by Richard Fox
“Sir,” Bailey said. “I can see you.”
Hale pressed a button on his gauntlet and light rippled over his body as his cloak took effect. He looked around and saw the wire diagrams of his Marines superimposed on his visor screen. The short-wave IR in each Marine’s armor sent out a location beacon that the onboard computers used to show him the relative location of the others, with a foot or two of error.
The clearing was a field of tall grass with notched blades, the deep-blue ferns scattered about. The spires ranged from thin to so thick Hale wasn’t sure he could wrap his arms around them. Thin branches stuck out from the trunks at odd intervals and each spread a flat lattice of fan-shaped twigs at the ends. Hale pressed his fingertips into a spire, the spongy surface yielded slightly, like we was touching a fungus.
“I’d bit Standish’s hand off if I saw him doing that, sir,” Cortaro said over his private channel to Hale.
“Even I get curious, Gunney. But you’re right. No touching,” Hale said.
Two moons, one a bare rock like Luna, the other an angry swirl of red and black of active volcanoes stuck out against a faint red lining beyond the blue sky. An avian creature the size of the Mule flew along the distant mountains, flapping its great wings every few seconds. Far from the mountains, a sapphire-blue sea stretched out to the horizon. Tall storm clouds billowed over the waters, casting shadows over the waves.
“This ain’t so bad,” Bailey said. “Nothing’s tried to kill us yet.”
“How’re we looking on the Mule’s cloak?” Hale asked.
“Batteries are basically zero,” Egan said, “but the photovoltaic converters in the shroud are working as advertised. We’ll have the cloak recharged to the point it can get us back to the Breit in…nineteen hours.”
“Was that good news?” Standish asked. “Did that sound like good news to anyone else?”
“Which one of you is trying harder to jinx this, you or Bailey?” Rohen asked.
“The next one of you that mouths off will clean a Toth latrine with your tongues,” Cortaro growled. “I will find one somewhere on this planet. I swear it.”
The edge of the shroud lifted up and Egan and Lafayette came out, both cloaked.
“Lafayette managed to land us on the right side of the mountains, too,” Egan said.
“Ten kilometers from our planned landing zone. My apologies,” Lafayette said.
Hale checked the map on the inside of his visor, pinned a waypoint on their current location and shared it with the rest of the team.
“Everyone remember where we parked. Let’s get moving,” Hale said.
CHAPTER 9
One hundred and seven Toth overlords crowded together in the throne room, their proximity to the gold and platinum throne that stretched twenty feet into the air determined by the size of their last tithing to the doctor. Those closest to him enjoyed the knowledge that they’d live out the day; those against the far wall shuffled their tank arms and pawed at the ornate carpets in anxiety.
Statues of carved ivory ringed the upper level of the throne room, all blaring out some horrid dirge that Mentiq had written to please his guests while they waited—and waited—for him to arrive. Many of the overlords theorized that Mentiq knew just how bad his music was and took some sick pleasure in listening to the never-ending stream of compliments he would receive from Toth overlords as they petitioned him for financial backing and better tithe conditions.
Ranik, her spot in the second row of overlords a sizable improvement of ten spaces over the last meeting, hated the tribute gatherings. Hated being forced to share space with the other Toth overlords that competed with her for resources and influence on their home world. Hated the pomp and circumstance Mentiq demanded every time he went through the motions of reminding every Toth that achieved nigh immortality and ecstasy just who they owed their existence to.
She’d been one of the first to undergo the transition from her flesh-and-blood body to the tanks millennia ago. Mentiq had returned from some off-world expedition with technology that held the promise of eternal life, so long as one fed regularly on sentient minds and gave up a significant portion of their income to Mentiq.
With her old body failing to cancer, she’d taken Mentiq’s offer. After all, she couldn’t take the wealth to her grave and cutting her ungrateful spawn off from their inheritance appealed to her black sense of humor. Life in the tank proved acceptable, but the demands of the associated addiction was a never-ending itch at the back of her mind. She’d hypothesized that Mentiq increased the withdrawal symptoms anytime he decided he needed more wealth or some new species for his gardens.
