons and then opened the comm for comments.
“I think we should go for a city,” a corporal said. “We’re soldiers, not survivalists.”
“No,” a corporal from a different unit said. “We don’t have a mandate to make contact with whatever aliens live here. And they might kill us. The proper protocol is to stay here and wait for reinforcements.”
And so it went. Some soldiers quoted from the Basic Orders and Statutes Code Book. Others were more pragmatic and suggested that we assume the Gurt military wouldn’t be back in our lifetimes. Those who thought we were stranded argued we should be prepared to make this our new home for the duration.
Which might be a really short time, for all we knew.
Others suggested we trek for a month, and if we weren’t successful finding intelligent life, then we could set up a camp. The discussion continued for over an hour.
“Should I shut this down now?” I asked Callie privately.
“It’s going in circles,” she said.
“You’re right.”
“Okay, troops,” I said over the squad comm. “We’re going to call this. I’m going to discuss things with our two lieutenants, and the leadership will make a decision. We’ll meet again at sundown. Dismissed.”
“We’re in trouble,” Callie said on the private comm.
“Maybe.”
“Lieutenant Bolestand isn’t acting right.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” I said. “What’s the status on Abrel and Mallsin?”
“The longer they’re left in comas, the better their chances of surviving.”
“Shit.” A couple more friendly voices to strategize with would have been helpful. “How weak will they be if we have to de-suit them?”
“It won’t be pretty. If we take them out too soon, they’ll likely die. It depends on the extent of their internal injuries. If we let them heal for a month, though, they might make it.”
Callie cut to the chase, as always. “What direction are you leaning on our options?”
“Staying here,” I said. “That’s my decision. To leave now would mean using up our power and probably ending up in the same situation. I think the lieutenants will go along with whatever I recommend. Neither of them has any jungle experience.”
“So that’s it?” Callie asked.
“That’s it,” I said.
I felt relieved. I had to sell this to the lieutenants, but the way things were going, I didn’t expect any arguments. It was time to build a village.
The troops were mostly on board.
A few dissenters were given the option of leaving together if they insisted. I told them they could always track their path and come back if they got to fifty percent power. They declined, in part because I think they realized that if they came back to a fort they hadn’t help build, they’d be at a disadvantage.
Our group was skewed male; not counting the prisoner, we were seventeen men and ten women.
The gender issue wasn’t inconsequential in my mind. Even if Callie and I had been able to entertain the idea of ever having children again �
� which we weren’t – we’d all been rendered infertile, which was SOP for infantry while on active duty, so none of us were capable of forming families and building a community. Even so, fights over women were still a concern. It was common among twentysomething men to be competitive about the opposite sex in a population where the genders were equally divided. Living long-term in the middle of a strange wilderness with a highly uneven balance between the men and women was sure to bring drama and possibly violence. It was merely the way we’ve evolved, and not recognizing it and planning for it would be foolish.
I had a daydream that friendly natives showed up. We were joyful. There was plenty of exotic food and tasty alcoholic drinks. Beautiful women flirted with the single men. Everyone was fat, happy, and satisfied.
It was a beautiful fantasy, but instead of happy dreams, I planned for the worst.
We used our EPL blades to cut down trees. Building with green lumber was less than ideal, but our priority was creating a defendable compound, not designing houses that were aesthetically pleasing. We started by burying logs into the ground at a slight outward angle. Our suits gave us enough strength to dig by hand with reasonable efficiency. A few of the corporals had grenades remaining in their EPs, and we used them for trenching. I assigned two soldiers to sharpen the tips of our fence logs, and a third to build a functional gate.
Gauss bolts, fired with care, worked as nails on the green wood.
We used the last of our missiles felling large trees around the exterior perimeter of our camp. If something approached, we’d spot them. To aid in our observation, we built two crow’s nests on opposite sides of the compound. For weapons, the best we could achieve with our limited resources were long spears fashioned from saplings of a species of tree that grew straight and tall. The pikes would stop a medium-sized predator or an unarmed humanoid, but not much else.
Ironically, our prisoner turned out to be a huge help.
Realizing our predicament and that his survival was dependent on ours, he helped identify edible fruits and nuts. Using sign language, he pointed out poisonous plants and berries and even built a small-game trap. After seeing his success, we replicated his efforts. I allowed him to create a small fire pit and cook for himself the little mammals that looked similar to rabbits. The remainder of the game we captured we kept in a makeshift pen. The power in our suits was diminishing quickly with our labor, and soon we’d have to leave our armor and eat food that required chewing.
Any suspicions we had that our prisoner might be trying to trick us with poisonous berries or toxic meat was dispelled when we watched him eat spit-roasted meat, fresh fruit, and all the edible nuts and roots he’d collected. He was stuffed full and could barely move.
Water was going to be our biggest problem.
I tested the closest stream; it was potable as long as we sterilized it first. What we lacked were any containers to boil it in. I figured we could modify a piece of armor when the time came. At least we weren’t in a desert. Once we’d secured enough food and water to be partially secure in our compound, the last priorities before we de-suited were shelter and clothing.
We still had the material from our parachutes, which was strong but thin. We didn’t have anything to fashion clothes with, so the best it could be used for would be blankets. As far as any of us knew, the area was temperate. But we were partially using wishful thinking and guesswork. It was entirely possible that we’d arrived in summer, and the winter would bring snow. The presence of forests would seem to indicate that it got cold, while the swamps and jungle areas seemed to indicate it stayed warm all year.
