Pain bringer the constan.., p.16
Pain Bringer (The Constant War Book 2), page 16
A thundercrack boomed, echoing across the barren landscape. Jumbled flashes of cyan scrambled the air, a localized electrical storm tied to the MSRV by erratically whipping tendrils of energy. The beams formed into the likeness of one of Heaven’s most prominent council members.
“Morning, gentlemen,” it said.
Wilkins recognized the voice. There was no mistaking it.
Rousseau.
“Where do we stand on Operation: Castor?” it asked.
As the most senior officer on the planet, Wilkins took a step forward to address the sparking, disembodied head floating two meters off the ground. Before he could utter a word, Corman was already responding.
“Engine-2 and -3 are ready for ignition, sir.”
Wilkins had only spoken to Corman over the comm. Seeing him in person was a shock. His voice was high-pitched and nasal. Wilkins had pictured a scrawny poindexter, someone like Einhorn, but Corman stood a good half foot taller than him, with even broader shoulders, a pair of twin turrets mounted on either side of a barrel chest.
“Looks like everything was set up and ready to go by the, um, the previous team, sir,” said Corman. “We didn’t need to do much. Engine-4 and -5 are being primed as we speak. When we finish up with the briefing, we’re heading out for 6 and 7 and the rest of the engineering teams will be deployed to light the remaining engines in sequence. Everything is on schedule.”
“Four and Five?” interjected Wilkins. “On whose orders did you go out there?”
There was a long, drawn-out silence.
And then, the sparking hologram answered, “On mine, Lieutenant. Is there a problem?”
Wilkins bit his tongue. They didn’t know what they were dealing with. But he couldn’t tell them that. Not without jeopardizing his role and being sent back to Heaven.
Sure, Rousseau had fought the Sindarhe for years—or at least their squiddie scouts. But he’d never been up close and personal with them. Had never been inside one of their ships or stations. Had never seen friends, good soldiers, driven mad. Had never experienced it himself.
But Wilkins had.
And there was no easy way to explain any of it.
Wilkins clenched his teeth. “No, sir.”
A hand coalesced from arcing cyan spheres of electricity, rising into holographic frame. It pointed at Wilkins.
“I want to be very clear, here,” said Rousseau. “We have twenty-five days before that floating carcass you boys are riding smacks into good old Mother Earth. It’s not that I don’t care about your safety and the safety of the teams before you, but I have priorities, and if we don’t maintain a schedule, it won’t matter what happened to the previous team, and it certainly won’t matter what happens to you. We’ll all be dead. Heaven. Earth. Everyone and everything—dead. Clear?”
The men that had gathered for the briefing muttered muffled responses. The cyan cloud of electricity turned toward Wilkins. “Lieutenant Wilkins, do you have a problem with me expediting the process?”
Wilkins shook his head. “No, sir. I was just left out of the loop, is all. I—” Wilkins considered his next words carefully. “If it is no trouble, sir, I would like to be notified of changes. If for no other reason than to allocate resources and manpower efficiently.”
“Noted, Lieutenant.” The head rotated in midair like something out of a horror film, facing the lead engineer. “Corman, what’s our timeframe?”
“If things go accordingly, we should have all the engines up and running by the end of the day. But, there is something that’s, uh, been on the minds of many of the men. If I may speak freely, sir?”
“Spit it out.”
“We’ve been keeping watch. We’ve scoured this planet, hitting all the major signposts and whatnot between every engine and we haven’t seen hide nor hair of the original team. No vehicles. No tools or instruments. Not even footprints—which strikes me odd. There were obviously here. They set up the engines. Extremely proficiently and quickly, I might add. But…” Corman trailed off.
“What do you think it means?”
“I—I’d hate to guess, sir.”
“Roger, Corman.” The head rotated back to Wilkins. “How about you, Wilkins?”
“I wish I knew, sir. The original engineering team is still AWOL. I checked their mobile command. Nothing missing, out of place, or out of the ordinary.”
