Part One – The Tensioning of the Wire
Run.
All he could think to do was run.
All that mattered was that he get away from the slaughter.
All he needed was a safe place to hide, to flee, to be protected.
All he had to do was run.
Run.
Then darkness.
"Damned tree-huggers. Why are we on baby sitting duty anyway?" Lieutenant Breva swatted at a skin-fly that tried to make a home of his ear canal. The unperterbed insect changed its strategy and headed for the next potential rest spot in line.
Sergeant Maus casually flicked a finger at the incoming pest, knocking it from it's intended path.
"Listen, none of us really want to be here, but it's what the Colonial Marines do, so deal with it,' Maus said as he scraped the dead insect from his hand. His medically enhanced reflexes proved invaluable on the battle field, and it would seem, on this sweaty dirt-ball planet as well. Swatting at flies is not what the company medicals had in mind when they put him back together after the Llarys incident.
The Marines had been dispatched to protect an environmental protectionist agency against potential terroristic incursions during an important Company research term.
In other words, baby sit the tree-huggers. Breva and Maus only vocalized what the rest of Ninth Company, Second Rifleman Squad felt. The Company had long term stakes in this planet, Daubin 4, and the Marines were to establish a peace-keeping force long enough for an actual planetary defense force to be enacted. Several ore-pirates, or at least that's what the communications intelligence dubbed them, have been operating in this region of the Antaine system for a time. They were a threat to the planet's natural resources of tirrilium and copper, not to mention the mammoth Vantu trees the place was renowned for. The sap from these three-hundred-meter tall trees has been instrumental in pharmaceutical research, and the Company would be damned if they'd let another faction claim what was theirs. So, as a precaution, a petition was sent to the Marine Corps asking for aid in these matters.
Research teams, the tree-huggers in question, were sent first to gather information and "claim" the planet for the Company. These scientists consisted of bio-engineers, cryo-physicists and other learned individuals. Unfortunately, shortly after a base of operations was established, the ore-pirates attacked, killing the only fighters among the colonists. These fighters, or deputies, were armed to the teeth with the latest Company-issue plasma weaponry. Supposedly, this is what sparked the interest of the pirates, and after a daring daylight raid, not a single deputy was left alive. Or found, for that matter.
No one saw the pirates, but it was assumed that they had a cruiser in orbit waiting for the research teams. The scientists were terrified that they would be next on the list, and that whoever hired the pirates would attempt to usurp the planet from the Company.
This is what the Marines intelligence reports stated. They were to guard against these pirates, and if possible, recover the dead.
Baby sitting the tree-huggers.
There were nine Marines in the squad lead by Maus. He had been with these men and women for five years, piloting around the stars wherever they were needed to ensure humanity's safety against pirates, terrorists or the like. He trusted them, and they trusted him. Considered veterans amongst the Corps, they were the elite, so when the orders came in for this latest mission, Maus railed against being lowered to the status of a police force. Unfortunately for him and his men, what the Company wanted, the Company got. And the Company wanted them on Daubin 4. They had made planetfall four cycles ago. They were bored after the first half-cycle.
These oomans were organized, the hunter mused as he watched the group of warriors. More so than the first brood. They were brutes and well armed, but they were as nothing to a blooded, especially one such as he. Mere whelps. Even with the plasma-casters, they were almost beneath claiming as trophies. Almost.
With the weaponry recovered, Shal'tae was positive that this hunt would prove interesting and a worthy test of his abilities.
Yes, the hunt would be a good one.
Maus was finishing his daily report and personnel logs as the sun fell below the canopy of the Vantu trees. The thirty-three hour day was temperate and pleasant in the evening, a far cry from the scorching heat of high noon. Maus relaxed and returned the stylus to the clip on the side of the data-slate. The thin panel winked the Colonial Marine logo and went dark.
'And so ends another day in the exciting life of a Marine,' the Sergeant mused. He and his squad had returned to base camp after patrolling the vast forest and ridges surrounding the valley they were camped in. So far, no signs of pirates or dead deputies could be found. From talking to a few of the scientists, it seems as though the deputies may have just up and left with their fancy weaponry, and that there never really were pirates since no one actually saw or heard anything. All that was found was blood and signs of a struggle. This could possibly be contributed to some of the local fauna, such as the shrieker-pig or the stealthy six-legged canopy dragon.
Dragon. Maus snickered to himself. If only they had real monsters to contend with rather than pissed-off boars and overgrown geckos. Maybe then this farce of a mission would be worth it. He'd have a story to tell back at the Mars base, that's for sure.
"Um, sir?"
Maus turned at the sound, gun drawn and aimed at the head of the woman at the door to his quarters. He relaxed when he saw it was Corporal Haidu, his squad's sniper. She was apparently unperterbed by the action, having gotten used to it many years ago. Her ability to appear without anyone seeing her beforehand unnerved many a fellow marine, but her skill and professionalism on a mission were unmatched and greatly appreciated.