She’d never shared that thought with another soul; to do so would risk antagonizing Mentiq’s humors.
An alien with dark skin and long quills, wearing long robes inlaid with silver, came out from behind the throne. Fellerin, Mentiq’s Haesh consigliere, raised his arms and the assembled overlords sank to the ground in supplication.
“Greetings, chosen,” Fellerin said, his Toth marred by an accent that would never truly master the many tones of his master’s language, “Dr. Mentiq is ready for you.”
Lights dimmed around the audience and a spotlight shone down on the enormous throne.
Please, no dancers this time, Ranik thought.
A portal opened in the ceiling and Mentiq floated down on a grand palanquin. Mentiq was of the Toth’s old leadership caste, six limbed and with a wide head and bulbous eyes. He lounged on the palanquin, a generous paunch to his belly that the old kings used to symbolize wealth and a life of leisure.
A glove made of precious metals and inlaid with the diamond of the Toth’s last god-king covered his upper right hand up to the elbow. Cords studded with rubies and onyx ran from the glove to the base of his skull. He enjoyed feasting on lesser minds as much as the overlords.
“Welcome,” Mentiq croaked, his voice brittle and cold. “And has everyone paid for my hospitality?” he asked Fellerin.
“The tithes are in order. All have paid,” the Haesh said, his eyes on the ground.
“Have they?” Mentiq floated over the overlords and hovered above Ranik. “I count two dreadnoughts in my skies. Where is the third I leased to the mighty Tellani Corporation?”
Ranik felt her tendrils wrap around what remained of her spine.
“Lord Mentiq, may you ever live in luxury, the expedition to the human world has only just arrived,” Ranik said. “The first batch of human product isn’t due back for many more days—well before the end of the tithing. Everything is on schedule, I assure you.”
“How can you assure me if you’ve no word from the fleet?” Mentiq lowered and ran his gloved hand across the artwork inlaid against the top of her tank.
“We sent more than enough forces to assure victory. Nothing can defeat one of your grand ships,” Ranik said.
Mentiq’s caress traveled down the side of her tank. Tiny filaments snaked out from his fingertips and rubbed against the reinforced glass.
“The amount of capital I risked to ensure your success…” Mentiq’s forked tongue lapped at the air. “You know the price to make me whole if your corporation fails.”
“Of course, my lord. I signed the contract myself,” Ranik said. She’d also inflated the value of her holdings somewhat as collateral to lease one of Mentiq’s dreadnoughts, the use of which came with several caveats and a larger-than-usual share of the profits to Mentiq. If Stix, one of her oldest and most able lieutenants, failed in his mission to subdue Earth and acquire the technology used to create the false humans, then her life was forfeit.
Mentiq preferred to consume debtor overlords in front of their peers, as a warning and a final insult.
“Yes, you do.” Mentiq tapped on her glass, an annoyance that Ranik hated, and rose back into the air and addressed the audience. “What wondrous morsels you’ve all brought me. What amazing new species we have to trade at the bazaar. These humans Ranik promises will be a fitting dessert once we conclude our busine
ss. Now…for your extensions.”
Ranik felt the other overlords shifting in anticipation. None of them owned the life-preserving tanks; they were leased from Mentiq. Mentiq could switch off the life-support functions on a whim, and each tank would automatically cease functioning after a few years…unless Mentiq reset the clock.
Fellerin stepped away from the throne and took a small box from his robes. He whipped out a gleaming slip of electro-paper and fed it into the tank of the nearest overlord, a sycophant who’d been nearest to Mentiq for hundreds of years. The Haesh moved down the line, feeding new codes into each tank. Sometimes there were enough codes for every overlord; sometimes the last few farthest from the throne were left to die unless they came up with a significant amount of capital to give to Mentiq. The chance to die due to one’s rank in the hierarchy proved sufficient motivation for some to increase their holdings…and give more to Mentiq.
Fellerin, or the consiglieres before him, were always the ones to distribute the extensions. Ranik’s tentacles twitched as she wondered just where he kept the codes.
