by Dan Davis
“I will do so almost immediately, sir.”
“Sir?” Kat said.
Feet hammered on the steps outside and Crewman Harada stuck his filthy face through the cockpit door and blurted out his breathless message.
“XO here to see you, sir!”
Lieutenant Commander Soules waited for her under the engines, by the open cargo ramp. He made out as if he was inspecting the engines above his head but either he had forgotten where Mehdi had died or he was crassly drawing her attention to it. He could have stood anywhere in the entire shuttle bay.
“You didn’t have to come all this way just to wish me good luck, sir.”
Her heart was in her mouth. She was certain that the Lieutenant Commander was about to relieve her of duty or at the least give her a serious bollocking.
“Very amusing, Lieutenant. I’m carrying out a tour of the whole ship but I do have specific orders for you, too.”
Here we go.
“Orders, sir?”
“You’ll be in charge of the evacuation of certain key personnel, should we need to abandon ship.”
“Sir?”
“Here is the list.” He handed her a screen. “It’s saved locally to that screen so for Christ’s sake, do not lose it and whatever you do, don’t let any of the crew see the names on it. It is a sensitive matter, of course.”
“Of course, sir. What should I do with it?”
“We’ve got an hour or two before we fire our first shots. I need you to make sure the people on this list can evacuate to the Lepus when the shooting starts. They need to be on board so you can abandon ship the moment the command is given.”
Great, so I’m supposed to be a nerd herder now?
“Some of these people won’t want to leave, sir. Not while the ship is sound.”
“They will have their orders. And so do you.”
“Sir.”
“You better get on with it while you can. We stop spinning the ship at 1430 hours.”
“Shit. A bloody zero-g evacuation.” The drills had always been a clusterfuck.
“Good luck, Lieutenant. Get those people to the surface and we won’t be a complete loss.” Lieutenant Commander Soules nodded and turned to leave.
“When is the Sentinel getting here, sir?”
Soules turned back in the doorway before he ducked out. “Same deadline as it ever was. Too late.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Eight dead, thirteen wounded and six MIA,” Captain Cassidy said, looking around the hall. “It could have been worse.” His eyes paused on Ram, who stood at the far wall at the opposite end of the room to the Marine commander. “A lot worse.”
Was that aimed at me?
The storage area was packed with every living human on the planet, minus those on guard duty and those who had been abducted by the wheelers. A grand total of seventy-three people, civilians and Marines. Almost everyone wore their EVA suits but most had removed their helmets. Ram breathed in the stink of seventy unwashed, scared people jostling in a poorly ventilated, badly lit storage area. No windows, no natural light.
Shelving lined one of the long walls, heaving with packets and boxes of food, medicines. It looked like a lot but a hundred people would eat their way through tons of food in no time at all. Medium term, they were relying on resupply from orbit and for long term sustainability they had to have the stability and security to develop methods for growing food on the surface, in the center of the outpost and, in time, out in the open. But their presence on the planet felt tenuous. Temporary. A tiny metal square of humanity, of Earth, clinging to the surface of an entire planet like a flea on the hide of a rampaging elephant.
The front of the large room, behind Captain Cassidy, was filled with enormous plastic water tanks. Ram tasted the remnants of acrid smoke in the air. Though the technicians had assured him he had been thoroughly decontaminated with chemicals and lights, he was sure he could still smell the stink of the alien blood on the outside of his suit.
“This wing,” Cassidy said, his parade ground voice filling the space, “that is, the southern wing of the outpost, the wing closest to the airstrip, where we are right now, is the only section where we have restored full power and introduced full decontamination protocols. This was to allow mass medical support to be implemented and also to alleviate the mental stress that many of you experience from prolonged EVA. But please remain vigilant. You must keep your helmet in hand at all times. You must ensure your water, food, drug and medical, electrical and waste systems are maintained and topped up.”
“Probably a lot of diapers need changing round here, right, sir?” Cooper said, looking up and grinning. The young Marine had taken a liking to Rama, for some reason.
It appeared that there was a rumor amongst the Marines that the civilian EVA suits waste systems were nothing more than adult sized diapers, unlike the active mechanical systems in the combat models.
“They don’t have diapers in their suits,” Ram muttered. “Now, quiet, Cooper.”
The Marine grinned. “Whatever you say, sir.”
Captain Cassidy continued with his grim update. “My men are patrolling and setting up forward observation posts so that we will not be taken completely unawares again. However, I urge you to be ready for anything. One final point that I would like to make before I hand over. Everyone knows this is a civilian led mission. However, due to the critical security situation, I would appreciate it if all the civilians here would obey the requests of any and all Marines, whether you understand or agree with the request itself. We are here to protect you. If you are spoken to in a manner that you find insulting then I apologize and you may take it up with me once we are all safe. Until that time, ladies and gentlemen, please do as you are told. Trust us and we will get you through this. Thank you.”
He stepped back while about five people clapped, briefly. Cassidy bent his head to speak inaudibly to Former Director Zuma.
“I keep saying it,” Cooper said beside Ram, “but we just need to deliver a bomb into the enemy base and blow up their hive queen.”
