Relic Tech (Crax War Chronicles) (59 page)

“My eighth time,” Kalger chimed in from nearby. “It never gets better. You okay,
Ludmilla?”

She groaned in response.

I took a second to get my bearings.

“Guess who’s here, Specialist!” said Skids. “Guess!”

“Michael, I’m sure he isn’t up to guessing.”

I rubbed my eyes and refocused. “Sorry, Instructor Watts. I thought you were Guerrero. You made it!” I felt dizzy. The nurse laid me back down.

“We must go, Kra,” Lori Watts said. “Michael and I.” She leaned over the table and hugged me. “I can’t thank you enough.” She kissed my cheek and whispered, “I’ll never be able to repay you.”

I looked her in the eye. “I had some help. And Skids mostly took care of himself.”

“Not if you hear him tell it.”

“He’s a fine young man,” I said.

Skids frowned. “I didn’t beat Engineer McAllister.”

“He did stalemate me once,” McAllister said with hands on her hips and
sporting a new French-braid hairdo.

Skids shrugged his shoulders. “Engineer McAllister wasn’t paying attention.”

Watts leaned close and whispered again. “My husband hand-picked you to save our son. He knew you would. And my husband would say you preserved a chance for
our
future.”

The stress on ‘our’ caught my attention.

She stared deep into my eyes. “My husband knows about such things. But I know what I know.” She held her son close. “Thank you.”

I fought back the nausea. “You’re welcome.”

“We have to go,” Watts said. She held up the bust I’d carved of her son. It seemed like ages ago. “We won’t forget.”

Its presence went right over my head. I extended my hand, and struggled to hold it steady. “Skids, you’re okay. Don’t let anyone say otherwise.” I managed a smile and wink.

Skids shook my hand through tears. “You’re great.”

“Take care of your mother.”

“Take care of yourself,” Lori Watts said.

My mind raced as I replayed what Watts said. I was too ill to concentrate so I curled up and tried to sleep.

Two days later a marine major and someone dressed in a gray quasi-military uniform debriefed me. Had to be Intelligence.

“Any questions, Security Specialist Keesay?”

“Yes, Major Voisard. Several.” He sat silently. “What happened to the
Kalavar
?”

“I do not know.”

“How did Instructor Watts get hold of a bust I carved?”

“I cannot verify that she had such an item. If she did, it may have been a replica.”

“Where are they?” Both men sat silent. “Are they still planetside?”

“They looked at each other. The intel man spoke. “We cannot verify if they have yet to depart.”

I didn’t trust a word he’d uttered. “But the blockade around Tallavaster?”

“Has gaps,” said the major. “Anything else?”

“What became of the Chicher diplomat’s body?”

The intel man spoke up. “Turned over to the Chicher enclave. Different pack.” He shrugged. “They’re cut off too. Best we could do.”

“Understood,” I said. “My equipment, sir?”

The major called into his collar, “Private, the security specialist’s equipment.” A marine entered carrying my uniform, firearms, belt, everything.

“You’ve been drafted,” the major said. “We took the liberty of dying your security uniform to Marine camouflage. It’s higher quality that we could issue.”

After what I’d survived I knew that was an understatement. “Thank you,” I said to the major, and thought back to Field Director Simms. I examined my uniform. The brown, gray, green design appeared of moderate quality. I stood and saluted.

“No need to salute, Keesay,” Major Voisard said. “Untrained conscripts outnumber trained military. Just follow orders.” They stood. “Dress in here. Your squad leader is waiting outside.”

“Understood, sir.” I watched them leave, then dressed. I slipped the breastplate on under my coveralls and buttoned my armored vest over it all. I checked my equipment before stowing the hospital coveralls and canvas slippers in my satchel. Then I exited.

“Security Specialist Keesay,” called a deep, booming voice. “Fancy meeting you in this part of the galaxy.”

I did a double take. Then grew angry and sick. “Private.” I looked closer. “Corporal Ringsar?”