Maus holstered his pistol and smiled up at the Corporal. He knew she could make Sergeant any day she wanted, but was content with her rank, saying a promotion would mean more bothers than she cared to deal with. Oh well, he mused. At least she's dedicated.
"Corporal. Is there something you need?"
"No sir, I was just bringing today's update from SatCom. The local airspace is clear, with the exception of our orbital." Haidu stood at perfect attention, barely creasing her uniform when she handed the communiqué to Maus.
"At ease, Corporal. Want a drink, Lucy?"
"Hell, yeah. Make it cold," the Corporal responded as she plopped herself into a folding lounge chair next to the command desk. It always amazed Maus how easily Haidu could go from professional killer to lounge lizard in one breath. They had become friends after their first tour of duty six years prior, and to this day, he still didn't understand her fully. Better that way, he thought.
"So, any word on when we'll be ditching this place?" Lucy stared at her drink with unabashed desire, watching the ice-cubes dance in the lamplight. She certainly did love her vodka.
"Dunno. The last thing I heard was another two weeks." Maus had poured himself a glass of cold recaff, and was enjoying the aroma. The subject of their deployment wasn't an enjoyable one, and it was Lucy who changed the converasation.
"What do you think happened, anyway?"
"With what?"
"The deputies, or whatever they called themselves."
Maus considered the question. What really did happen? Did the muscle snag the weaponry and run, or did the pirates get them off world somehow? The question that nagged most of all was 'why send in the marines?' This isn't what he'd call a big deal, especially in the light of the uprising on Andreas Prime. That was where he and his team needed to be, not holding these scientists hands.
Oh well, he mused as he downed the last of the drink, at least it's only two weeks.
The fools, the hunter thought. How dare they ostracize him from the clan. Did they not know the potential of his weaponry against the lesser species? Did they not understand what one lone warrior with his traits could inflict upon prey? No, apparently they did indeed understand the danger, hence his banishment.
No matter. Shal'tae would claim his prizes. He would hunt a galaxy's worth of oomans is only to strengthen his abilities. Then, the clan would have to respect him and accept what was invariably his right to lead. He'd have his revenge.
Until then, these oomans would serve his purposes.
One week into the mission on Daubin 4, the nightmares began. For Sergeant Brandon Maus, the dreams started out as nothing more than disturbing childhood visions of ghosts and monsters. Most combat veterans had their share of nightmares and issues, so nothing was said indicating anyone else was suffering from wakeful nights. As the days went by, Maus' nightmares became darker and more frightening. He dreamt of violence and death, all in a hazy red fury which left details to be filled in by the imagination. In his dreams, he was killing his own men with blade and fire, watching them scream and bleed as he pursued them to their deaths.
This night, he awoke in a cold sweat at the point where his dream form would begin to defile the bodies of the dead, cutting and severing limbs…
Muffled cries and shouts from his soldiers indicated that they too suffered the same terror that Maus had just lived in his mind.
The day was humid and overly bright. A slight haze hung over the camp in the morning hours, with the canopy above holding the heat close to the ground like a shroud. The men of the Ninth Company took their breakfast in a large pre-fab tent off the main science complex. As Maus walked into the mess area, he saw tired and weary faces staring blankly at their recaff and omlettes. Everyone looked as drained as he himself felt.
Something was wrong here, of that he was sure. It wasn't unusual for a group of soldiers to pick up the mannerisms and traits of one another after a long period of service, but this was a bit much. He scanned the crowd to find the squad's medic, lieutenant Jason Stovalle, staring blankly at a data sheet while absently munching on a piece of toast. The medic looked as tired as the rest of the men.
"So, anything interesting," asked Maus as he took a seat opposite Stovalle. The man finished tearing a piece of toast from the crust and looked up absently at his Sergeant. He coughed and began to salute, but Maus just waved the formality away. He had only been with the company for two years, but had proven his worth as a reliable and capable asset. The medic relaxed and handed the data sheet to Maus.
"I ran a test on myself after the third attempt at sleep," Jason said as he buttered another piece of toast. He swore to himself as the knife slipped and got butter on his finger. Maus smiled uneasily at the thought of the man responsible for the health and well-being of his soldiers slipping with a butter knife.
"It appears as though once REM sleep is reached, the normal brainwaves exhibited are expounded upon by an outside stimulus at irregular intervals."
"In English?"
"Oh, sorry. Well, it would appear as though something here, whether it's in the air or somewhere else is causing nightmares."
Maus looked over the papers, comprehending only a little of the medical jargon there. What he did understand was that a cause hasn't been discovered. He glanced up at the medic, who was looking around the tent at the other tired faces.