“Shut it, Cooper,” Ram said. “There is no hive queen. The wheelers are like us. Individuals.”
“I doubt that, sir,” Cooper said. “If it looks like a fucked-up spider, moves like a fucked-up spider, then that’s what it is.”
“Spiders don’t have hives,” Ram said. “Or queens.”
“Well, wasps, then. Whatever.”
“Be quiet.”
Rama was impatient. All he wanted was to go after Milena and all these people were doing was speeches. He wanted to wade through the tiny people everywhere, strap on his guns and march after her. But he had no guns and he had to find out where she was first. Either the bastards in charge did not know or they were not telling him.
Former Director Zuma stepped up. Once, when the Victory had left Earth, Zuma had been in command of the entire mission but was demoted after the incident where the crazy Russian subject Alina had murdered the Subject Alpha, Mael and all the other subjects had been killed in the shootout with the Marines.
Ram glanced over at Sifa. She stood to one side, looking just like herself. He could not believe she was there. He had seen her die and now she was alive again.
“Thank you, Captain,” Zuma said. She was short, powerfully built and middle aged but still fit and powerful inside her combat-style EVA suit. Once, he knew, she had been military. “I know I can speak for all of us when I say we feel safer knowing that you are all here protecting us from the aliens out there. And to all of you here I say that we must hold the course. We have fought off two attacks now and we are still here. We killed a whole lot of them. This is a victory. We put out the fires. We will rebuild the antennae and reestablish contact with the Victory. We will cover the courtyard again and reinforce our defenses, building trenches and ramparts with the bulldozer. Our brave Marines are installing mounted weapons and we will build a watchtower. We will be ready for anything. We will resist anything. Now, you have all been
assigned to new work parties for the next phase—”
“What about the people that they took?” Ram said. He was surprised, as he had been before, by the volume of his voice. A number of people in front of him jumped in surprise.
A scowl passed over Zuma’s face but she turned it into a concerned smile. “Thank you for speaking, Ram. We all appreciate what you have done for us, back on the Orb and again here, during the attack. And my heart aches to think of those we lost during it. But we are simply unable to risk pursuing them. Much as we would like to—”
“We have the ETAT vehicles, they can be used to pursue the enemy. We have plenty of people, plenty of weapons. We have to try something, we can’t just leave them to those bastards.”
In the sea of heads between him and Zuma, a few people nodded.
“I swear, I feel the same way that you do,” Zuma said. “But our priority must be to this outpost. We do not know what will happen in orbit around the planet. The Victory will win or perhaps withdraw from the enemy ship. But we must be here when the Stalwart Sentinel and the rest of the fleet arrives. The Ashoka and the Genghis will be following close behind the Sentinel and transport and support ships behind them, increasing our security with the arrival of each reinforcing ship. Securing this position is our best choice, from a cost-benefit analysis.”
“Sure,” Ram said. “Only it doesn’t cost you anything to sit here while our people are out there, suffering who knows what.”
Zuma nodded, an understanding smile on her face. “I know why you feel so emotional. We all do, of course, but you in particular lost a close friend and colleague. And then there is the guilt you must feel for abandoning your post in the mess hall. You must be thinking that, had you followed orders, you would have been there to save those people, instead of up at the front where we already had dozens of Marines fighting.”
“Abandoned my post?” Ram was too astonished to express his outrage properly. In a great rustling of EVA suits, the multitude of heads turned into faces. “I didn’t have a post, I was shut in with the civilians. Anyway, if I hadn’t been there on the wall, the wheelers would have broken through.”
Zuma scoffed. “I hardly think criticizing our brave Marines is going to win you any favors around here, Ram, no matter your history. Now, you need to let us do our job.”
“Fine,” Ram said. “I’ll go after them myself.”
Zuma glanced at Captain Cassidy, who stepped forward, his face thunder. “You will not.” The Captain, no doubt mindful of his audience, shook with the effort to keep his temper under control. “You might think you are a Marine but if you were a real one, you would know what a terrible tactical decision that would be. You already screwed up once and look what happened. You will not do so again or so help me, I will destroy your custom weapons and take away your EVA suit. You can sit in this outpost on your hands until the Sentinel arrives. Do you understand me, Seti?”
Ram nodded. “I understand you perfectly, Cassidy.”
The Captain’s face turned red and his eyes bulged. “I won’t have someone guilty of—”
Zuma touched Cassidy lightly on the arm and spoke up. “I’m happy we can all agree. There is so much to do and we must get on with it. And Ram, you and Sifa have been tasked with collecting the remains of the dead wheelers in the attack. They’re everywhere. It is such a messy job but you two are the only ones strong enough. Don’t worry, you will have a team of Marines to protect you. Everyone else, let us go to work.”
Zuma and Cassidy watched Ram.
It seemed to Ram that all the people in the room hesitated and looked to him, waiting for him to argue. Expecting it. As if they were collectively holding their breath.
But what could he say that had not already been said?
All he could do was pretend to play along. Play their game.
“Alright,” Ram nodded, shrugging elaborately with his hands, palms up. “Let’s go to work.”
Then, when they relaxed, he would make his move.