“Pillar,” he said. “A medical treatment center seems appropriate. Glad you’re part of my squad.” He recognized my disbelief. “Heard your name and urged my captain to request you.”

“Why is that?”

He signaled me to follow him down a tan-painted cinderblock hall. “Things are tough out there. Going to get worse. Crazy or stubborn, doesn’t matter. Told my captain you wouldn’t break and run under fire.” He puffed out his chest. “Prove me wrong and we’ll finish that fight.” He led me down some stairs. Each metal step reverberated with our booted steps.

“You’re right,” I said, stepping aside for a woman before exiting out the glass doors. Her stomach bulged under a loose blouse. My voice trailed off as I watched the woman. “I know how to fight.”

Pillar laughed. “Too much time in space, Keesay. No birthing up there. Kind of reminds you what we’re fighting for.”

I spotted a black and yellow fallout shelter sign near the hospital entrance. “Correct.” I squinted in the warm sunlight. It was shining down between the rows of cut stone and concrete buildings.

“Crying infants,” said Pillar, “reminds me of some wimps in the trench line.” Pillar snapped his head for me to follow him to the right. “Scuttlebutt is, Keesay, you’re some kind of Crax-killing specialist. I’ll have to hear about it.”

“Who told you?” I asked, watching a mixture of diesel and humming, hydrogen-burning vehicles speed by.

“Some firebrand engineer. That’s how I heard you were planetside. She wanted to know if I was the same marine that thumped you on the Mavinrom Dock.”

“Figures.” I looked up and down the street. The rows of buildings were of uniform block design, eight to ten stories tall. All unmarked. “Anywhere to eat? I’ve been in cold sleep. Just getting my appetite back.”

He laughed. “Already trying to avoid field rations. Our rations really are field rations.” He jerked his head, still chuckling. “This way. Hey, guess who’ll be sharing your fox hole?”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer. “His name better not be Stenny.”

We’d hitched a ride to our forward position. The diesel tractor pulling the wagon rolled past fields of buckwheat, sorghum, and clover. Goat herds devoured the latter. Pillar did most of the talking, about his prowess on the battlefield and in the bedroom. I decided to interrupt him.

“Buckwheat,” I said. “Good for honeybees.”

“Huh? Bees? Negral’s got beehives everywhere. Need them for the crops.”

“I know. My uncle kept bees. Made a decent living off the honey.”

“Hard to believe,” Pillar said. “A couple years ago this planet was basically all rock and water. A few primitive lichens and algae. I heard the Phibs sold Negral some alien engineered bacterial strains. Metabolized rock, gave off organic wastes.” He lifted his helmet and scratched his head. “I don’t pretend to understand it. The initial bacteria had genes that limited the number of times it and its offspring could divide. Them Phibs have it down to a science.”

“They should,” I said. “A xenobiologist told me the Phibs have been in space as long as 60,000 years.”

“There’re some on the planet.”

I was skeptical. “Have you seen any?”

“No. But I’ve seen a couple of the big crabs that serve them.”

“Bahklack? Umbelgarri thralls?”

He nodded. “If they’re around, and they’re helping Negral establish Tallavaster, makes sense there’re some here.” He leaned close, so the farmer had no chance of hearing over the tractor’s dieseling purr. “Hidden in the city are some Phib defenses. The Bahklacks maintain them.”

“How big is New Birmingham?”

“Housing for forty thousand,” he said. “Only about twenty-five thousand colonists though. Twice as big as Volsar and Sola Two.”

“How many residents are in the field?”

“What, farming or defending?” He shrugged. “Defending, maybe fourteen thousand conscripts. A reinforced regiment of colonial marines.” He looked up. “Getting close. We’ll hold out longer than Volsar and Sola Two.”

I looked ahead. Several tents and a series of trenches broke the otherwise flat terrain supporting endless fields. “How’d you get here?”

“Intel predicts we’ve got long hours of static defense ahead. I’ll let your foxhole buddy tell you.”

We hopped off the wagon and waved. The farmer waved back and continued past the defensive position.

