continued from above....
Chapter Four
One Little Indian Boy
One planet back, on icy Vega, deep in a surface fissure, Sgt. Mark and his squad walked through a holding area. Mark could never really get used to this; the way that he could now just trudge past frightening aliens, large and small, and not even have to point a weapon at them. They were eerily pre-pacified. The dim glow of the many flares strewn about the floor (there are no flashlights in the tremulous universe) were reflected back from hundreds, even thousands of eyes. The eyes of sombre Tyrants, standing aloof and away from the curious dretches, who made no secret of their curiosity about the human intruders. They had all been ordered by their Overmind to stand down, and to only intervene if the humans attacked or detained them.
Mark was plagued by the irritating sense of being in a trap that everyone knew about but were unable to stop. His squadmates perceived this, so they were on edge as well.
Their patrol path took them through the main "room", if it could be called that. A huge, icy cavern that was populated by alien buildings that were indifferent to the subzero climate.
"Look at the size of this place..." said Irena, not whispering but almost unheard anyway.
"Yes, it certainly is big. I wouldn't like to call it home though. Too chilly," replied Turk. As pointman, he always had to tread carefully and let the eager dretches get out of the way. The crunch of ice under their boots seemed hostile to the ears, and the semi-darkness brought the reptilian mind to unwelcome life.
"Cold to heat, heat to cold, I'm getting tired of it," Mark admitted. "Why can't these things ever occupy decent planets? How come we never get sent to those?"
"Careful, you may get your wish," said a voice.
The squad stiffened. This probably wasn't the best reaction, since they were passing right past a trio of dragoons, who counter-stiffened and bared their teeth. It took all of Mark's self-control to keep his hands from darting to the pulse-rifle that was slung over his shoulders. Damn thing probably was too frozen to work anyway, he reminded himself.
"Who goes there?" asked Turk loudly. A moment later, a figure stepped into the light of the nearest flare. It was a civilian woman, and she didn't look happy.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Mark asked, making sure to look equally pissed-off.
She reached for a lanyard around her neck and showed him a reporter's badge. It looked authentic, but Mark was still suspicious.
"What are you doing out here? You're either braver than most, or crazy..." he said. She would have had to have walked here alone all the way from the command post in the distant entrance.
"There's nothing to be afraid
of," she said emphatically. "Just look around you. Do you see anything to be afraid of?"
Karl coughed.
"Look at how majestic they are....how durable....how
finely crafted they seem..." she went on, eyes passing over the beings she was talking about.
Oh yeah, we got a kook here, thought Mark. Then, aloud; "You must be one of those alien-rights activists that have been popping up everywhere since Homeworld."
"You make me sound like something that you scraped off your boot," she said, a snarl in her voice.
"Look, lady, these are all bloodthirsty monsters who's masters are just trying to put one over on us. They'll wait till enough humans -
like you - believe that they're for real, then they'll strike again. And, when they do, I'm going to be ready, because I don't believe the lie!"
"People like you make me sick," she spat back at him.
"Ahhh, whatever," he said, turning away. "One way or another, it'll all be over soon, I expect."
"You're right. It will be," she replied. Irena looked curious at this. "What do you mean by that?" she asked.
The journalist took her hands out of her coat pockets, wrung them, and stuffed them back in. Then spoke detachedly.
"You've heard about that granger, 'Kyp'?"
"Yes. One of the people we rescued told us about him," said Irena.
"Well, it looks like everywhere he's been, he's convinced the aliens to avoid taking human lives and being violent. No one knows how he does it, but my sources tell me that Central Command is doing their best to map out his route and follow behind."
"Well yeah," said Turk. "That's why
we're here."
"I've been following behind
them," said the journalist, "and each place I've been to had no aliens on it."
"What do you mean, 'no aliens'?" asked Mark, his interest rekindled.
"They just aren't there," she said, looking up at him. "All the sites which your squad and others have been to. I was told there were aliens there, being studied and observed because they weren't aggressive anymore. I just came from Togg IX. There were none there either."
"That can't be," said Mark. "We just departed 32 hours ago, and
we didn't kill
any of them. I specifically remember that we didn't kill any of them, because I
wanted to, but I didn't."