“Any signs of hostiles?”
“Negative, sir. I wish there was more to report, but there really isn’t. It’s like they vanished. Their equipment and supplies are still in their mobile encampment. No signs of struggle, alien or otherwise. They’re simply missing.”
The hologram gave him the side eye.
Did he know?
A bead of sweat collected at Wilkins’ brow. He didn’t see how telling anyone that Sindarhe often made people go mad would expedite the situation. As Rousseau made so abundantly clear, it didn’t matter what problems arose, nor what excuses they concocted, the engines needed to be operational, or humanity as he knew it would end in a cataclysmic collision.
Besides, it wasn’t pertinent to the immediate search. Sure, if the current teams were driven mad, it was probably relevant, but it would do nothing for the original team, nor would it get the engines back online. Heck, even voicing his findings probably wouldn’t deter Rousseau, nor Heaven, in the slightest from pushing Sindarhe off its collision course with Earth.
Rousseau’s sparking ghost image finally turned to face the bulk of those gathered around for the briefing.
“Very well. But keep an eye out. It is absolutely imperative that those engines are up and running on schedule. Humanity depends on it.”
Wilkins saluted. “Yes, sir.”
“If I may, Fleet Admiral.” Dr. Scott approached the floating head. “Could I have a word about the original engineering team…”
Wilkins’ blood went ice cold. Not now.
The wireframe electrical bust glared at him. “Who is this?”
“He’s one of Reynold’s men, sir,” said Wilkins. “I believe he said he was an anthropologist. Ancient alien anthropologist. Something like that.”
“God damn it, Rey—” The floating head turned sharply to the left, looking at no one in particular. Its voice cut out, but everyone at the briefing could see its mouth moving. They all knew Rousseau was looking at the other council members on Heaven’s board—one member in particular, a certain Reynold Morgan. After what appeared an angry exchange, the hologram’s features softened and Rousseau’s voice returned, matching its moving lips.
“I’m sorry about that, gentlemen. A few things needed ironing out. Doctor—Scott, was it? You wanted to say something.”
“Sir, I’ve set up an antenna array on the surface of Sindarhe. We should be able to use the scanners on the science frigates and amplify their signal to track signs of life on the planet. It shouldn’t be difficult.”
“Seems like a distraction more than anything to me. What do you hope to accomplish besides wasting what little time we have?”
“Yes, I see how it may very well seem that way, sir. But what isn’t us on the scanners, should be, in fact, the original engineering team.”
The cyan hologram rained sparkles like a Fourth of July fountain. “And it won’t take any additional time?”
“As a matter of fact, we finished setting it up seconds prior to the briefing. I wanted your approval of course, to use Heaven’s resources for something that is—well, obviously, not of utmost important for your military operation. But I thought maybe I could provide some assistance.”
“And it will help us locate the missing engineers?”
“By process of elimination, absolutely.”
“Okay, fine. Wilkins, you give Dr. Scott a hand. I want to be notified the second you learn the whereabouts of those engineers and even sooner when the engines come online.”
Wilkins wasn’t sure if it was the sparking cyan energy crackling around the disembodied head that made Rousseau seem angrier than he actually was, or if he was actually upset, but he wasn’t in a hurry to find out.
“If there’s nothing left to report, you’re dismissed.”
A Marine stepped forward. Behind him, smoke rose in whorls from the Tigerclaw recharging units. “Sir, I’m curious how we’re getting back home.”
Wilkins glared at the Marine.
“The same way you got out there, Marine,” said the electrical storm. “In your mecha.”
“That’s—that’s what I mean. My mecha is—”
Wilkins cut him off, issuing a stare that could split lesser men. “It’s fine, sir. I can take care of this one. The corporal should know better than to bother a Fleet Admiral with basic training questions. That he should go directly to the next in chain of command, isn’t that correct, Corporal?
The corporal’s mouth hung open.
Wilkins held a stone facade.
