Hold the Line (Chimera Company Book 5)

by Tim C. Taylor

  “That’s what’s going to happen to us,” said Aubur-Doh, one of the Littoranes who’d been standing on another’s back for his own view. He’d been giving his own running commentary in Littorane. “They’ll suck us up, digest us, and then squirt us into one of those monstrous vat worms.”

  Urdizine glared at the Littorane “Stop that talk, Lael Aubur-Doh. That won’t be our fate because we’re getting off this hell world.”

  “Would that even make any difference?” Aubur-Doh demanded. He stepped off Zanah-Eil’s back.

  Urdizine stepped off his Littorane platform, too.

  “Even if we somehow acquire our own starship and escape the orbital defenses,” Aubur-Doh said, “we can’t run forever. They will come for us.”

  Hrish-Ek cracked her tail into the male’s flank. “You shame us.”

  “He does have a point,” Urdizine said. “We’ve seen the zombies on Rho-Torkis, and I have—had—a comrade who’d encountered them before on another world. Then there was the ex-Legion zombie on the truck that took us from Raemy-Ela. I think they’ve been spreading throughout the Federation for years, waiting until they’re embedded in enough planets and become unstoppable.”

  The others looked to the ground, unwilling to meet the gaze of any of their fellows.

  “Damn!” Urdizine muttered. “I knew I should’ve taken that Motivating Littoranes 101 course.”

  Even his flippant comment couldn’t stir the Littoranes. “Come on, people! We’re going to make a stand here. Remember Saesh, the goddess of vengeance you like to talk about? Do you think she’s gonna let her people be sucked up into some fat alien’s guts without a struggle? I may be a dumb Zhoogene, but even I know the goddess won’t give in without a fight.”

  Hrish-Ek snapped back into herself. “Zanah-Eil, you stay here with the runner. Watch the door and come find us if anything changes. Everyone else, we will meet up with the others at the center of this hex and make our decisions.”

  She peered at Urdizine. “Your body is too weak to travel under your own power. Carrying you in my arms is too tiring. Therefore you shall ride me again. I would not ask another to perform such a humiliating task.”

  Urdizine nodded in gratitude. “I’ll try to keep my feet—”

  “You will keep your feet wherever affords you the most safety and comfort. We need you more than I need my dignity. Besides, after the harrowing descriptions you have both given of what is going on in there, I don’t think your rubbing feet will be such an issue this time around.”

  * * *

  The reconnaissance parties returned from the walls surrounding 242, adding to the intelligence picture. On every wall they’d discovered the same door controls and viewers. As far as they could tell, these were added to inactive hexes and removed when they were filled with captives.

  From the perspective of their current position in hex 242, the hex clockwise from 343 looked like the seed of an agricultural community the same as their home. They tentatively numbered this 243. The recon team had seen Humans in the distance and hadn’t made contact.

  The next hex clockwise, approximately to the southwest of the one they were in, was as empty as 242. Its team had opened the door and confirmed that there was an opening control on the other side, beneath the number 143.

  Next hex clockwise was 142, the one in the process of being sucked dry that Urdizine had seen from Hrish-Ek’s back.

  Plants were well established in 342, but no inhabitants could be seen from the gateway vantage point.

  It was the remaining hex, 241, that was generating the most excitement. Urdizine had heard distant screams from that hex. What Urdizine had described as a harvesting was almost complete in the hex he’d observed, but in 241 it was just getting underway—and the inhabitants of 241 had prepared better.

  The screamers Urdizine had heard were deliberately attracting the harvesters into ambushes. Mixed groups of Zhoogenes and Humans armed with knives and spears were abseiling down from the trees or waiting in dense foliage. They’d swarmed an isolated monster, hacking away at its hide until it spilled its guts on the ground.

  They were taking casualties themselves, but they were winning some of their fights.

  Should the people of 343 open up a new front?

  The leadership fell to silent contemplation of the balance of risk and duty, knowing all they had was guesswork based on a few observations.

