Pehthrum lowered his head in compliance and then lowered the nose of the shuttle, angling it toward the planet’s atmosphere.
Jesel had been expecting the maneuver, swayed with it, used his wrist muscles to keep his feet on the deck. He felt the strain and cursed his geneline—or rather, his lack of one. The son of a jur-huscarl, Jesel had been a child at the time of House Perekmeres’ Extirpation. Under any but those desperate circumstances, his genecode would not have been deemed sufficient to groom for eventual inclusion in the ranks of the Evolved.
But harsh fate had compelled the remaining leadership of House Perekmeres to confer the possibility of Elevation upon him. And what he lacked in genecode, he made up for with boldness and an instinct for dominion. Or so he told himself.
As the armored shuttle leveled into its new course and the fuselage shuddered under increased thrust, Jesel surveyed the personnel of his first combat command. His fellow ’sul, Suzruzh, was strapped in at the rear, ready to lead team three: the assault’s main contact and harrying element, it would locate and engage the Aboriginals. Team two, under Pehthrum, was designated to carry out a flanking maneuver once the target was fixed in place by team three. And Jesel’s team one would be the command and final assault element, ostensibly screened by Suzruzh’s harriers.
The only significant drawback was that all the teams were comprised of CoDevCo’s Optigene troops. The clones were not even Aboriginals, really. They were simply Wildlings: the pristine genelines from which their template was drawn had been artificially constrained and culled, but without the refining, expert touch of a Breedmistress. Unfortunately, the clones had deficits beyond the typical low-born decrements in speed, agility, strength, senses, autonomic muscle control, heightened vascular trauma resiliency, and secretion modulation. They were also utterly without the capacity for innovation, at least so far. Having been recently decanted, they had not acquired any significant diversity of experience, much less consequent skills in problem solving.
According to the fear-reeking low-born Kozakowski, these clones were in fact less responsive due to the tight controls that the Ktor had put upon their training and exposure to unplanned stimuli. The clones knew little beyond obedience yet, but all data suggested that this would change rapidly, and it was unlikely that any of this first group would be safe to leave uneuthanized. The perversities of their early training would scar them, leave them asking too many questions and resentful of the narrow limits of their existence.
That concept, the narrow limits of one’s existence, struck home as Jesel’s gaze drifted back across Suzruzh, whose face suggested that he was waiting for his fellow ’sul to commence the pre-deployment briefing. The two of them had narrow existences, as well. Although no direct mention had been made of it, all of the Ktor knew precisely why such an important mission was being entrusted to a pair of ’suls whose sires had been low-breed jur-huscarls. It eliminated the risk of a post-mortem analysis of an Evolved genecode. Although both Brenlor and Nezdeh asserted that failure was impossible and that the Aboriginals would not inflict any significant casualties upon the strike force, the two Srinu had clearly not deemed such outcomes wholly unthinkable. Consequently, if the entire strike team was lost, no Elevated cell samples would fall into Aboriginal hands: hands that might, given time and sufficient resources, begin to understand the genetic changes that ensured the innate superiority of the Ktor.
The same kind of precaution had informed the combat team’s equippage. Rather than being issued the vastly superior Ktor weapons which had decimated the Aboriginal resistance aboard the Arbitrage, Brenlor Srin Perekmeres had decreed that the only weapons, armor, and support systems to be used in the assault were those from the Terrans’ own stocks.
This was not merely disappointing; it was utterly depressing. The best weapons in the Arbitrage’s original armory—nine point two millimeter Jufeng dust-mix battle-rifles manufactured by the Developing World Coalition—were among the most rudimentary of their kind. There were only four available, and the three Ktor leaders of the raid were grim in their gratitude to have at least that much offensive firepower. The clones themselves were armed with either their ubiquitous Indonesian Pindad caseless assault rifles, or TOCIO’s copy of a widely licensed automatic shotgun designed by a firm called Heckler and Koch. Jesel wished he could have jettisoned every single one of the primitive firearms out the nearest airlock: they would not have been satisfactory as reserve training arms, back home in the Creche Worlds.