“But how many of you will continue on after this?” Mentiq rose higher, his palanquin spinning lazily. He let out a dry laugh. “One of you…one of you has a lieutenant that promised to significantly increase her corporation’s tithe to me in exchange for their place by my side.”
Ranik’s mind raced. Could it be Kren? Did that sniveling little menial have the guts to concoct a scheme to undermine her just before the massive windfall he’d receive from Earth? Even if he wasn’t the one responsible for this coup, she’d deal with Kren as soon as he returned from Earth. Some Toth needed a lesson in the price of ambition.
“Chairman Howfin,” Mentiq said, touching a button on his glove as one of the overlords rose to stand on his tank arms, “your lease extension is denied. Your son will take your place at the next gathering.”
Howfin’s tank marched to the base of the throne, no longer under control of the overlord within. Howfin thrashed against the glass, the water in her tank sloshing against the top.
“Who will open the bidding for the Howfin’s meat?” Mentiq asked.
Ranik remained silent as overlords shouted out amounts of gold, ships for Mentiq’s fleet and promises of new slave shipments. To feed on another overlord’s mind was a rare treat, one Ranik didn’t have the taste for, not when she would end up like Howfin if Kren and Stix didn’t return with their cargo hulls full of human treasure.
CHAPTER 10
The Marines stopped at the edge of a wide stream pouring off a rock edge into a wide lake. Rainbows diffracted off the mist, a colorful contrast to the muddy brown waters below. Hale looked up to the source of the stream that stretched into the clouded tops of the mountain range.
Standish and Orozco had scouted ahead to a small raised earthen berm around the lake. Both looked over the edge, high-power binoculars in hand.
“Clear,” Orozco said.
“Clear, nobody’s out here. Least as far as our mark-one eyeballs and thermals can see,” Standish said.
“Find some concealment and power down cloaks. Turn on your suits’ PV cells so we’re topped off once we get to the objective. We’re not far from the village,” Hale said. “Couple more miles.” He leaned against a boulder and deactivated his cloak.
Egan stopped on the banks, testing his footing where the lake lapped onto a field of flattened rocks.
“Should we test the water? See if it’s drinkable?” Egan asked.
“We’ve got enough water in our suits for the whole mission. Why bother?” Cortaro asked.
“I’m not a big fan of drinking my own pee over and over again. Call me weird if you want to.” Egan looked over the pristine lake. “This is…nice. Idyllic, even. Why aren’t the villagers out here swimming or something? Temperature’s great too.”
“Just get a water sample,” Hale said. “We’re not here to sightsee.”
Egan knelt down and took a small cylinder from his belt. He dipped it in the water and gave it a shake.
“Egan,” Steuben said, his voice stern. “Do not move.” Steuben drew his sword from the sheath on the small of his back and crept toward the edge of the waterfall.
Egan held stock-still.
“Uh…there’s movement under the water,” Egan said.
Hale flipped the power switch on his gauss rifle off SAFE and crept toward the ledge.
“No,” Steuben hissed at Hale. “The sound of your weapon will carry for miles out here.”
Something broke the surface of the lake a few yards from Egan, a smooth patch of deep purple the size of a man’s fist.
“Eyeball,” Egan said. “There’s an eyeball in the water and it’s looking at me.”
“If you are speaking then you are moving,” Steuben said. He said something in Karigole. Hale heard the snap of a Ka-Bar knife pop out of a forearm mounting from behind him. Lafayette, his blade glinting in the sunlight, crept toward the edge of the waterfall.
The eyeball Egan claimed he saw slipped beneath the water.
“Think I’m good now.” Egan stood up.
“No! Don’t—” Steuben’s warning was cut off as a giant scaled tentacle shot straight out of the lake and struck at Egan like a coiled snake. The tip opened into rows of serrated teeth and clamped down on Egan’s shoulder. The tentacle yanked Egan off balance and he stutter-stepped into the lake.