Remembering the bitter cold I’d barely survived in the Arctic on Earth, I ordered massive amounts of wood to be chopped and split while we still had the use of our gear. It would take months for the green logs to cure entirely, and if snow was coming, I wanted to be prepared for it.
After five weeks, I decided it was time for us to pull Abrel and Mallsin out of their comas, using the logic that we wouldn’t be able to do anything for them once we de-suited. We’d created lean-to structures using dried foliage for roofing that provided limited protection from the rain, and one of the industrious engineers had fashioned a pair of hammocks from parachutes in which they could convalesce.
“It’s time,” I said.
Callie logged in to Abrel’s system and opened the medical program. She overrode the existing protocols and instructed the suit to administer meds to bring him slowly to consciousness. It took a few hours, but eventually he spoke.
“Mallsin?”
“It’s Avery,” I said. “You’re waking after a long nap.”
“Mallsin?”
“She’s still asleep, buddy. Get your rest and recover.”
Callie programmed the system to alarm her if anything drastic happened, but otherwise to allow him to sleep as he needed.
She woke Mallsin next.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“You’re in a compound in a jungle,” I said, not wanting to blunt the truth. “Abrel’s alive, but hurt. You’ve both been in induced comas.”
“Avery?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Am I going to be okay?”
“I think so, Mallsin. Get your rest.”
I left them under Callie’s care and continued my duties for the next week, knowing that our real struggle wouldn’t start until we were naked and exposed. Our costly high-tech military hardware was about to be discarded; most of it would be worthless junk, but if we were lucky, we’d be able to repurpose parts of it into cooking utensils.
With any luck, maybe even crude weapons.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A purvast of sound mind shall place an incense upon Daragonth’s Holy Fire, that the cloud of gray incense may cover the seat of judgment and he will not suffer the flames of Golvin.
~ Holy Writs of Vahobra, 1:16
The day came when we agreed it was time to shed our TCI-Armor.
Callie shared her hack with the squad. De-suiting outside a medical bay, while against regulations, was a minor offense compared to allowing an enemy access to a suit. With power levels approaching zero, if we went by the book, we’d have no choice except to self-destruct. Nobody was inclined toward that option. The majority of soldiers had only minor issues shedding their armor, the biggest one being the transition from breathing liquid to breathing air.
Because Abrel and Mallsin were still weak, Callie remained in her suit to assist them with the programming sequences. After they were safely tucked into their hammocks to recover from the shock of the transition, the last remaining suited soldiers were me, Callie, and the two lieutenants.
“Sir, I guess it’s time,” I said to Bolestand.
“You three go,” he said. “I’ll ensure the suits don’t end up in enemy hands.”
“Sir?”
“You heard me.”
“There must be another way,” Callie said. “We can burn your suit or smash it with rocks.” I think she realized the futility of her suggestions as soon as she spoke them. The suits were indestructible without using powerful explosives. But Callie wasn’t about to give up so easily. “Sir, I can program a hack. Give me a little time to work on it. I’ll create a way to have the suits self-destruct as if the soldier were still inside them.”
“You can do that?” I asked privately.
“I think so,” she said.
I switched to the lieutenant’s comm. “Sir, if anyone can do it, she can.”
We waited while she programmed.
After three hours, she said, “I’ve got it. I want to run a test. Grab one of those, Avery.”
I picked up one of the empty suits and carried it a safe distance from our compound. She plugged herself into the suit and downloaded the self-destruct program she’d just written.
It worked.
I was happy, but not surprised.
After using the battery as a means to create an internal explosion, the suit became a useless mess. The fire cau
sed by the blast burned out quickly, reducing the CPU, weapons, medical, and communications systems to nothing but charred bits of metal and ash. The suit was effectively destroyed.
I instructed the engineers to collect the remaining pieces of TCI alloy. “See what you can come up with. We need to try to make this stuff into primitive tools.” The metal, too strong to fashion and work outside of a machine shop, was rendered into odd pieces from the self-destruct sequence. I suspected we’d find ways to use them in one manner or another.
The lieutenants and I de-suited and allowed Callie to work her magic. She went last and set a timer for her gear, which exploded and burned like the rest. The twenty-seven former TCI-Armored infantry soldiers were now a group of naked humans and purvasts on an alien planet. The prisoner – who, unlike the rest of us, wasn’t naked – suddenly had a crucial survival advantage: shoes.
Once out of our shells, the dangerous environment began to take its toll. Our first death happened four days in.
We were sending out groups of four or five to search for food. Our weapons consisted mostly of the pikes we’d fashioned before we ditched our suits. A few of the men carried pieces of armor to use as clubs, but their length meant that if you were using them to hit something, that something had to be very close to you. Which was exactly what happened when a corporal was killed by a catrilla – the name we’d given to the area’s alpha predator.
“New guidelines,” I said to the group. “We hunt and gather in groups of at least six. Three men will provide overwatch at all times with pikes.”
We were pantomiming strategies to use against the animal when our prisoner, whom we’d taken to calling Pow, stood and waved his arms. “What’s up, Pow?” a corporal asked. “You gonna tell us how to hunt?”
The home-planet native picked up a piece of armor that we kept at the ever-burning campfire. We used it as a log poker, but it had enough of a depression to hold coals. Pow took a handful of dried leaves in his left hand and crumbled them into a fine mist. He dropped them onto the coals. The cloud of powder flared brilliant orange. Pow dropped the metal poker on the ground. He pretended to run away while displaying his hands as if they were claws.