Well, Jesel accepted as he once again became aware of the twenty-six duty-suited troopers sitting in the fuselage of the shuttle, there’s nothing to be gained by putting off the briefing. “Attend my words.”
It was a largely unnecessary call for their attention; none of the clones had been speaking or looking anywhere other than directly at Jesel.
“We shall enter the atmosphere of the target planet within twenty minutes. We should be over the target zone within forty minutes. Our first pass will be to seed quadrotor sensor platforms that will scan the surrounding area for vehicles the enemy might be using to leave the target zone.”
Suzruzh frowned. “I thought we had acquired a fix upon the targets’ position.”
Jesel shrugged. “Nezdeh received a signal from our agent among them. However, this signal carried no data regarding the composition, status, or numbers of the target low-borns. So it does not necessarily follow that all the targets will be in one location. However, during our final approach, there will be a radio signal upon which we shall orient and so, find an optimal landing zone.”
Suzruzh lifted one shoulder in a resigned shrug.
Jesel nodded at him. “Pehthrum, you shall seek to flank whatever positions the Aboriginals have adopted. Once Suzruzh’s skirmishers have pinned them down, you shall release the upt’theel.”
The most freshly decanted clone, a replacement for one among the first batch that had proven dangerously intractable, cleared his throat. “Commander, I am unfamiliar with this term, upt’theel.”
“The upt’theel is a sinuous and unrelenting carnivore that is not strictly a carbon-based life-form: it is incredibly rugged due to various silicate hardenings. It has highly alkaline body chemistry and is perpetually ravenous in our environment in order to maintain a body temperature in excess of forty-five degrees centigrade.”
“And how does it know to distinguish us from our enemies?”
“Your equipment, and you, have been liberally doped with a chemical which the upt’theel find unappetizing. Also, since they have rudimentary intelligence, they associate that scent with handlers.” Jesel smiled. “However, that loyalty association does not endure beyond the first unsatisfied growlings of an upt’theel’s stomach. So, while you have no reason to fear the upt’theel, you should not be careless about them, either.
“Many of you will recall training with light armor. That is not available to us.” True. “But nor is it desirable in this environment.” More lie than not. “Although the plant growth in the target area is not uniformly thick enough to be called a jungle, areas of it are. We must expect the targets to take refuge in those areas. Consequently, matching their speed and elusiveness are better protection than full composite armor. Your ballistic cloth chest and groin protectors are optimal for this operation.
“We must also operate without remote tactical communications. The entirety of the radio bandwidth is being jammed. We must rely upon hand and voice signals. So, in order to maneuver effectively, we shall remain close.”
“Very close, when we enter the areas that resemble jungles,” Suzruzh added.
Jesel nodded, not overly annoyed at his distant cousin’s timely addition. “However, we are more prepared to meet the challenge than most of our targets. From what data we have of them, they overwhelmingly lack any military training or wilderness experience. Their lack of radio communications will be far more detrimental to them than it will be to us. Lastly, our in situ agent’s signal duration indicated that either steps have be
en taken to ensure that any military gear aboard the shuttle was compromised or that no such gear was present.”
The clone labeled Gamma-Twelve stirred slightly. “Leader, what if the Slaasriithi have provided the targets with better weapons?”
Jesel shook his head. “From what we know of Slaasriithi physiology, it would be surprising, almost inconceivable, that humans could operate their weapons. It is equally improbable that the Slaasriithi would take the risk of providing them: they are an overly cautious species, more so than the Arat Kur when it comes to sharing technology. Are there other questions?” No responses. The deck tilted and shuddered slightly: Pehthrum was easing the armored shuttle into the outer reaches of the atmosphere. He glanced at Suzruzh. “Any additions?”
From the absurdly primitive cockpit just behind him, Pehthrum’s voice inquired, “With your permission, Jesel sul-Perekmeres?”
