“I fight,” Kov tapped his bare chest. There was a perfectly round scar on it, like a brand. “Some fight.” He pointed to the men and women of the welcoming party; a few also bore the round scar in a prominent place. “Some hide,” Kov continued, reaching down to tap the stone floor.
Tris got the hint; underground tunnels, probably with hidden entrances, designed to take those that couldn’t fight.
“And some run,” Kov said, pressing his thumb to his forehead and smearing it downwards. Sadness tinged his thoughts at this, and Tris pulled the image from his mind of people scattering into the surrounding forest, pursued by Siszar. They were an intentional distraction, he realised, drawing the hunters away from the village while the warriors defended it. It was a desperate plan, but the only one they had. And it relied on the runners turning themselves into prey.
He’d couldn’t imagine many of them survived.
“We have many guns,” Tris told him, feeling the man’s plight like a blow to the heart. “Next time they come, you’ll be ready.”
“I am glad you come today,” Kov said, smiling warmly at him.
“We’ll get you the weapons as soon as possible,” Tris promised.
“Yes, thank-you. I am glad also, because today my daughter is a Runner.”
It took no time at all for Tris to comm the Folly, and set Askarra’s fleet of talos to work loading the arsenal she’d stolen from the Vanguard onto Kreon’s knackered shuttle. Ella volunteered to go up and get it, and promised to bring the surviving marines down for some lessons. Tris couldn’t imagine any man being able to refuse her a favour, marine or no.
By surrendering the rifles they had with them, and agreeing to stay on the planet themselves, they convinced Kov to load Nightshade up with an impressive amount of foodstuffs, both fresh and preserved. It had been a bumper crop year apparently, and the lack of a Siszar hunt had kept many people alive to go hunting themselves. Food shortage had never been an issue for them, with the population culled so regularly.
Talking to the villagers Tris established that most of them had been born and raised there, but a handful had been captured during combat, or were traders that had found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. Those few had kept the natives up to speed on the changing shape of the galaxy, but there was little they could do to improve their lot in life. Piles of scrap inside several of the wooden buildings were parts of wrecked ships that the Siszar had dumped around the place, allowing the humans to scavenge what tech they could. It reminded Tris of the way zoo keepers kept placing tyre-swings and cargo nets into animal enclosures in the name of ‘enrichment’. The crops and fields were green like on Earth, which perhaps added to the deceptively tranquil vibe, but he had to dig no deeper than Kov’s last comment to reveal the sinister side of this rural existence. In a dawn ceremony each month, lots were drawn to allocate the runners for the coming days. On their day, the chosen individuals would place the mark on their foreheads… and pray to whatever gods they believed in, that today was not the day the hunters came.
He felt better as soon as Ella returned from the Folly though. In short order, the first row of villagers were lined up in a firing squad, having instructions barked at them by the marine sergeant.
Whatever we can do for these people…
It wasn’t a lot, but it was a start.
His translator had adapted to the weird dialect, which Kyra described as a mishmash of Old Akkadian, Lantian, Lemurian and a bunch of others that he couldn’t remember. All he cared about was that he could have meaningful conversations with their hosts, without feeling the urge to speak like he was playing Cowboys and Indians.
So when Kov found him standing atop the stone wall that ran around the settlement, Tris felt relaxed enough to say, “How’s it going, mate?”
“It’s going well,” Kov replied, “thanks to you. I have come here to offer my sincere gratitude for this miracle.”
Tris squirmed. Gratitude and compliments always made him feel awkward. “It’s not really me, you know. Kreon is the boss — we’re only in this part of space because of him.”
“That is true,” Kov agreed. “I am thanking all of you, individually. It is your turn.”
“Oh, right! Well, no worries. I mean, I hope it’s enough. I hope it will give you a chance when… you know.”
Kov stared out at the crop-fields, where work had been abandoned for the night. “It will change nothing,” he said. “But it will make us feel powerful. And that is important.”
It was a glum prediction, but Tris suspected he was right. They’d unloaded enough rifles for everyone in the village, and then some; spare powerpacks, combat knives, armoured vests, and even a portable power generation module that would run on its internal fuel cell for decades. But the truth was, the Siszar hunted these people for sport. They would wipe them out in the blink of an eye if they thought there was a genuine threat from them. They were allowed to continue living in this state for as long as they provided sufficient entertainment. If that were to change… well.
Tris was already having thoughts about how many of them he could cram onto the Folly. But food would quickly become an issue again, and he was going towards danger, rather than away from it. There was still a depressingly good chance that this mission would be the end of all of them, and he didn’t want to be responsible for the deaths of hundreds more people. Perhaps if they survived somehow, against the odds… They could swing past here and pack as much food and as many warm bodies into the docking bays as they could.
Of course, that would do nothing for the other communities of humans living in Siszar space under the exact same circumstances. It was one thing to stage an uprising in Lemurian space, where the majority of people already loathed the Church and needed only a spark to set them off. Here, the humans stood absolutely zero chance of throwing off their Siszar oppressors. All they could really hope for was to survive the next hunt…
It was no way to live.
He was about to call Askarra to check on the situation up there when the comm-chip crackled in his pocket, beating him to it.