“My mistake, sir.” He slammed his heels together and issued a salute. He repeated the gesture at Wilkins. “Sirs. I’ll take up my inquiry with the lieutenant.”
“Very well, gentlemen. You have your assignments.”
There was a loud pop and the hologram vanished. Wilkins could swear that the wisps of electricity were still loudly crackling and snapping, but it was an aural illusion, an imprint left over from the projector.
The Marines scattered to the recharging area, salvaging what they could from the damaged mecha. It looked like half a dozen or so were still in working order. Several of the less damaged ones were operable as well. In total, six recharging units were toast, but that wouldn’t matter much, as plans were to leave them on Sindarhe regardless of outcome.
Wilkins craned his neck, looking over Dr. Scott’s shoulder. “We gonna do this, or what?”
“Right, right.” Dr. Scott keyed the commands on the workstation. “Let’s find our boys, shall we?”
He pressed ‘Enter.’
The coils wrapped around the corner monoliths turned from black to red to pure white. From the orbs mounted on top, four beams converged into a single stream. They shot into the sky, intercepted by another beam projected from one of the science frigates in orbit. At the point of convergence, the beams fanned out in a flat plane at an altitude several kilometers above the surface and encircled the entire planet.
Wilkins nodded in approval. “Well, it’s definitely doing something now.”
“That it is,” said Dr. Scott triumphantly.
The MSRV workstation screens were filling up with data. Line after line scrolled by in a blur.
“Anything?”
“It’s coming up now.”
The screen paused on a wireframe visual of Sindarhe. It began to populate with red blobs. Wilkins noticed they weren’t just blobs. Squinting, he could make out their shape. Little blotches of red in the shape of humans. Some were arranged in loose semicircle around two distinct jelly beans, but the bulk were clustered a hundred meters east or so.
Wilkins looked up from the screen, matching the miniature red blobs to the Marines standing just this side of the recharging units. A dozen or so hoisted a fallen Tigerclaw into a standing position. On the screen, a performance of dancing blobs matched the movement, rocking a hollow wireframe Tigerclaw into position.
The image quickly zoomed out, and Wilkins recognized the mobile encampment. But the view didn’t falter or slow as the vehicle came onscreen. As far as the scanners were concerned, the vehicle held nothing of interest—nothing it was searching for. The viewpoint kept pulling back, the terrain shrinking on the screen, until another set of red blobs appeared. These miles over the surface. The faint outline of the frigates in orbit appeared.
Wilkins snorted, surprised he could actually see the individual scientists and engineers milling about their duty in outer space. Could see the helmsmen and crew manning the bridge. Peaceful, serene, and completely oblivious that they were being remotely monitored.
A cluster of eight blobs shot out from the underbelly of the nearest frigate and plummeted through the atmosphere, racing toward the surface. No doubt, Corman’s backup crew on their way to the engines to complete Operation: Castor.
Wilkins glanced at the readout, displaying the entire planet in whole. He could see each and every blob and marker, the progress humanity was making while standing on the over-sized alien corpse.
He recognized every single blob.
They were all accounted for.
He looked at Dr. Scott, but didn’t need to ask. The question was plastered all over his expression as well.
“I…” stammered the doctor.
“There is no sign of them, is there?”
“We should, uh…be, uh…” Dr. Scott stared intently into the display. His hands shook as he tapped commands into the keyboard. He rocked from side to side with indecision. “We should be seeing…something. I don’t…”
“Where are the engineers?”
Without warning, Dr. Scott grabbed the portable scanner. He ran in small circles away from the MSRV, sweeping the device back and forth, searching for a signal like a beach comber unable to locate hidden treasure he was certain was underfoot. “Let me…I’m just going to…expand the search a bit and…”
“If the engineers are dead, I’ll take the responsibility of telling Heaven,” said Wilkins, reaching for the device. “We just need to know for certain.”
Dr. Scott swatted his hand away. “No!”
“I’m not playing games with you, Doc.” He held his hand out.