  Captain d’Anje pushed to the center of the little group and regarded each of them in turn with his usual contempt.

  “Pathetic. You worry what we should do. The answer is obvious. Honor demands no other course. We open the gates. We open all of them. Our only question is how we do so to maximum effect.”

  The Human ran his fingers through the dark coils of his hair.

  When he’d been captured, his buzz cut could have graced the head of any legionary, Zhoogenes included. Everything in this strange place grew at an obscene rate, and by now the Humans were wearing their lengthy hair with pride, because it marked them as different from Zhoogenes and Littoranes.

  “I’m not disagreeing,” said Urdizine, who wasn’t one of the leaders, but no one had objected to him pushing himself into the group, “but we should spend a few moments to consider what’s going on before jumping to wild conclusions. You see, here’s the thing. What I saw—what’s going on right now in 241—was so horrific, but no one’s pointing out that it makes absolutely no sense. None of this does. We’ve encountered drones, but where’s the aerial observation? Or cameras? The enemy hasn’t seemed to notice we’ve left our enclave.”

  “I had wondered,” Hrish-Ek said, “but didn’t feel it was my place to speak.”

  Urdizine growled. “I realize you have some stupid Littorane crush on your elder, but you’ve got to stop losing all initiative the moment you’re near Kayshen-Oeyl. You’re better than that. Tell us. What was it you wondered?”

  “If it is true that we are to be eaten in a harvesting of all biomatter, water, and other nutrients, this strikes me as a bizarre and hugely inefficient method of collecting resources.”

  Urdizine nodded vigorously, trying not to look at Kayshen-Oeyl, who’d gone rigid with rage. “Damned right. I saw creatures suck every last drop of moisture from the ground. What was the point? If you plant a crop, you keep seed corn for the next growing season. You don’t destroy your soil along with the crop when you harvest.”

  “With you Zhoogenes,” d’Anje said, “what happens when a bright light is shone over your head?”

  What was the Cora’s World veck playing at?

  “I have seen this,” Hrish-Ek said. “He waves his hands over his head.”

  Urdizine wanted to run his hands through his head growth, but he resisted the urge. “It’s a startle reflex. So what? Harsh sunlight might scorch our head foliage.”

  “Yes,” d’Anje said. “A primitive, instinctive response. Even if Urdizine were in deep space within the protective cocoon of a spacesuit, if I suddenly shone a bright light onto the top of his helmet, he would place his hands over his head. His reaction would be pointless. Amusing. It would make no more sense to us than the way our captors are sucking these hexes dry. Nonetheless, there is a good reason for his reflex response. It would only appear ridiculous because the context is entirely wrong. I believe the harvesting is an instinctive behavior that is taking place in the wrong context.”

  “Okay, I accept.” Urdizine put his hands up in surrender, and then put them down because he didn’t want to act out d’Anje’s point. “Aliens are weird. Sometimes they do shit that’ll never make sense.”

  D’Anje arched an eyebrow at him. That habit was seriously annoying.

  Urdizine got in the Worldie’s face and stared down at the shorter man. “What we’ve seen here today leaves you Humans as only the second weirdest species in the galaxy.”

  Kayshen-Oeyl barged between the two humanoids, shoving so hard against Urdizine that he stumbled back. “Here’s what we do,” she said in Terran. “We ope
n the doors to hexes we think have people in them. If they seem peaceful, we send messengers to explain what’s going on. In the hexes being harvested, we fight and get them out of there. Then we all move west and keep pushing in that direction. We free captives where we can and keep moving until we find a way out or die trying.”

  “I agree,” d’Anje said. “However, I warn you in advance. I accepted your tacit leadership of the 343 community because Humans are outnumbered by Littoranes. The people who’ve seeded these other cells may come from other worlds than Rho-Torkis. If we free them, it could be that Humans become the most numerous group. If that should happen, I would expect you, Lael Kayshen-Oeyl, and you, Urdizine, to accept a Human as the group’s leader in the same spirit of unity I’ve shown.”