“Hello?” he answered, not sure who to expect on the other end.
His mother’s voice came through loud and clear — and uncommonly agitated. “Tristan! They’ve found us,” she said, freezing his blood in an instant. “They are coming. You must prepare to repel a Siszar assault force immediately.”
“What?” Tris was too stunned to think for a second. “Mum, who’s coming? Demios’ followers? How many of them?”
This time, the tone of her voice was desperate. “All of them.”
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Tris stared dumbly up at the sky, dread sinking into the pit of his stomach.
They are coming.
Already he could feel the surge of bloodlust emanating from the mass of Siszar minds, as their ships dropped into the planet’s atmosphere.
He was trapped. They all were. Askarra was under orders to jump away, protecting the civilians she had aboard. Ella was screaming down from orbit like a meteor, closely pursued by an unknown number of nestships. Tris made a rare connection to her mind, as she dropped her guard long enough to give him an appreciation of the situation. She was in Kreon’s unarmed mining shuttle, which boasted a far greater cargo capacity than Nightshade. She’d left Kyra’s ship aboard the Folly, so it might as well be on Earth for all the good it would do them. Kyra had left transport duty to Ella, while she devoted her time to training the villagers…
Kyra! he reached out. They’re coming! Sound the alarm!
One of the fringe benefits of psychic communication — he didn’t need to explain who or what. A second later a yell rang out from the centre of the village, and then a pair of horns took up the alert.
It would have been delightfully rustic, were it not for the deadly horde of aliens bearing down on them.
Kov, who had only left the wall himself a short while ago, reappeared at the foot of it. “Are you sure?” he called up to Tris. “None of my p
eople have sensed them yet.”
“They’re coming,” he shouted back. “Our ship spotted them up there!”
And as he pointed to space — an unnecessary gesture, but unavoidable — the first of the Siszar ships streaked into view. The last rays of the sinking sun painted them in a riot of colours, dark reds and golds, through brown to the odd greenish-blue. A majestic and awe-inspiring sight…
That was going to kill them all.
Tris sprinted to the nearest staircase, a stack of stone blocks roughly mortared into place. He leapt down from halfway, landing in a roll, and came to his feet running. His rifle was still in the longhouse, and he had a feeling he was about to need it.
It wasn’t far, but by the time he emerged from the stone building the sky overhead was filled with ships. He expected to see people sprinting to and fro in a panic, but most of the villagers simply stared upwards, looking shell-shocked.
“So many…” Kov breathed, when Tris came across him. “Never have I seen more than ten. We have done something to anger them. They have come to end us all.”
“It’s our fault,” Tris said, wanting the man to know. “They’re here for us. Your people might be able to survive if you give us to them, instead of fighting.”
Kov looked at him then, incredulous. “What did you do?”
“It’s a long story.”
Kov spread his hands towards the darkening sky. “So many…” he shook his head. “They’ll see no difference between us. Such a swarm will have hunger to match its size; they will hunt us for food, regardless of our actions.”
“I’m sorry,” Tris said, well aware of how inadequate the words were.
Kov smiled at him — sad, but determined. “I would rather die fighting than continue to live in fear. We will not send the runners out this time. With your new weapons, maybe we will teach them we are not to be hunted lightly.”
Tris nodded, gripping his rifle tightly. “I’ll teach as many of them as I can.”
They parted then, Tris heading back up onto the wall, while the leader strode off to marshal his people.
Reaching his previous spot, Tris was surprised to find Lukas already there. Surprised, mostly because the big man was lying flat on his back, eyes closed, a long rifle resting atop him.
“Lukas?” Tris peered down at him. “You’re not… having a nap, are you?”
Lukas cracked one eyelid. “Why? We got time?” Lifting the rifle he slow-motion rolled over onto his belly, ending up in a sniper-like pose. “Wish they’d attacked at dawn. The heat-scopes on these things are damn useless.”
“I think the Siszar are cold-blooded,” Tris pointed out.
“That’s harsh,” Lukas protested. “You hardly know any.”
Tris snorted in spite of himself. Lukas was nearly as bad as Kyra. Speaking of which…
Where are you?
Coming to you.
Where’s Kreon?
Doing what he does best. Leading the poor, ignorant fools that are about to die.
Huh. You know that includes us, right?
She wisely chose not to answer him.
The walls were a shade over two metres tall — enough to make a comforting barrier for humans, but offering little impediment to the Siszar. Most of the young males Tris had seen around Demios’ camp were small, not much more than two-metres arm-tip to arm-tip, but the aliens climbed as easily as they walked.
This wall isn’t keeping anything out. It’s more like it’s keeping us in.
But it provided a vantage point, and that, coupled with the arsenal of laser weaponry they’d brought to the planet, were the only advantages they had.
It wasn’t enough.
He knew it without having to run the numbers. The sky had darkened into full night now, giving the aliens yet another point in their favour. With an army of trained marines arrayed on the wall, heavy weapons perhaps, and some of those massive exo-armour suits, they might have stood a chance. As it was…
We’ll just have to settle for making one hell of a mess.