“This way, Keesay.” Pillar led me away from the sandbags and tents, down a stone stairway, into a large trench, and finally to an underground outpost. I saw hints of fortified concrete construction, but most of the ground was a layer of dirt on solid layers of gray rock. A young captain and middle-aged NCO stood near a table. Pillar saluted. I stood at attention.

The captain returned Pillar’s salute. He looked to me.

“Sir,” I said. “C4 Security Specialist Krakista Keesay, reporting.” He was silent. “A major directed me not to salute officers.”

Sergeant Trahk stepped forward and scrutinized me. “Salute or not. Follow orders without question and fight. That’s your duty.”

“Understood, Sergeant.”

He removed my com-set. “Nice equipment, Keesay.” He adjusted the settings. “This’ll be hard to trace. Our platoon’s name and call signal is White Mule.” He continued to manipulate the settings. “Command is Channel A. Our frequency is Channel B. Rock Mole platoon to our left is Channel C. Copper Mink platoon is to our right. Channel D.” He handed it back. “Alternate frequencies are A1, A2 and so on.”

“Understood.”

“Areas in the trench line marked in red paint, don’t say anything important. Troop movements, dispositions. Got it?”

Those would be areas vulnerable to enemy eavesdropping. “Understood.”

“How are you armed, Keesay?”

“Twelve gauge shotgun, .357 Magnum and .38 caliber revolver.”

“Can you handle anything more advanced?”

“Yes, Sergeant. I am competent with MP pistols and carbines, and trained in light and medium-duty laser carbines. I also have a CNS modulator to nullify the Stegmar sounding.”

The captain nodded and spoke up. “Corporal Ringsar informs us that you’ll stand and fight. What combat experience have you?”

“Our transport was caught in a firefight on approach to the Zeta Aquarius Dock. We were boarded.”

“You were successful in repelling boarders?”

“Unknown, sir. I was ordered to escort an important civilian to an escape shuttle.”

“So,” sighed Captain Ermot, “you haven’t seen combat.”

“Incorrect, sir.” May as well toot my horn. “I wasn’t counting, but estimate killed or incapacitated a dozen Stegmar. I killed or assisted in killing three elite Gar-Crax and four Gar-Crax while defending the transport and the civilian.” He and Sergeant Trahk exchanged glances. “However, I was led to believe that the majority of the boarders were reserve troops.”

“What was the transport?” asked the captain. “And who was the civilian?”

Pillar knew I’d departed on the
Kalavar
, so I was willing to provide that much. “Civil transport
Kalavar
. I was not given the civilian’s name.”

“You were part of Security on the transport?”

“Correct, Captain. That is all I can say.”

He frowned and glared.

“If you want to know more,” I said, “Major Voisard will have to authorize it.”

All three pairs of eyes rose at my statement. “That will be all,” Captain Ermot said. “Corporal, issue Keesay a medium duty laser carbine. We’ve enough recruits with old-style assault rifles. Show him the map, and give him the tour.”

Ringsar saluted. “Yes, sir.”

Pillar handed me a medium-duty laser carbine. “The captain wants everyone to have some ranged firepower.” He handed me a helmet, backpack, bedroll and canteen before leaving the storage bunker. “Okay, Keesay. Point the direction of the three pillboxes.”

Despite standing in a seven-foot trench, I pointed three different directions.

“And HQ? Good. Our tank-bot? Good, Keesay. Even I had to think on that one.” He smiled and put his hands on his hips. “And your assigned position?”

“That way,” I said, pointing south. “It’s the only place we haven’t toured. And I haven’t spotted a known face yet.”

“Right, Keesay. Let’s go.”

We trudged, retracing some of our steps. The trench walls showed signs of mechanical digging and high-energy laser slicing,
without a doubt A-Tech, Umbelgarri. A foot or so of compact soil lined the rims. What had eroded, formed a muddy trench floor. Carved or emplaced stone along the trench floor provided steps for firing positions along the wall. Scattered aluminum ladders provided easier exit and entrance to the trench line.