by Mark Wandrey
While finishing the inventory, Pip also found ten squad shields and a hundred personal defensive shields. While they weren’t as valuable as the beamcasters, to her knowledge, humanity did not own a single personal shield. They’d hit the mother lode.
“What’s your opinion?” Capella asked after she’d finished with Pip.
“We have to take it,” she said without hesitation.
“Regardless of possible ramifications?”
She thought for a second, then nodded. “There are so many reasons to take this, from tactical advantages to monetary, and only one reason not to.”
“Fear of the T’Chillen,” Richardson said, giving voice to the unspoken snake in the room.
Capella nodded and spoke to Minu. “I agree. Go make the report through the portal. Tell them to launch a full logistics team, along with enough transports to move all this.”
Armed with the inventory, Minu left with two of Capella’s scouts to report back to the Chosen command. She knew it wasn’t her choice to make, but they had to agree with her and Capella. There was no way she was leaving any of this. They took some evidence to tantalize command further, the two assembled beamcasters, two personal shields, and a half dozen power packs. How could they not come to the same conclusion when they saw the shiny new weapons?
As she rode the tram back to the portal, she looked out the window while working through the arguments she’d present to Jacob and the rest of the council in her head. She intended to speak to Dram first, as this was far too important to waste time on anyone else. She needed to convince him to allow her to retrieve the cache. The tram slowed slightly while passing through a station. Another tram going in the opposite direction held a squad of six Rasa, in full combat armor and armed to the teeth. She watched in stunned silence as they went by.
* * * * *
Chapter 14
Octember 22nd, 516 AE
Chosen Headquarters, Steven’s Pass
It took Minu almost an entire minute of desperate fear and anger to figure out how to make the tram stop and reverse course. She couldn’t radio Capella and warn him what was coming, as their radios didn’t have the range. And she couldn’t allow the lizards to make it to that station. Her people and the scouts were down in the equipment room, nearly unarmed, and completely unaware. Worse, the room was a dead end with no way out. The Rasa must have dropped the cache; their sudden appearance was too much of a coincidence. At least it wasn’t a platoon of T’Chillen.
“What can we do?” one of the scouts asked as the tram came to a silent stop. The rifle was off his shoulder and he was checking its load.
The other scout also had his gun ready, but he was looking at it dubiously. The capabilities of the Rasa’s weapons and defenses were well known among the Chosen. “They have full combat armor,” he said. They all knew their native-manufactured weapons were nearly worthless against combat armor. It was like trying to crack a boulder with a slingshot.
“We have an option,” Minu said and pulled off her pack. “You, get to work on that tram control and see if there’s any way in hell we can get back before those Rasa soldiers. You, come here and help me. We have some quick improvising to do.”
* * *
In the other tram, the Rasa soldiers prepared to arrive at the cache site. Their numbers had grown, and now 10 of them readied weapons and equipment as if they were expecting trouble. When they came through the portal, tiny sensors they’d left behind informed them that others had been through since their previous visit. The unit commander, Var’at, hesitated. The cache was three days old, and they’d chosen this world in the frontier due to its complete lack of usefulness. Not even squatters were interested. Although it possessed an artificially-maintained atmosphere and ample living space, no facilities for food production existed. The world was little more than a monument to some failed species. The maze of trams and cities provided ideal hiding places, and his people used them routinely for just this sort of operation.
Var’at was not a nest leader; they hadn’t kept his egg warm enough for him to be that smart. Having to make more than a couple of decisions at a time confused him, and he had no real talent for math. Still, he was smart enough to lead males into combat and make the basic decisions required of that position. However, he found himself decidedly outside his comfort zone now. His orders were simple. Retrieve the cache and avoid conflict with higher-order species. Being a member of a young independent species was often more dangerous than being a client of a powerful one. True, clients out in the wilds of the frontier were usually free targets unless escorted by their patrons; at least you could run home for protection. Once you were independent, there was no help unless you paid for it. The Rasa flourished through sheer determination and shameless acts of self-preservation.
Faced with a compromised mission, Var’at had two options. Proceed or return. If he returned empty-clawed, he might well face harsh punishment. Even in the face of a higher-order species, the Rasa expected their commanders to find advantages and complete their missions. Armed with that knowledge, he ordered his scientist to determine who, or what, had come through the portal after their last visit. The scientist, a lowly female known only by her title, brought out sensors and cast around with them.
“Commander, I detect the strong presence of another species. It was present only mere tenth days ago.”
“Can you determine what species?”
“It is not a higher-order species,” she said quickly, her claws tapping on the computer screen, “of this I am certain. Ah, yessss,” she hissed as data came to match her outputs. “A hominid species, clients of the Tog, known as Human.”