Steuben crouched, then sprang into the air. His blade flashed as he descended, slicing through the tentacle just as he landed in knee deep water. Yellow blood fountained into the air from the severed ends. The tentacle sank back into the water, a patch of oily blood staining the surface.
Steuben whirled around to face the lake, his sword held in high guard.
A wide field of bubbles broke against the water. Steuben shoulder-checked Egan off balance and sent him sprawling into the water with a splash. There was an eruption from the lake a tentacle slashed through the air toward where Egan had been standing.
Steuben swung his sword like a bat and cleaved into a tentacle covered in calcified growths. He twisted the blade, gouging flesh and leaving the leading edge of the arm hanging by a narrow strip of skin.
What looked like an albino crocodile head the size of a ground car rose from the water. Smaller tentacles writhed in the air around the eyeless head.
“Hale, your blade!” Lafayette said.
Hale cocked his wrist to the side twice and his Ka-Bar snapped out.
The lake creature’s mouth opened, and an ululation reverberated off the mountainsides.
“Where am I supposed to—”
“Anywhere!” Lafayette grabbed Hale by the carry handle on the top of his armor. Hale had never really appreciated just how strong Lafayette was until the cyborg Karigole launched him into the air. He aimed his blade at the creature just as he slammed into the side of it, which was as solid as a boulder. His slid waist deep into the water.
He felt his blade catch in the creature’s flesh. Yellow blood poured into the water around him, coating his visor as the beast splashed and bucked away from the source of pain. A tentacle slapped at his head and shoulder. Tiny teeth bit at his face plate like a piranha trying to chew through a glass tank.
Hale grabbed the tentacle with his free hand and struggled to keep his hold as it fought his grip.
Lafayette landed on the creature’s back with a heavy thump. He raised his arm with the knife blade and stabbed into its skull.
The creature went limp instantly, like a switch had been flipped. Hale wrenched his blade free and tried to grab the dead thing’s flank. His hand slid over wet scales and he sank deeper into the water.
Marine power armor was many things, but armor designed to survive hard vacuum, artillery shrapnel and direct hits from gauss weapons was anything but buoyant. Hale’s head slipped beneath the water, his hands still fighting for purchase on the creature.
Dark water clouded with yellow blood surrounded him. His fingertips caught against something, arresting hi
s fall. He tried to pull himself up, but whatever he gripped had broken away from the beast.
A hand slapped onto his wrist and Hale found himself hauled out of the water a moment later. Hale laid on top of the beast’s back, Lafayette standing over him.
“Well done, Lieutenant,” Lafayette said. “You distracted it just long enough for me to get a clean strike on its central nervous system.”
Hale got to his feet and looked around. The beast lay in shallow water, dozens of limp tentacles swaying across the surface like seaweed washing ashore.
“What the hell is this?” Hale asked.
“A krayt, an animal from the Toth home world. Most alpha predators on that planet have a bundle of nerves at the base of their skull.” Lafayette tapped the back of his head. “Easy kill if you get an opening.”
“Get it off me!” Egan yelled.
The communications specialist sat on the banks, the toothed mouth and a foot of the severed tentacle still attached to his armor. The tentacle jumped around like a live wire.
Yarrow grabbed at the moving end, failing to grasp the slimy flesh.
“Give me a second,” Yarrow said. He finally got a hold of it and earned a squirt of blood against his visor.
“Again, do not move,” Steuben said. He pressed the edge of his sword against the tentacle mouth’s jawline and sliced into the head. He cut it in half with a flick of his wrist. Steuben grabbed the top half and chucked it into the lake, the lower half fell off on its own.
“Is your armor intact?” Yarrow asked. “If that thing’s like the rest of the Toth, then it’s probably poisonous too.”
“Great, poison.” Egan touched the bite marks on his chest plate and deltoid armor, then looked at the screen on his forearm. “Integrity is still good.”
“We should amputate his arm just to be sure,” Steuben said.
“What? No!” Egan backed away from the Karigole, scuttling away on his hands and feet like a crab.
“Ha. Ha. Ha. Earth humor,” Steuben said with a satisfied nod.