Like a child, Dr. Scott held the device away from Wilkins. When Wilkins took a step closer, he took a step back, holding it even higher over his head, and away from Wilkins’ grasp.
A blip appeared on the device.
Both men stood statue still, afraid their slightest movement might upset the device.
Dr. Scott cocked his head. Slowly, he adjusted a tuning knob. “Well, that’s interesting.”
“What is it?”
“I think”—Dr. Scott tapped the screen—“I may have—well, we, uh, we may have something.”
Wilkins followed, but the doctor seemed to no longer be threatened by his presence. Instead, his focus was locked on the screen as he blindly wagged the device back and forth, over his head. If Wilkins didn’t know better, it looked as if the Doc was presenting the device as an offering to some space god that lived in the stars.
“Yes. Yes, I’m getting a reading. It’s faint, but…” Dr. Scott paced away from the MSRV, away from the array, away from Wilkins. He stood outside the boundaries of the kiosk grid and held the device to the sky. “If only I can triangulate…”
“You’re getting a signal?”
Dr. Scott froze in his tracks. “Oh my.”
Wilkins halted, equally as still. “What is it?”
“It’s life.”
“The engineers?”
“No. Not the engineers.”
Wilkins reached for the device. “How can you be sure?”
Dr. Scott recoiled, placing his hand on Wilkins’ forearm, preventing him from touching the device. Instead, he turned it toward Wilkins, allowing him to see the screen. “The signal is not coming from here.”
Wilkins squinted, trying to decipher the symbols and scrolling text. “Where else would the signal be coming from?”
Peering over the device, Dr. Scott locked eyes with him. “It’s coming from Earth.”
Part Three
Chapter Eighteen
“There hasn’t been life on Earth for nearly half a century,” said Grey in the most politically benign manner possible, ineffectively masking any personal leanings he may have had on the subject.
The slippery tentacle lover.
Rousseau didn’t know what specifically made him despise Grey as much as he did. Every syllable the man uttered was useless, a simultaneous attempt at covering his ass for improprieties he had yet to commit, and still somehow taking credit for being in charge.
A true politician.
Across from Grey, Einhorn hunched over the black mirrored war-room table. His head was propped on his hands. A single finger tapped the side of his nose. “And this information comes from Dr. Scott?”
Grey nodded. “Directly.”
“Interesting.” Einhorn bobbed his head as if everything suddenly made sense. “Very interesting.”
Rousseau propped an elbow up on the table. “How did we miss this? Aren’t we monitoring Earth? Shouldn’t we have noticed something as significant as—I don’t know—life?”
“As a matter of fact, we are,” said Einhorn. “But, well, we’re not exactly monitoring for life, per se. We’re monitoring the algae decay and toxicity levels of the atmosphere. In that sense, we aren’t monitoring life. More or less, we’re determining whether or not Earth can sustain it.” Einhorn awkwardly pointed at himself. “You know, for us—humanity. Mankind. So we can go back there.”
“Right,” said Rousseau. “So we missed it.”
Einhorn waved his hand in a grand sweeping gesture, as if wiping away foggy thoughts clouding the windscreen of his mind. “This discovery, this new life, has to be a recent development on Earth, at least relatively speaking. Within the past few days, I’d imagine. Maybe a week, tops. Otherwise, our instruments on the surface would have picked up the anomalies.”
“Sounds like excuses to me,” said Rousseau.
Next to Einhorn, Marcia Black sat upright with rigid posture—ergonomically correct was what she told anyone who mocked her stiffness. Painful seemed more like it. She pressed her tablet to her bosom so tightly, it created a vacuum seal. Tossing her head back to clear the short cropped fringe from her eyes, she leaned forward and pushed her red horn-rimmed glasses flush to her face. Her hair was jet-black like the emptiness of endless space.
“If it’s not actual life—” said Marcia, the rasp of her voice sounding like it could grate concrete, “—maybe what Dr. Scott and his team detected is the beginnings of new life. That could be why our instruments hadn’t detected anything on the planet before now.”