Var’at hissed in triumph, baring his teeth in such a savage display that the female automatically cringed in fear, and the males bowed in submission. Humans again! Several tenth years ago, he’d investigated the loss of a scout team, one of whom was his nestmate. He’d found only cremated remains and traces of hominids. There was only one hominid species in the Concordia now, these humans. He hadn’t been aware there were any hominids in the Concordia until then. That his nestmate died in combat was common and almost expected of such a lowly profession, but burned like poorly-preserved meat? An unbelievable outrage! He’d vowed revenge against the young hominids. The galaxy was vast, and the Humans even fewer in number than the Rasa, but they still had their powerful higher-order patrons as shields against naked aggression. The humans on their leasehold were strictly off-limits. Var’at lacked influence with the nest leaders or enough provocation to encourage an open vendetta against the Humans, so he’d bidden his time and waited. Now he would get his reward for his patience.
“The humans must have found our cache,” he told his males, hoping with all his being that he was right. They’d quickly taken a tram and set off for the recorded location of the cache. Now that they were approaching, his males were readying weapons for the coming battle.
“The destination is after this next station,” the scientist told him, trying to be helpful. He gestured dismissively, and the scientist bowed away. The tram car was semi-transparent, and he could see the lights of a station. His tongue flicked out impatiently. Then their tram slowed for no apparent reason. He snapped at the scientist to find out why. Just as she was accessing the tram controls to find out, another tram cut in from a side tunnel. “Never mind,” he mumbled. The tramway traffic computer was just being efficient.
Var’at could see that the other tram was empty and suppressed his anger at slowing. Why hadn’t the computer made that tram wait? He could hear the scientist tapping on the tram’s controls, maybe trying to answer the same question. “Why is that other tram running?” he asked the scientist.
“Commander,” the scientist hissed in alarm, “the tram programming was overridden!”
“What are you talking about?” he asked and turned toward the controls. The sudden movement saved his life, as three hypervelocity projectiles tore through the tram. Not ready for immediate combat, they’d been traveling
with their helmet face shields up to make breathing easier. The shields cramped their elongated snouts. The slug meant for Var’at sprang harmlessly off the side of his armored helmet; the others tore through the bones and brains of two males, killing them instantly.
“We’re under attack!” the scientist hissed needlessly. She was now the only one standing in the tram. Wind began to whip around the inside of the car, coming in through the holes torn into the forward windscreen by the projectiles. The scientist looked through the cracked screen in horror at the three humans crouched against the rear platform of the leading tram. They were working the mechanisms of their weapons and preparing to fire again. She screamed as she realized they were all aiming at her.
Something grabbed her tail and jerked it almost hard enough to detach it. The three slugs meant to end her life tore through the air just over her unarmored head. “Foolish female,” Var’at hissed and popped at her. “Stay down if you wish to continue living!” She lay on the floor of their tram and shook with uncontrollable fear as the four surviving soldiers crouched under the deadly weapons fire. “Are they dead?” he asked his male who was examining the bodies.
“Yes, leader.”
Var’at nodded and gave it no more thought. They’d served their nest well, and he hoped to die as honorably someday, but not today. “What killed them?”
“Appears to be a simple projectile weapon, very large caliber!”
Var’at felt the side of his helmet and found a nasty groove there. The projectile possessed enough energy to peel away several layers of the ceramic and dualloy composite armor. It didn’t possess enough energy to injure him through the armor, though. “They took advantage of our open helmets,” he told them, and instantly all four locked theirs closed. The projectiles might be able to penetrate the clear view slits, but Var’at doubted any being could be that accurate. “Let’s return the favor,” he said and readied his weapon.
The four males rose to kneeling positions and discharged their weapons. Thousands of hypersonic ceramic steel flechette darts tore through the remainder of the forward windscreen and into the other tram, blasting out all its windows, chewing up the seating, and punching holes in the walls. After one sustained burst, they stopped firing to conserve their power packs. The humans popped up and fired a single shot each in reply. Though ineffective, Var’at admired their marksmanship. All three shots hit their marks! A shot splashed off his own armor almost dead center over his heart. Too bad they were such a worthless species and possessed no better weaponry.
They traded salvos several times with no more effect than to further mangle both trams. The humans were surprisingly fast and adept at dodging the Rasa’s less-precise weapons. As they were preparing another barrage, both trams slowed. They were approaching a station. Var’at noticed the other tram was trailing smoke, and that gave him an idea.
“Fire at the mechanism of the other tram!” he ordered. This time they pumped thousands of darts into the rear of the other tram just as they were coming to a stop inside the station. With a brilliant discharge of plasma, the other tram split nearly in two. Its gravitic impeller mechanism destroyed, the stricken vehicle crashed down on the ceramic concrete tramway, where it bounced and ground to a thunderous stop.
A lone human jumped from the tram and raced away, leaping through a maintenance doorway before any of the males could fire at it. “The others are dead or injured,” Var’at proclaimed victoriously. “You two, investigate the wreckage for survivors; you, come with me and we will hunt down the other.”