***
“It’s a shit job,” Cooper said. “I feel bad for you guys.”
Ram and Sifa dragged another wheelhunter corpse by the legs over to the back of the ETAT buggy and dumped it on the floor. Cooper sat on top of the roll cage, leaning on the barrel of the belt-fed grenade launcher mounted next to him. The rear of the ETAT already had a pair of wheeler corpses stacked on the flatbed, limbs sticking out everywhere like a nightmare sculpture from a fever dream.
“Cooper!” Sergeant Stirling shouted. “Eyes on the horizon, you bloody useless idiot.”
“Sorry, Sarge.”
The team were deployed in an arc in front of the ETAT while the two giant ex-subjects labored to tidy up the mess out in front of the outpost. Commanding the team, Ensign Tseng sat perched in the all-terrain vehicle’s passenger seat and watched Sergeant Stirling do all the actual commanding.
Ram had to fight the urge to run after Milena. Playing it cool was harder than he had expected but he had to be strong. Had to give no one any suspicion that he was getting ready to pursue the wheelers who had abducted Milena and the others.
“It is a shit job,” Ram said, breathing hard. His back was starting to ache. He and Sifa stretched the dead alien between them and heaved it up to the top of the pile.
They missed. It hit the stack and bounced down to the ground again.
“That first one was too big,” Sifa said, her familiar voice sounding in his ear, breathy like those times she had panted his name while riding his naked body.
Not this body. And not that Sifa, neither.
“Stand back,” Ram said.
He bent low, wrapped his arms around the alien’s central hub and picked the whole thing up in a bear hug. He walked it forward and threw it onto the other two.
“You are stronger than I am,” Sifa said.
“I’m bigger.” Ram shrugged, elaborately flapping his arms up and down once so that she could see him shrugging inside the suit. “Still, this body is not as strong as my last one. Much less muscle mass. Makes sense, the last body was when I was training to grapple their champion.” He slapped the dead alien next to him. “But this time, I suppose they wanted me to have more stamina. Real world utility.”
The Marines in the ETAT drove it toward Wheeler Row. Ram and Sifa walked after it. The buggy was weighted down so far that the vehicle could barely exceed walking speed without risking damage to the suspension.
“Your last body,” Sifa said. “Strange, how we use these words. Not many people can speak as we do.”
He had barely spoken to her since the attack but every time he heard her voice, it caused him to feel unsettled. She sounded different. The Sifa he had known was playful, joyful, sensual. She had been quick witted and, sly, maybe.
This new Sifa was boring. Her speech monotone. He supposed that, when they had uploaded her mind to the surviving clone, there had been some sort of mistake and not all of her had copied over correctly. It was sad. Just sad.
“I know,” he said. “It is strange. Confusing. But it’s not all bad. I mean, I’m here when I should be dead. And you, too. I never thought I would see you again.”
She shook her head. “I have no memory of you.”
“So I heard. Something went wrong with the procedure?”
“The single viable version of my mind was from before you were revived on the Victory. I am sorry. I know that we were friends. At least, you were with the other Sifa. They showed me video of her. Of her speaking with you. But that was not me.”
He wanted to ask if they had shown her video of the two of them screwing but he guessed that would not be polite.
“Well,” Ram said, searching for something to say, “I’m just glad you’re alright. And, hey, we just get to make friends with each other all over again, right?” He grinned.
“I would like that,” she said, without any indication that she meant it.
They unloaded the bodies and dumped them at the end of the line. Ram couldn’t remember who
started calling it Wheeler Row but, you had to hand it to the Marines, they were great at naming things descriptively.
The problem was knowing what to do with the alien bodies. Digging graves or a pit big enough would take the bulldozer and engineers a day or more and use up some of their precious rock blasting charges. Burning the bodies was an affront to the exobiologists who wanted to study them. So, all they could do was remove the corpses away from the outpost, somewhere downwind. Stacking them high would provide potential cover for the enemy, should they return and fields of fire had to be kept clear. Hence, lining the bodies up next to each other in Wheeler Row.
“I still say we should have posed the corpses so they spelled out S.O.S.,” Ram said as they hitched a lift back out to the battlefield. “Or R.A.M.A.”
“They will have the radio working again soon,” Sifa said, straight faced.
“Right,” Ram said. “Sure.”
He stared up the hills looming over the outpost, wondering how quickly he could cover the distance between him and Milena over that incredibly tough terrain. Tried not to think about what they might be doing to her.
Ensign Tseng, in the passenger seat, looked over his shoulder as best he could in his suit. “I believe it would have been best to arrange the bodies in poses and display them all around the outpost. Sever the limbs, impale the hubs on spikes at the perimeter.”
“Okay,” Ram said, unsettled by the idea of the enemy doing something similar to Milena. Is that why they took our people? “You think it would intimidate the wheelers?”
“Unknown,” the Ensign said. “But it is worth doing on the chance that it would. Unsettling them psychologically might give us a tactical edge.”
“Did you, you know, float it up the chain of command?”
The Ensign scoffed. “Every suggestion I ever made has been thrown back in my face by that man.”
Ram glanced at Sifa, who rolled her eyes and pulled a face.