"So, no explanation for these…nightmares?"
"Nothing concrete. With your permission, I'd like to monitor a few of the others tonight, just to see if anything matches up. I'm also going to run some tests on the atmosphere and local fauna. Something isn't right about this, and I mean to find out what it is. Or isn't."
Maus was impressed by Stovalle's determination. He'll have to make note of it in the daily logs.
"Good work, Jason. Count me in on the tests."
The faceless soldier ran in terror, firing blindly at the undergrowth. None of the shots came close to hitting his pursuer, who was looking down on the man from somewhere above. Maus saw the soldier stop and spin wildly, looking for any signs of danger. The man was calling out to his comrades, but Maus knew they were all dead, killed bloodily and violently.
The soldier dropped to one knee and shrugged off a pack from his back, retrieving a communication device. Maybe he hoped to call for help.
The spear Maus was carrying flew true and impaled the man through his midsection. The soldier screamed in pain, and before he could register his own demise, blades tore his head off…
Sergeant Maus awoke from this most recent nightmare to see that the three other soldiers recruited by Lieutenant Stovalle were in the same state as he was. Sweat dripped from their foreheads, winding its way around the many monitors and electrodes stuck to their skin by the medic.
Stovalle was sitting in front of a bank of computers, intently studying readouts and diagnostics. He didn't see Maus approach, but when he caught sight of the man, he flipped the screens off and rose to his feet to greet his commanding officer.
"Same as before," he asked, picking up a clipboard and a stylus, ready to take notes. Maybe it was the hightened awareness caused by lack of sleep, but to Maus, the medic looked more nervous than tired.
"Yeah, just a little more…intense," Maus said as he rubbed some of the weariness out of his eyes. Stovalle made a few checks on the note page he had open.
"I was monitoring brainwaves, and it looked like you weren't having a good time. Care to elaborate?"
"No, but I will." Maus took a chair next to the medic's desk. Stovalle sat at the computer ready to take notes. The Sergeant described the dreams in depth, something he himself was surprised at. He rarely remembered his subconscious nighttime wanderings, but this time was different. The dream seemed almost real in its horror. Sure, he'd seen battlefield horror, as well as the devastation terrorism and natural disasters leave behind, but nothing like the slaughter he unwillingly visited in his nightmare. Soldiers, his brothers and sisters in arms, cut down and flayed by his own hands. Seeing them dismembered and vivisectioned and not being able to look away, almost relishing the hunt, was a bit much for even a battle-hardened veteran to stomach.
Stovalle diligently took notes, making comments here and there to clarify a point or to garner further detail. Throughout the conversation, Maus couldn't help to wonder why Stovalle was paying so much attention to the specific details of the atrocities.
"I'm just trying to ascertain a commonality between your nightmares and the others'. It seems as though the level of barbarism is exactly the same, although the 'victims' are different, ranging from, in your case soldiers, to civilians and families."
The Sergeant glanced at the computer screens, seeing charts and statistics. Files on each of the squad members were arranged neatly, each one open and dated. He began getting uneasy, something a military veteran does not take lightly. Something more was involved, something that maybe the doctor wasn't telling him. He could chalk it up to the lack of sleep and the disturbing images from his nightmares, but years of service with the Colonial Marines told him otherwise.
"So, are we all sick?"
The question caught the doctor by surprise, interrupting his train of thought as he reviewed the latest data entries. He looked up blankly, and for a second, Maus thought he sw fear on the man's face. Stovalle quickly regained his composure.
"Undetermined. I haven't been able to find any allergens or viral spores in the atmospheric data that would cause such incidents. I'll have to conduct further tests on the men; blood, urine, complete toxicology…"
Maus stood up from the desk. He needed something more than just supposition.
"Walk with me, Lieutenant."
Shal'tae rubbed another dose of kla'l'ktpa into his forehead. The stress lessened with each exertion, but it came none the less. Using the ointment was a sign of weakness, but it was better than losing consciousness. In time, its use wouldn't be necessary, and all he had was time.
In some cases, the stress was worse when he had to be creative with his methods. In this instance, his own memories and experience proved to be enough. How weak these oomans were. That they commanded the respect they did was beyond Shal'tae. The elders would need to see the folly of their beliefs.
In time.
The early morning sky was a bruised purple, indicating precipitation on the horizon. Today would be an exceptionally humid day, at least until the rains came. Until then, it would have to be business as usual, sleeplessness or not. These were still Marines under his command, thought Maus, and had to maintain a degree of watchfulness and discipline. He had no doubt that the men and women under his command would be able to complete their daily routines, but what did concern him was the continued effect of the sleep deprivation on their already 'This mission is pointless' state. Another concern was the nagging suspicion that the medic wasn't telling him the whole story.