“What do we do if the humans still live, leader?”
“Relieve them of the burden of their worthless lives,” he hissed. Their tongues flicked out in excitement as they quickly locked new magazines of flechette darts into their weapons and moved to check the other tram. Var’at led a male toward the maintenance door.
As they approached the door, he hissed in anger. This was the location of the cache! The humans had found it after all, and this foolish survivor was taking refuge inside. “You’d better not have harmed our goods,” he hissed through the door, careful not to needlessly expose himself to enemy fire. His translator repeated his message in several other Concordian languages, waiting for another translator’s reply before settling on one. “Turn over what is ours, and we will consider allowing you to live.”
Another translator replied in a language Var’at didn’t recognize. He waited for his own translator. “Go and mate with your nest mother.” Var’at cocked his head, trying to understand. Was this an attempt to gain favor by suggesting he was of high enough status to mate with the nest mother? It seemed unlikely that humans understood his species at all, and thus it must be a poorly-translated insult. He heard his other males shifting wreckage in the ruined tram and decided he didn’t want to waste any more time on foolish humans.
“Grenade,” Var’at ordered the male with him.
The male hooked a grenade with one claw and armed it with another before handing it to him.
“This is your final chance, human,” Var’at said. “My patience has expired.”
“Consume your own excrement,” came the reply from down the hall. Regardless of the translation, the meaning was obvious. He activated the grenade and, with an underhand motion, tossed it through the doorway. He was careful so it wouldn’t roll all the way down the ramp inside and damage the cache. They flattened themselves to either side of the maintenance door and hissed warnings to the other males behind them as it exploded.
The detonation shook the floor and sent a cloud of crushed ceramic concrete dust billowing out into the station. After a moment, one lone human came staggering out of the doorway, a weapon held loosely in one of its clawless hands. Var’at was surprised it had survived the attack. With a shrug he fired his weapon again.
The other male fired at the same time, unleashing a deadly hail of flesh-shredding darts. Instead of tearing the human into bloody rags, a shimmering trail of glowing sparks traced along the air between him and his target. The darts from the other male’s weapon fire were similarly overcome. The human stopped staggering and stood steadily as it raised its own weapon and bared a mouthful of blunt teeth.
“It has a shield!” Var’at hissed in panic as the human fired. Instead of the booming of a projectile weapon, the air was rent by the sizzling Crrrrack! of a beamcaster. Var’at managed to dive aside, but the beam still hit him. He hissed in pain as the shot struck the wall behind his head. The near miss burned through his armor and seared a notch in his head crest. Molten globs of steel flew as the shot blew a half-meter wide hole in the station wall. The human fired again, and Var’at heard a strangled, hissing scream. He knew the other male was dead. Their armor was nearly impervious to advanced projectile weapons, and almost worthless against energy weapons.
The two males he’d sent to the other tram climbed back onto the platform and unleashed a screaming river of projectiles at the human’s back. Its shield glowed where the darts disintegrated without penetrating. It fired at Var’at again. He only survived by scrambling on all fours, like a primitive lizard. He swallowed the shame and thanked the stars he still lived, though the molten shoulder armor burned his skin.
Var’at turned and dashed toward the tram they’d arrived in; it was their only hope for escape. As he turned, the two humans he’d thought dead rose from the wreckage of their tram. Neither of his other males noticed. They were too preoccupied with firing on the human assaulting their leader. Var’at didn’t have time to warn them; they were both hit squarely in their backs by energy blasts. The beamcasters melted their armor and turned their internal organs to steam. They exploded like over-boiled eggs, mouths wide in shock. They were dead before they hit the floor.
He continued to race for the tram. The scientist appeared in the door, motioning for him to hurry. The look of surprise froze on her face as a beamcaster nearly cut her in two.
Var’at was halfway between the wall and the tram. He stopped running and dropped his head. His in
dependent eyes could see all three humans aiming at him. It would be over quickly. The pain would swallow the taste of burning failure when the lowly hominids defeated him with his own cache of weapons. But there was no searing blast of energy, only silence. He looked back at the one who’d fired first. It twisted the sides of its grotesque mouth upwards, showing its blunt teeth. “Why do you hesitate?” he hissed.
“Do you yield?” it asked.
The question startled Var’at. He hadn’t expected any form of civilized exchange, especially an offer of mercy, from a primitive species.
“I yield,” he hissed and dropped his weapon. One of the humans came over to unbuckle the power belt. It had some difficulty, as not having claws made it hard to operate the mechanism. He reached up to help, and the other humans tensed. “I have yielded,” he told them, “we honor the law.” The one who’d spoke, likely the leader, nodded its head and allowed him to remove the belt. Unarmed and helpless, he fell to the floor and assumed the posture of surrender, chin on the floor, eyes downcast, and awaited his fate.
“You will wait here until we have claimed the cache, then you may return to your world.”
“No demand of ransom?”
