Silverrock, p.1
Silverrock, page 1
Silverrock
Kathryn Hoff
Copyright © 2022 by Kathryn Hoff.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, or events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design by JD&J Design © 2022 by Kathryn Hoff
Silverrock / Kathryn Hoff.—1st ed.
KathrynHoffBooks.com
Contents
The Ruins
Scorpidons
The Ranch
The Bull Scorp
The Glyphs
Shots Fired
Potsherds and Flint Knives
Hide the Pea
Postmortem
Quakes
Edict
Echoes
Trash
Trouble
Telepathy
Funeral Feast
Evidence
Intelligence Tests
Reading Lesson
Confrontation
Sapience
Audience with the Queen
Fireworks
Scorpidons
Negotiation
Rescue
Pain and Death
Molt
The Pumpstation
Peace Plan
Battle of the Queens
Invasion
Escape
Autumn on Silverrock
Author’s Note
Other books by Kathryn Hoff:
Acknowledgments
Dedicated to my family
CHAPTER 1
The Ruins
IN THE ETERNAL NIGHT of a deep cavern, our spotlights created islands of light. The archeologists flitted among the ruins like moths dancing around lanterns, their wristlamps casting wavering shadows over the meandering pathways and ancient stone walls. The clinking of tools and scuffling of feet echoed ominously, as if invisible people surrounded us, mirroring our every move.
We were surrounded—by creepy-crawlies. I nudged a fist-sized sandbug off my boot. Underlying the human clatter and chatter, thousands of sticklike feet rustled in the crevices. Planet Silverrock’s local vermin—hard-shelled, many-legged creatures of assorted sizes—loved the cave’s cool moisture. The air was sharp with their concentrated tang.
“Hey, Booker,” Lucien called. “I need more light over here.”
“Right.” Gritting my teeth, I repositioned a bank of lights to shine on a hieroglyph-inscribed wall.
The new kid was proving to be a pain in the ass. The ink was barely dry on Lucien Harbin’s PhD, but Professor Ambrose had said he was a linguistics prodigy and to give him any help he needed. Fair enough—I was no archeologist, just the dig’s facilities manager, hired to look after housing, security, and equipment. Even so, I didn’t take kindly to Lucien bossing me around as if I weren’t fifteen years older, two militia hitches wiser, and strong enough to bench-press a lightweight like him.
With a final tweak to the high-resolution tomographic scanner, Lucien keyed the control. Out shot a dozen needle-thin laser beams. With painstaking slowness, the lasers tracked over the wall’s metal surface, tracing the deeply carved hieroglyphs down to the molecular level.
All around us, the ancient structures rose like giant termite mounds. Although we were far from Earth’s adobe villages, the fitted stone walls and empty windows had inspired Professor Ambrose to name the underground archeological site “the Pueblo.”
While the scan was running, Lucien walked to the other end of the inscribed wall. Removing a glove, he poked a finger deep into one of the complex incised glyphs.
“Ambrose says not to touch the wall without gloves,” I said. “Something about the oil from your skin damaging the surface.”
Lucien twitched one side of his mouth into a slight sneer. “Good scientists don’t limit themselves to what they can see. Besides, the wall’s been sitting in rockskipper excrement for fifty thousand years—I don’t think my pinkie’s going to hurt it.”
If the little wiseass had been a member of my militia squad, I’d have taught him some manners.
Atop a nearby structure, Professor Ambrose looked up from his collection of potsherds. “Quitting time, folks.” A thin, stoop-shouldered academic, Ambrose had energy that belied his gray hair. “Wrap up what you’re doing and start stowing your gear.”
His three student interns emerged from trenches, groaning like senior citizens as they stretched cramped muscles.
“Professor?” Lucien called. “I just started this scan. I need another twenty minutes.”
Objections rose from the interns. We worked twelve-hour shifts on Silverrock, pushing to clear the archeological site before the miners would move in to dismantle the mountain. Everyone was ready for a shower and a hot meal.
Ambrose shook his head. “Tomorrow, Lucien.”
The kid’s lip pouted out. “It’s either twenty minutes now or a wasted hour tomorrow repeating the setup. But I don’t need everyone to stay, just Booker to help with the lights.”
Sure, call on Booker, jack-of-all-unpleasant-trades.
Ambrose raised his bushy brows. “Would you mind?”
I was tired and hungry too, but Ambrose had been particularly anxious that Lucien be given a free hand. “All right. Leave one of the hoppers for us—and make sure you save us some supper.”
“Thanks, Booker.”
Chattering cheerfully, Professor Ambrose and his three interns shouldered their daypacks and exited into the access tunnel for the hike to the surface, leaving me and Lucien alone.
As the human sounds faded away, the stirring of the small creatures around us seemed louder than ever. To distract myself from the feeling of being watched, I nodded to the glyphs on the wall. “So, what do you think it says?”