"So, have any suspicions," Maus asked as he leaned against the wall of the medical facility. He drank from a tepid cup of recaff, enjoying the flavor of the drink, if not the slight graininess military-grade coffee inherently came with. He eyed the medic from his peripheral vision, hoping to catch something to warrant his unease. He was rewarded by a slight twitch of Stovalle's eyebrow. Something was wrong.
"Not really. At least not until I run all the tests I need to." The medic sipped from his coffee cup, ignoring the scrutiny.
"So, this isn't like anything you've seen before?"
"No. Like I said, I have tests to perform…"
Maus wasn't in the mood for word jousting.
"What aren't you telling me, Lieutenant," the officer questioned, as well as demanded. Stovalle was shocked by the sudden turn in the conversation. He lowered the coffee cup from his lips, turning to look Maus. A look of annoyance crossed his face.
"What makes you think I'm hiding anything, Sergeant?"
"Call it gut instinct, but I don't think I'm getting the full report." Maus eyed the man carefully. He was hiding something, and there was no way in hell Maus would let the integrity of his soldiers be compromised.
"What would it be that I'm hiding, sir?" Stovalle's righteous indignation didn't take away from the fact that he was beginning to sweat, and not from the day's humidity.
Maus needed answers, and this was getting him nowhere. He decided to try a different tactic.
"Sorry. Sorry, Jason. This lack of sleep is making me a bit jumpy." Stovalle visibly relaxed at the statement, offering a small smile in acceptance. "Run your tests and have the reports sent to me over the link. We'll decide what to do after that."
"I understand, sir. No harm done. We're all a bit jumpy. I'll have the reports done this evening," Stovalle said as he dumped the rest of his cold coffee on the ground by the tent. "Now, with you permission, I'm off to test piss."
Maus smiled at the medic. "Dismissed. Have fun."
That night, Sergeant Maus invoked his command codes to monitor the medic's computer usage. For some reason, no matter what code he used, even the crack his tech officer had'acquired' for him, he couldn't get passed the security codes of Stovalle's system. Something was wrong. For the sake of his team, he needed to find out what.
Three days after Maus read Stovalle's toxicology reports, the first deaths occurred.
Corporal Strausse, the company's youngest recruit, for reasons unknown, stabbed and killed two troopers as they slept. When the gruesome discovery was made, Strausse was shot as he tried to attack the watch patrol with a combat knife. The young man was covered with the blood of his victims, having skinned them in their sleep.
Medic Stovalle held firm to the results of his tests, blaming the psychotic behavior on the lack of sleep coupled with the tedium of the mission. As for the mission, the scientists and researchers were called back to company orbiters, for fear of continued violence by not only ore pirates but of the Marines themselves. A formal investigation would be launched, and in the meantime, the Marines were to hold position until such time that investigators could be dispatched. The men and women of the Ninth Company, Second Rifleman Squad were in trouble.
"Where is that little shit?!" Maus was storming into the medical tent, searching for Sergeant Stovalle. As far as he was concerned, the medic knew what was happening. Corporal Lucy Haidu and Corporal Ryan Jaros followed him into the tent, keeping their distance from the enraged man. Not out of fear so much as respect.
Stovalle was no where to be seen, and his personal computer equipment was gone. A sinking feeling worked its way into Maus' gut when he saw a flashing light on the one remaining monitor. He thumbed it to life, the harsh glare of the screen contrasting with the darkness of the surrounding medical facility. There was a note window open, apparently for Maus to discover.
Sergeant Maus,
By the time you find this missive, I will be safely off world. In saying this, yes, the tests came back positive for outside interference.
Let me explain so you would understand it.
You and your men are being affected by an outside source, extra-terrestrial in manner. This source, as far as I and the Company can tell, is alien in nature. If we are correct, and we know we are, it is a highly advanced species of 'big game hunter' intent on making trophies out of the fine Marines under your command. It is using never before seen terror tactics to cause discord and chaos among its intended targets. Prior instances have the creatures attacking in violent bursts, eliminating the strongest targets. This case is, well, different.
Fascinating. Truly fascinating.
I tell you this not in an attempt to save your life or atone for my deception. I really don't care either way. I tell you this because I can, because it doesn't matter.
You are all dead anyway.
Sincerely,
Jason
"Son of a bitch sold us out," Lucy muttered over Maus' shoulder as she read the note. Maus had to agree.
"So, what do we do now, Sarge," Jaros asked. The man looked as tired as Maus felt, but to his credit, there was no fear in the question.
"Well, I'm not rolling over for some alien Elmer Fudd, that's for sure."
With that, the three troopers left the medical tent to prepare the rest of the Marines for a fight. As they left, Jaros whispered to Lucy "Elmer who?"