Ella’s shuttle veered in from the opposite side of the village; evidently she’d been forced to take some evasive manoeuvres. She landed in the clearing between the buildings, the stirred-up dust shining like fog in her running lights.
Light, or rather lack of it, was going to be their biggest problem in this fight. The Siszar had their natural psychic talents as well as an acute sense of smell. Humans, for the most part, had neither.
How do we fight if we can’t even see them coming?
He got his answer a moment later, as a flaming arrow leapt out from the wall. It buried itself in one of the piles of wood surrounding the village, and the whole thing went up like it was soaked in petrol.
At a shout from Kov, more arrows sprang forth; Tris turned in time to see a villager on his section of wall loosing one at another of the woodpiles. His arrow hit home, and the mound blazed like a torch. All around them at least ten such bonfires had now been lit, their flames sending eerie shadows writhing across the ground in between them.
And beyond them…
Tris could just make out the dark shapes hugging the ground, moving towards them like gigantic spiders. So soon! Of course, the aliens had no need for pre-battle briefings, or arranging their formations.
Here they come! he told Kyra.
Really? Her response dripped sarcasm. I’m so glad I have you to point these things out.
And as Tris stared into the night, Lukas squeezed off the first shot of the engagement.
His blast stabbed out, a line of red brilliance that carved into leathery Siszar flesh, bringing one of their enemies down. Tris couldn’t see if it was dead or wounded; it vanished beneath a sea of limbs, as the mass of bodies scuttled forwards.
Taking that as a signal, all along the wall the defenders opened up.
The marines had scattered themselves strategically around the perimeter, and nearest to them some semblance of discipline was maintained. Everywhere else it was chaos; villagers spraying fire into the darkness, hosing the air above their targets with energy from their rapidly depleting powerpacks. There were plenty of spares, but Tris knew that changing them would be tricky for most of the villagers. It was easy enough under controlled conditions, but with adrenaline shaking their hands and death stalking them from the shadows, it was a different thing entirely.
Fortunately Kyra was working her way along the line, correcting a stance or offering a word of advice to each person she passed. She changed several powerpacks en route, the other villagers watching her demonstrations with eagle eyes. She paused to snap off a few shots herself, but by the time she reached Tris she had already slung her rifle.
Taking the hint, he reached back to free his glaive from its magnetic clasps. Hand-to-hand combat seemed a way off, but the Siszar could move incredibly fast, and he knew better than to question Kyra’s judgement.
She gave him a fierce grin in return, and her hair switched from red-and-black streaks to a vibrant rainbow. “Might as well give the bastards my good side,” she said.
Inexperienced as it was, the fusillade of fire was definitely taking a toll amongst the Siszar ranks. Tris could see bodies strewn between the bonfires as many of the aliens retreated rather than pressing onwards. For a fleeting second he thought they’d been victorious, no matter how impossible the odds. Then he remembered the Siszars’ craftiness. They wouldn’t just hurl themselves against a wall of laser blasts; they were too intelligent for that.
They were apex predators for a reason…
His suspicion was confirmed by a scream from the wall adjacent to him.
Faced with an overwhelming concentration of fire from the front, the Siszar had backed off out of sight, using the darkness as a shield… and moved silently around their flanks.
As the sound of blasters faltered, more screams announced the aliens’ presence all around them. Sporadic fire erupted on both side walls, as the villagers raced along the flat top to shoot down at the enemy encirclin
g them.
Grabbing his rifle again, Tris stared through its heat-sensing viewfinder. Lukas was right — the thing was bloody useless, particularly against this enemy. Still, he squeezed off a few shots in carefully-controlled bursts. He was aiming for the aliens’ more vulnerable, pod-like bodies… or he was trying to. The combination of heat from the blazing bonfires and the squirming mass of dark bodies made accuracy almost impossible.
The character of the whole battlefield had changed. Minutes earlier, the air had rung with shouts of defiance as the emboldened villagers unloaded a lifetime of frustrations along with their rifles. But that atmosphere of bravado evaporated quickly. Now, as most of the guns quieted, it was a place of desperate tension and fear. In between his shots Tris strained to hear noises from below him, or from either side; all across the top of the wall, defenders were doing the same. There was a sudden scream, and the man next to Tris disappeared. He hadn’t seen the strike, but he heard the aftermath, as the Siszar that had pulled him from the wall crunched through him. Tris blasted away at the spot where he thought it had happened, but he couldn’t be sure.
The same event was playing out up and down the wall; people listening, turning, seeking their enemies in the dark — only to hear the shriek of someone dragged off behind them.
Dropping his rifle, Tris swung his glaive into every flash of movement he saw. Sometimes it bit, sending an alien limb tumbling back into the darkness; sometimes it hit nothing but air.
He heard a muttered curse, and noticed that Kov was back beside him, filling in the gap. The leader had a machete in each hand, and was slashing away at anything he could see. “The ditch,” he said, through gritted teeth. “It’s too dry. It didn’t light.”
It wasn’t hard to figure out what he meant. Obviously some of the substance they used to make the bonfires light had been used to fill a ditch around the walls, to provide lighting in precisely this scenario.
“Too long between hunts,” he explained.
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