Lucien fingered his bare chin like an ancient sage stroking his beard. “It could be a manifesto of sorts—the Builders’ way of staking a claim, of proclaiming their right to exploit the planet’s minerals. Or maybe a monument of thanks to their gods for the bounty.” He’d lightened up a little with the opportunity to show off his expertise. “Whatever it says, it was important. See how sharp and clear the glyphs are? The Builders threw their buildings together from the local limestone, but they etched the inscriptions into titanium alloy. Even after fifty thousand earthyears, the glyphs look like they were just carved.”
Humph. For all we knew, the alien words said “no loitering.” But ever since humans had developed a stardrive and reached beyond our home solar system, the non-homs of the Stellar Coalition had treated us like ugly puppies in need of housebreaking—stay in your corner, don’t dirty our worlds, no sharing our technology. The university must have been desperate to glean anything possible from an alien civilization, even one that had been dead for fifty thousand years.
As Lucien started the scan for the next section of wall, the scratching of the sandbugs and rockskippers ceased. A deep stillness fell over the cave.
From deep within the mountain came a dull boom, followed by a rumble almost too low for human ears. The spotlights trembled.
Lucien tensed, eyes wide. “What the hell? An earthquake?”
Slowly, the tremor faded. After a few seconds of silence, the Pueblo’s small vermin resumed their feeding, probing the rock crevices for algae.
“Miners,” I said. “No one’s supposed to blast anywhere near the ruins, but some of the miners figure a little nighttime digging is worth the risk of getting caught.” I’d already filed complaints with the sheriff and even installed seismic sensors to prove that night mining in the restricted zone was becoming a local sport.
From the shadows at our left came sharp, staccato clicks.
We spun, shining our wristlamps into the gloom. The noise had been louder than the rustling of the sandbugs and lobsterlike rockskippers that infested the caverns.
“There, a scorp.” My light picked out a meter-long antenna poking from a cleft in the cavern wall. A scorpidon—the local alpha predator, a hump-shelled, ten-legged crab as big as a coyote. It had a dozen whiplike antennae, a scorpion’s stinger in its tail, and one big, snapping claw.
Lucien took a step back. “Shit, it’s a big one.”
“It’s after sundown—that’s when they get active. Or maybe the noise disturbed it. Turn your light off for a second.” I switched my lamp to ultraviolet.
Dusty gray in normal light, the scorp glowed a lovely blue under the blacklight, its eyes glittering like diamonds. “They’re kind of pretty, in their own way,” I said.
“Not to me.” Lucien tossed a handful of gravel. As it spattered against the wall, the scorp retreated. “It’s ridiculous that we have to work in an infested hole. Why haven’t you exterminated them?”
The kid was getting on my nerves. “They’re useful scavengers. Keep to the lighted area and you’ll be all right.” Out of habit, I touched the collapsed stun rod hanging from my belt. A jolt from that would be enough to discourage any curious critter from getting too close.
“Gods, I hate this place,” Lucien muttered. “The sooner I can get all the inscriptions imaged and cataloged and go back to Prime, the happier I’ll be.”
You and me both, kid. I hoped t
It was nearly an hour before Lucien pronounced himself satisfied and let me lock up the equipment. We shouldered our packs—mine held tools, first-aid supplies, extra water, and spare power cells for my prosthetic legs—and made our way through the Pueblo’s crooked pathways.
When we reached the ledge that overlooked the cavern, Lucien paused to catch his breath and I took a moment to enjoy the view. The Pueblo structures were ruins only in the sense that they were ancient and abandoned. They still rose solidly, walls intact, some as much as five stories in height. The Builders must have had an aversion to straight lines—every wall was bent and bowed, every path curved and humped. Even the rounded windows lacked any uniformity in size or placement. It was weirdly beautiful, the ancient towers mirroring the stalactites that hung from the cavern’s ceiling.
“Ready?” I asked. “Go ahead. I’ll be right behind.”
Once Lucien entered the access tunnel, I keyed the switch to turn off the cavern spotlights, enveloping the Pueblo in a night more absolute than any that would be experienced by surface-dwellers.
Out of the dark depths came clicking, scrabbling, and clacking: the sounds of exoskeletal legs and claws scrambling about. Sandbugs, rockskippers, and the big scorpidons—hundreds of crawling creatures, thousands, tens of thousands; not just on the floor of the cavern but on the towers, the walls, the ceiling.
As I followed Lucien into the tunnel, my neck prickled as if all those eyestalks and antennae were watching.
The access tunnel wound upward for more than a kilometer. It was just one of many shafts left behind by the Builders after they’d burrowed into the limestone mountains to dig out the minerals some meteor strike had salted into the planet’s crust. The remnants of those rare minerals in that one mountain range were all that made Silverrock worthwhile for humans to colonize.
According to Professor Ambrose, the Builders had been tall, thin, insectlike creatures similar to praying mantises. They must not have had a problem with tight spaces—the access tunnel had more headroom than even a tall fellow like me needed, but it was so narrow I had to take care not to scrape the sides. I kept my eyes on my feet. The floor had been carved into a myriad of tiny steps, easy to stumble over, especially with my prosthetic legs. Despite the cool breeze blowing through the tunnel, by the time we got to the top my back was drenched in sweat.