Well, it was a respectful request, so—“Permission granted, Pehthrum.”
“It is more legend than data, but accounts dating from the Progenitors’ time strongly suggest that the Slaasriithi shaped their worlds in such a way that they were inimical to all varieties of our species. It seems that spores and other air- and water-borne microbes may, after a short exposure, begin to cause shortness of breath and general disability. So it is imperative that you wear your filter masks at all times.”
Jesel nodded. “And our stay must be brief. The longer we are planetside, the more likely that the Slaasriithi defenses will effectively contest our planetfall and that our orbital window might be compromised. So the faster we move, the more likely we will safely achieve the most important objective of our attack.”
Clone Gamma-Fourteen frowned. “And which is that?”
“To kill all the Aboriginals. Naturally.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Southern extents of the Third Silver Tower; BD +02 4076 Two (“Disparity”)
Caine tossed back another of the amphetamines, listened and glanced up at the light teal sky: a distant sound of thunder that he knew was not thunder. It was their attackers’ final descent. But how quickly would they detect the group and land? Both humans and Slaasriithi were already near their positions, so that was not an issue. However, what was more challenging and uncertain was when he should begin staging his pills. I have to get the timing just right, can’t afford to peak the effects before, or after, I need them.
Thnessfiirm jogged up to Riordan with the fast, rolling gait of her kind. “I have offloaded the autonomous munitions platform from the rotoflyer.”
“Excellent. Send the rotoflyer back to the Silver Tower. It will only help the enemy locate us if we keep it here. Any update from the pilot on how soon we might expect the supersonic defense drones to enter our airspace?”
Thnessfiirm’s upraised tendrils went over sideways like dead toy soldiers. “I am sorry, but no. There are only a few ground wire communication links, and the atmospheric defense drones are clustered in the more advanced facilities on the northern continent. When the rotoflyers left the Third Silver Tower to convey the munitions platform here, Prime Ratiocinator T’suu’shvah had still not sent her approval for the supersonic drones, much less their estimated time of arrival.”
A drooping equilateral triangle, hovering on one central and three corner fans, whined into view behind Thnessfiirm, trailing her like a lazy dog. Its upper surface was scored by a hexagon pattern, two sensor masts rising up from either side of the central rotor. “Where are the weapons?” Riordan asked, suddenly concerned that the Slaasriithi had misinterpreted his request for a combat platform: the local lack of personal firearms made this munitions dispenser their only option.
Thnessfiirm trailed three of her tendrils over one of the hexagons. “The weapons are stored in these bays.”
Caine stared at the platform’s three-meter sides. “They must be pretty small weapons.”
Thnessfiirm’s neck retracted slightly. “Do not presume that their size indicates insufficient power. In this environment”—she gestured to the patches of daylight coming through the loose forest canopy—“we cannot employ the larger platforms that carry longer-ranged weapons. The platform’s maneuverability and stealth characteristics are more important, if the system is to survive the first few minutes of engagement.”
If the bad guys have any airborne weapons or observation systems, that’s undoubtedly true. “What kind of weapons does this platform carry?”
“Mostly conventional high-explosive rockets with enhanced fragmentation. There are also several clusters of miniature anti-personnel heat-seeking rockets and a few surface-to-air missiles.” Apparently, the Slaasriithi were becoming increasingly adept at reading human facial expressions: in this case, Riordan’s surprise and dubiety. “They are extremely short-range surface-to-air missiles,” Thnessfiirm qualified.
“How short?”
“Only four hundred meters of active thrust, with small warheads but extremely rapid flight times. All the munitions are independently deployable..”
Riordan knew an insufficient translation when he heard one. “I am uncertain what you mean by ‘independently deployable.’ I presume they can be launched individually?”