He was rewarded with a sarcastic smile. "Then it's being done after you leave," she said. "This is the first time I've actually caught up before anything happened."
Mark gazed at her for a moment before deciding to reply.
"I don't care. It doesn't matter. They're animals," he said.
Not letting him get to her, the journalist responded evenly. "If any government treated
humans who surrendered this way, it would be a war crime."
"Do these look human to you?" Mark asked, waving his arm at the eyes glowing in the shadows.
"Studies have shown that the more evolved classes have IQ's of up to one-hundred. And don't get me started on Overminds. It's been speculated that they have self-awareness!"
Mark was getting tired of this. They had already overstayed their patrol route, and were due at the CP.
"Form up," he called over his shoulder. "Our patrol hasn't found any human remains
or" - he glared at the journalist - "a black granger. Let's get going."
"But Sir," interjected Irena, "Don't you think this is important?"
"Form
UP, Private!" he said irritably.
Oh no, not you too, he thought. He took point and began trudging back along the path of flares. Behind him, he could hear the soldiers fall in line. He could not, however, tell if the journalist was following. Something told him that she wasn't; that she preferred to remain in the dark, with the uncertain beings that she irrationally valued.
Crazy bitch..... Fifteen minutes later found them coming out into the light of the entrance. The area had been artificially widened with much shoveling and picking, and a command station adorned the middle. Defensive Tesla generators had been mounted, untraditionally, in the ceiling ice, crackling and pulsing just feet above their heads.
The battalion commander looked up as they entered, and waved Mark over.
"You're tardy, soldier," he snapped at him. "Explain yourself!"
"I apologize sir, but we were detained by an activist we found wandering the caves..." said Mark, swallowing hard.
"Oh, that's okay then," said the commander, indicating for them to be at ease. "I hope you didn't tell her anything."
"With your permission sir, I told her to 'piss off'," replied Mark. The commander smiled.
"I don't have that luxury," he said. "I represent people, so I had to be
polite. God, but there are some days I miss grunthood!"
"It has its perks, sir," said Mark. Then, "What are our orders now, sir?" he asked, noticing a mobile lift gliding into the cavern. It was loaded with what looked like portable gas tanks - the kind you would use in a barbeque grill.
"You're pretty far behind the others," said the commander. "Everyone's getting off-planet. Use the two nodes left and get your squad up to the
Revenge ASAP."
"Yes sir," said Mark stiffly, and saluted. He nodded for the others to follow, and they made their way over to the nodes. They were attached to a repeater. Mark toed the activation switch, but the device was poorly insulated, and took forever to warm up. As they waited in a circle, he glanced around at them. He noticed Irena, who looked like she was fighting to keep her mouth shut. It was a fight she quickly lost.
"Sir, that reporter was right!" she blurted out in a whisper. "Everyone being called off, and now, those gas canisters....I think they're going to plant them to exterminate the aliens while they're noncombatant, sir!" she looked very serious.
"No one
asked you to think, Private," he replied momentarily. "Do you know why? Because it isn't your
job. If you wanted to
think, why are you here?"
Private Irena had no response for this. That, or she had the sense to censor it.
"It's nothing personal, Irene," he continued. "Why should we give a shit?"
His voice must have been the tiniest bit too loud, because a split second later the battalion commander appeared behind his shoulder with a questioning expression.
"Do I hear dissent?" he asked.
"No sir," said Mark quickly. "Just discussion."
"Well, I hope so," said the commander, with an edge in his voice. "Connecting Kyp's dots has led us to Nephra Prime, and that'll be your next landfall. We need morale to get up and stay up. Nephra is the last and the biggest. Once we've taken care of the hostiles there, the alien remnant is essentially broken. We can't have
any distractions. Do you get me, soldier?"
"Yes sir, it was nothing sir," said Mark. The commander nodded slowly, then went back to his console. Mark gave Irena an exasperated glare. She glared back, as if to say,
I told you so. "Our job is to fight, not think," he said quietly, as if hoping repetition would strengthen his message.
But it was too late. He
was thinking.
To be continued in chapters below...