We exited into night. Silverrock’s daily cycle was almost thirty hours: the team left our ranch house just after dawn, and by nightfall we were usually relaxing back at base. With no clouds in the sky and no moon large enough to stand out from the field of stars, Silverrock fell quickly into darkness.
“Ugh. That tunnel gets longer every day,” Lucien griped. “Wait for me a minute, will you?” Tossing his pack into the hopper, he ducked behind an outcrop of rock to the latrine.
I switched off the tunnel lights and locked the barred gate over the entrance to keep out pothunters and lazy miners. Signs in several Earth languages warned the curious to stay away.
As I turned to the hopper, the beam of my wristlamp caught a jackal-sized scorpidon perched on the hood, its long antennae tapping on the windshield as if it were asking to come in. Its humped shell would have made a nice footstool. It held high a claw the size of my boot, no doubt very attractive to the female of the species. Unless that was a female—I had no idea how to tell them apart or even if the species divided themselves up that way.
“Scram, you.” I shucked off my backpack and slung it by the strap, knocking the scorp to the ground. The critter clattered to the dirt and scurried under the hopper.
“Hurry it up, Lucien! I’m hungry.”
A strangled cry came from behind the outcropping.
“Lucien?” I rounded the rocks, sweeping the shadows with the beam from my wristlamp.
A huge scorp blocked my way—a lion-sized scorp. Its hard back faced me, its shell as big and solid as a boulder. And behind its many legs, backed up against the cliff face, I glimpsed Lucien’s boots.
Bloody guts! The damn scorp had the kid jammed against the wall.
He screamed, “Get it off!”
I unhooked the stun rod from my belt and extended it to a meter’s length. Jabbing it into the scorp’s nearest leg, I triggered a shot. Bzzt.
The leg twitched, but the big scorp didn’t move other than to snap its claws. Claws, plural. Instead of the usual single display claw, this scorp had two giant snappers, each as long and nasty as garden shears.
Something slashed at the back of my left leg, snagging the canvas of my pants.
What the hell? It was the other scorp, the one from the hopper, nipping at my knees.
Too bad for you, buddy. It would find only metal prosthetics under the fabric. I zapped the scorp away as I moved tighter to the cliff face.
From that angle, I could see more of Lucien. He had his back to the rocks, his mouth open in a soundless scream, his eyes wide, arms limp. Pinned like a butterfly, with the scorp’s tail-stinger stabbed into his chest.
I edged close enough to jab the stun rod into one of the scorp’s hip joints and triggered a jolt. No effect. For the first time since I’d come to Silverrock, I yearned for my old service pistol.
A zap to one of the antennae made the scorp turn and snap its two big claws at me. I shone my wristlamps straight at the monster’s eyes, shooting my stun rod as fast as it could recharge.
In no hurry, the big scorp withdrew its stinger and clambered over the rocks, its companion scrambling after.
Lucien crumpled to the ground, his eyes open and staring.
CHAPTER 2
Scorpidons
I KNELT BESIDE Lucien, shining my wristlamp into his face, praying to any deity in range. Please, not dead.
At my touch, he struck out blindly. “Get off, get off, get off!”
I bear-hugged him until he calmed. “It’s gone. Let me check your injuries.”
Under his shirt was a narrow wound, like a slit from a stiletto. Not good. I’d never heard of anyone dying of scorp venom, but I’d never heard of anyone being stung over the heart, either.
I tried for a reassuring smile. “It doesn’t look too bad. Can you walk?”
He rubbed his chest. “Suffering gods. Just get me out of here.”
Shaky but walking, he made it to the hopper. I covered him with my jacket. “Keep warm. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
The road from the archeology site was nothing more than a rutted track winding down the foothills, one that required the hopper to pick its way by slow bounces over the boulders. All around was scrubby wasteland, thick with spiny brush that had roots deep enough to suck up water from the aquifer below. Here and there, the hopper’s spotlights caught a grazing scorp foraging in the browse.
It was early spring, the beginning of the dry season. The long winter—on Silverrock, each season lasted more than a full earthyear—had brought enough spates of rain to coax a little new growth from the greenery. The night was cold and dry, but I sweated, worrying about the injured kid beside me.
At ten kilometers, the road improved to dirt and gravel, level enough for the hopper to skim over the surface. As we went, I put in a call to Professor Ambrose with a hasty explanation. A second call alerted the hospital in Sweetwater City that we were on our way.
So far, Lucien showed no signs of dying. He huddled under my jacket, rubbing his chest. “I told you! I told you those damn scorps are a menace!”
“You were the one who insisted on staying after dark.”
But why would a scorp attack him like that? Usually they scuttled away if you made a move toward them. In all the time I’d been on Silverrock, I’d never heard of a scorp attacking anything bigger than a goat or a dog.
Maybe it was just bad timing. Most days, the team was well away from the cavern by sunset, when the scorps became active. Maybe it was just bad luck that Lucien had come upon that ugly, two-clawed scorp right as it was emerging from its burrow. It was like stepping on a rattler or coming across a bear without warning; it was only natural for an animal to react defensively.