  Hrish-Ek thumped her tail against the ground and arched her back into a loose fighting stance.

  Urdizine caught her eye and shook his head. This wasn’t the time for leadership squabbles.

  Worst of all, once again, d’Anje had a point.

  “Very well, I accept,” Kayshen-Oeyl said, relaxing her rigid posture only slightly.

  She snapped her head around and bored her gaze through Urdizine. Her inky orbs weren’t carrying a message of joy. “You, Urdizine, would be a liability. You are unfit to join us in the fight. You will lead a team west to investigate an escape route.”

  Hrish-Ek bobbed in the Littorane bow. “I shall carry him, honored leader.”

  “No.” Kayshen-Oeyl dropped her lower lip to reveal fine-pointed teeth. The damned newt was mocking him. “I need you by my side, Hrish-Ek, but you are correct that we must address his physical limitations. It is good that we have brought equipment. We shall construct a litter, and his team shall drag him across the ground. It’s unfortunate he will experience such a bumpy ride, but his own locomotion is totally inadequate.”

  She turned her back on him and named the teams she wanted dispatched to the other gates before leading the fighting rescue herself.

  Hrish-Ek caught Urdizine’s eyes and huffed through her orange snout. He guessed it was an expression of sympathy, but he’d didn’t know. He shrugged back at her—not that she would understand that, either.

  He thought he’d only let his tongue get away from him a couple of times, but Kayshen-Oeyl hadn’t taken it well. Maybe she saw his loose words as a challenge to her authority. It was his own fault, anyway. He should have known what was coming from hearing the Humans talk about their history. They argued over most of the details, but they agreed on one lesson they’d learned in the Orion Spur.

  Never piss off the Littoranes.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Eighteen: Tessa Taresse

  Around her, the tall rows of ripening paracorn rippled, not with the wind, but with the passage of the beasts sent to kill them. Dangerously close by, Ferals began yipping, sending chills up Tessa’s back. Although this form of the enemy resembled stunted Humans, their crazed barking was that of demented beasts.

  The sound was quickly taken up by other Ferals.

  She backed away toward the edge of the field.

  Had it really only been 20 minutes ago since she’d first heard the Ferals? It seemed like an age. At first, she’d thought the barking was a summons, a call to say, “Here is prey. Slash them! Bite them! Rend! Here! Here! Here!”

  Now she wasn’t so sure. It seemed to do no more than drive them into a killing frenzy, though why that was important, she didn’t know.

  The yipping became ever more frantic. Ferals jumped out of the corn that had been concealing them, spinning and somersaulting into the air, supercharged with the killing urge they were about to unleash.

  Time to run.

  But she couldn’t!

  The snarls sent talons of fear scraping along her spine, paralyzing her muscles with sheer terror.

  Was that the true purpose of the cry?

  “Tessa! We’ve gotta go!”

  She stared at Thomas through eyes wide with panic, but her deputy’s warning loosened the fear paralysis. She shattered the rest by force of will.

  Filling her lungs with the warm afternoon air, Tessa screamed, “Run!”

  She fled the cornfield, terrified she would trip on the uneven ground and be caught in the snapping jaws that were nearing fast.

  Wailing, she flung herself forward, heedless now of her feet in the desperate urge to move faster.

  They were catching up to her!

  She hurled herself toward the broad gap in the 10-foot-high fencing that enclosed the field.

  Her bait team was bunching as it crossed the brook.

  She wouldn’t make it.

  Tessa looked back at the rage coming for her.

  Her heart stuttered.

  They were bounding after her, some running on all fours, using the knuckles of their hands for feet.

  They were close enough she could see the drool on their lips and the heat in their eyes.

  She was last out of the field.

  Tessa led this group, led the defense of 241. To be last had been her choice, but she regretted it now.

  The lead Feral burst out of the field and snapped its mouth open to reveal wicked fangs.

  Tessa flew across the brook, feet slipping on slimy stones. Hands reached down to help her up the far bank.

  She should tell them to run and leave her, but she offered up both hands gratefully and was hauled up to the other side.