“That too, but what I refer to is this.” Thnessfiirm clicked several new ringlike adornments on her toe-tendrils in rapid sequence. The lines delineating one of the hexagons suddenly became deep grooves, and that part of the platform’s—chassis?—dropped down to the ground: a six-sided tube akin to a single cell from a honey-comb. It swayed as it landed; prehensile actuators whipped out of its base, righted it, retracted until they became a short-legged stand for the object. “An excellent feature.” The way Thnessfiirm said it, Riordan had the distinct impression that she was immensely proud of this novel stabilizer but was unsure about its usefulness.
“An excellent feature,” Caine agreed. “If we use it properly, we should be able to minimize—”
The thunder, having diminished somewhat, began a swift crescendo.
“Cover!” Caine shouted. “Now!”
As arranged, the humans darted under cone trees and huddled into the midst of waiting groups of convectorae, thereby blending the two species’ thermal signatures. Smaller clusters of the Slaasriithi, those without any humans in them, moved toward the edges of other, scattered cone-tree canopies; slightly more exposed, they’d present more pronounced thermal silhouettes. Caine glanced at the sky again: Now sort us out, you bastards. If you can.
The thunder became an oncoming, rocket-propelled freight train, up-dopplering sharply. The Slaasriithi shied closer into their cover. The four humans who were carrying the pathetic survival rifles—Keith, Dora, Xue, and Salunke—glanced at Riordan. He shook his head, waved his hand from upriver to downriver—
Just as a TOCIO-manufactured armored shuttle roared overhead at an altitude of five hundred meters, following the trajectory Caine had indicated with his wave.
“How did you know it would be flying toward—?” Thnessfiirm began.
“No big trick.” Veriden checked that the action of her weapon cycled smoothly. “They clearly found our wreck, started river-following. And by the time we heard them, they were moving too fast to slow down and drop in on us here.”
“So what do they mean to do, then?”
“Sweep down-river,” Caine answered. “They’ll double-back when they find that this area had the only large collection of biothermal signatures gathered in one place.”
“Should we not have spread out more?”
Riordan shook his head. “Wouldn’t have mattered. For us to be able to defend ourselves, we have to be relatively close together. And once you cluster up that way, there are too many bodies in one grid for them to mistake us for anything other than their target. They can’t be sure until they sweep the whole of the river, but once they have, they’ll be back.” He turned to Unsymaajh. “What did your subtaxae see? Did the craft drop anything off?”
“My convectorae saw nothing separate from the vehicle.”
Riordan nodded. “Only milspec ROVs hardened for high-speed deployment could have survived getting dumped out at that velocity, and those systems are too big to miss. Okay; we’ve got thirty minutes, forty at most. Let’s get into positions.”
Thnessfiirm was staring northward, downriver. “I am confused,” she admitted finally. “The craft resembled images of your own crashed shuttle.”
Riordan nodded. “It’s a variant of that design.”
“But—are your own people trying to kill you?”
Caine shrugged. “The people in that armored shuttle might or might not be from Earth. But they are certainly using our tools. Which might be good news; if all their tools and weapons are ours, we understand what they have and are not at a technological disadvantage.”
“But how could it be your people? You humans cannot shift this far, cannot reach our space on your own—can you?”
“We cannot,” Riordan admitted.
“Then what other species would have access to, and be able to use, your equipment?”
Caine selected a carefully worded, technical truth. “I can’t be sure. But we are certainly going to find out.”
Thnessfiirm’s sensor cluster swung back northward. “They will see the boat. And destroy it.”
Riordan did not answer. There was no point in confirming what was now an inescapable conclusion. “Let’s get into position.”
* * *
Pehthrum called to Jesel. “A lateen-rigged sail boat on the river up ahead. In a river gorge. Trying to stay in the lee of overhanging rocks.”
Jesel pulled himself forward into the cockpit, looked out the starboard window. “Is there any way we can get close enough to take it under effective small arms fire?”
Pehthrum slowed the shuttle, spun up the ducted tilt-fans to slow their approach into a gradual forward hover. He glanced at the walls of the gorge. “Not without coming down between these rock faces. And if they have any rockets—”
Raising Caine - eARC Page 45