  A pitiful Human scream wrenched her attention back.

  It was Thomas. She must have pushed past him in her panic, because he was last across, swinging over the brook by an overhanging branch.

  The Ferals answered with demonic screams of their own. The lead demon sprang into the air and dug claws into the upper slopes of Thomas’s shoulders. It leaned around his neck and opened its jaws to rip out his throat, but the branch snapped.

  Even before Thomas hit the water, a second demon wrapped itself around his leg.

  Two more Ferals bundled into the thrashing struggle in the brook. Already, the water was churning red.

  More beasts came leaping out of the field. Dozens of them.

  “Bait team, run!” she screamed. “Don’t look back. Keep going.”

  Tessa hung back to watch Thomas’s final moments. She didn’t understand why. Her duty, somehow.

  When the watery struggle ended, she yelled a fresh order, “Trap One, ready on my command!”

  Thomas’s death had bought them a few moments, nothing more. These weren’t wild predators who would fight over a kill. They didn’t eat their prey, just killed them. The eating was left to the monsters who would soon follow.

  The humanoid animals scrambled up the bank to get her.

  Now she ran, headlong once more, though remembering to keep close to the fence on her left.

  “Now!”

  The sturdy fence didn’t just border the paracorn field, it formed a funnel onto the grassy hill on the far side of the brook. It was the task of Thomas, Tessa, and the other volunteers to lure the enemy into that funnel.

  On the safe side of the fence, teams pulled on concealed vine roots and opened a pit in the ground she’d just run past.

  It was six feet deep, enough to slow the Ferals, but not stop them.

  The enemy poured into the funnel, snapping at each other. Already they were jumping on the backs of others, lashing their flesh with the knife-like tips of their tails in their hunger to escape the pit.

  This was Tessa’s first chance to observe the foe up close without her eyes being clouded with terror.

  They were four-foot-high, digitigrade humanoids with mouths full of fangs. A slashing tail ended in a knife blade. It wasn’t naturally grown metal, but it was strong and sharp enough that it might as well have been.

  Naked except for brown feathers on torsos and thighs, they nonetheless revealed no obvious genitals or sexual characteristics. Children and community were concepts beyond these beasts, Tessa presumed. Their life’s purpose was to kill. Nothing else.

&nbs
p; One of them jumped for the lip of the pit and dug its claws into the ground.

  Tessa sprinted up the hill. With each stride, the right-hand side of the fence closed in on the left, until only a few feet separated the two.

  The plan was, by the time the Ferals ran through here in their berserk rage, they wouldn’t notice they were being channeled into a chokepoint until it was too late.

  When they’d devised these defenses, they hadn’t known what they would face when the harvesting came. If they’d devised an enemy to beat, they couldn’t have done better than the Ferals.

  Tessa joined the other survivors of her bait team in the open ground beyond the choke. She locked eyes with Thomas’s brother, but she didn’t know what to say.

  The Ferals were free of the pit. They erupted down the funnel and boiled out of the chokepoint toward Tessa.

  This time, the manic cries didn’t alarm her.

  Just as the vile creatures were on the cusp of breaking out into the open ground, the Trap Two team pulled on their buried ropes and opened the second pit.

  Ferals stumbled in. This was much deeper than the one at the foot of the hill. It was 12 feet deep and 20 across, covering the gap between the two fences. Feral bodies twitched as they impaled themselves on the wooden stakes driven into the pit’s floor.

  Gemma, the Trap Two team leader, blew her horn, the signal to open Trap Three, which had been dug near Trap One at the base of the hill.

  More Ferals fell into the second hole. The survivors howled in frustration.

  Others turned and ran back down the hill, trapped within the confines of the high fence.

  At the chokepoint, Tessa had ordered platforms to be built, and from here the second line defenders—the young, old, and weak—threw down heavy stones. The crude missiles battered the creatures trapped in the pit. First line defenders stood ready with spears to stab down at any who might crawl out.

  Tessa didn’t think the spears would be necessary.