Shadows of the Gods: Crimson Worlds Refugees II (37 page)

And he finally had a name for the enemy, the leader of the terrible robots that had been pursuing them with such xenophobic rage. The Regent.

“What has gotten into you?” Ana was back a few meters, out of breath and struggling to catch up. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

“We don’t have time to waste. We have to get back to camp and warn the others.”

“Warn them about what, Hieronymus?” It was Frasier. He’d been fairly quiet since Cutter and the others returned, but now he was clearly concerned about what threats might be out there.

“I understand you can’t get into all you saw down there,” he added, “but if there are hostiles near, I have to know.”

Cutter stopped. “You’re right, Duncan.” He turned around and faced the big Marine. “There is something down there…the remnants of an enemy of those we fight.”

“An enemy? Of the First Imperium?” Frasier’s voice sounded almost shocked. “Is that really possible?”

Cutter paused. The First Imperium wasn’t the enemy, not really. Only the robotic servants it had left behind, the Regent and its creations. But there wasn’t time to worry about such distinctions. Not now.

“Yes, an enemy of the First Imperium. It is what saved us, what destroyed all the enemy forces in the tunnels. And in saving us it gave away its location. I expect the enemy forces on this planet to concentrate…and attack.”

“Ronnie, what happened to you down there?” Ana was staring at him, and he could tell from her face she wasn’t sure she believed him.

“Just what I said,” he snapped, with more anger than he’d intended. “Look, I know this all sounds crazy, but you are all going to have to trust me. Whatever strength our enemy has left on this planet is going to attack these ruins. Soon. And we have to get the hell out of here, get back to the main base camp and warn the others.”

His eyes moved around, checking their expressions. There was doubt in them certainly, but also grudging acceptance. At least enough to follow him back to camp. “Have you ever seen anything like this before? Even at a First Imperium site?” He held up the cylinder. “We have to get this device off this planet and back to the fleet. Whatever chance we have to survive…it is in here.”

Everyone was silent for perhaps half a minute. Then Ana nodded her head softly, signaling her agreement. But Cutter could see the concern too, as if she was still trying to decide if he had discovered something of the magnitude he claimed…or if he had gone crazy or been brainwashed by the enemy. He knew she would support him, and he suspected that had more to do with loyalty and affection than with analytical deduction. But he would take what he could get. At least for now.

“Very well, Doctor,” Frasier said. “We should be able to see Camp Alpha as soon as we clear these ruins. And we will be there in less than an hour.”

“Hopefully their com is still working.”

Frasier nodded. “If they were affected by the same thing that hit our com, I’m sure they would have sent someone back to basecamp to reestablish contact by now.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Major.”

If they haven’t been blown to atoms by now…

*    *    *

“What is it, Colonel?” Sophie Barcomme ran up the last few meters of the hill toward Preston. She’d been in her shelter, actually asleep for once, when the alarms sounded, but she leapt up immediately and raced over to the command post.

“We’ve got enemy activity, Dr. Barcomme. Lots of it…coming in from half a dozen directions.”

She felt her stomach tense. The camp was well protected, with twelve hundred fully armored Marines, prepared and dug in. But still, the idea of a full-scale enemy assault was terrifying. And even if the camp held out, there was no way to defend hectares of rapidly maturing crops. The plants were fairly durable, but a few firebombings would make short work of them.

“How long until they hit us?”

Preston turned to face her, and then she saw the confusion he was trying to hide with his Marine scowl. “That’s just it, Doctor. They’re not heading for us. In fact, they’re completely ignoring us.” He paused and looked off toward the city.

“They’re moving to attack New York?” It had taken a while for Barcomme to adopt the expedition’s nickname for the First Imperium ruins, but the moniker had caught on widely, and she’d eventually acquiesced and joined the others.

“It appears so. We’ve sent a warning to Camp Alpha…but they still haven’t had any contact with Major Frasier or any of the exploration party.”

Barcomme sighed softly. She’d been trying not to think about the fact that Hieronymus and Ana—and the scientists and Marines with them—had been out of contact for several days. She’d told herself it was some kind of malfunction—or perhaps some material under the city that blocked transmissions and reception. Still, that was becoming harder and harder to believe with each passing hour. She didn’t want to allow herself to imagine her friends had run into some disaster, that they all might be dead deep under the ancient city. But she was finding it harder and harder to banish the thought.

“What do we do, Colonel?”

Preston paused, a frustrated look taking hold of his face. Barcomme had come to know the Marines well over the last year, and she understood. Preston had no idea what to do…except stay put. And standing firm, waiting to see if your people made it back, was something that never sat well with a Marine.

“There’s nothing to do, Dr. Barcomme. I’ve ordered Camp Alpha to evac immediately. They’re too close to the city, and they don’t have nearly enough strength to fight what is coming there.”

“But what about Major Frasier and the others?”

Preston looked down, right into her eyes. “Sophie,” he said as gently as she’d ever heard him speak, “I think we need to accept the fact that the exploration party has run into some kind of problem.” He paused, his normally firm voice cracking slightly. “That they may not be coming back.” He hesitated again, and then he added, “And I can’t justify adding everyone at Camp Alpha to the toll. I’m sorry.”

She felt tears welling up in her eyes, but she struggled to hold them back. She just nodded. She understood, and she couldn’t help but agree with his rationale. But it made everything hit home, brought the terrible reality that her friends were probably gone directly to the center of her thoughts.

“So what do we do here?” she asked when she managed to regain her control. “About the base camp, the plantings?”

“We hope they don’t attack us when they’re done with the city.” He looked over her shoulder, out over the waves of crops, visible in the hazy moonlight. “And I suggest you see what you can do to move up your harvest schedule. Because when the fleet gets here, we may have to bug out as quickly as possible.”

Assuming we’re still here
, she thought, completing his sentence for him.

*    *    *

Frasier stood in the plain waving his arms. He could see the shelters of Camp Alpha just ahead, barely visible in the fading dusk. But there were fewer than there should have been, no more than a third as many as stood there when the exploration teams left less than a week before. It took him a few more seconds to realize what was happening.

They’re bugging out. What the hell is going on…

He ran forward, jumping higher and waving with greater force.

“Fuck it,” he said. Then, to his AI, “Flare.”

“Flare,” the familiar voice responded.

Frasier held up his arm and pulled the small trigger inside his glove. The flare worked through the grenade launcher, and it was all automatic—loading, prepping. All the Marine had to do was point, aim, and shoot. And Frasier didn’t need to do much aiming. Straight up was just fine.

He looked up and watched the explosion, the lingering trail of light as the shell reached its apogee and began to fall back to the ground.

There, do you see that?

The activity from the camp an instant later confirmed they had. Spotlights came on, intermittently located around the perimeter. It was clear a lot of the equipment had already been taken down in preparation for departure. And, regardless, Frasier and his people were still too far out, at least five hundred meters past the lit area.

“Let’s move,” Frasier shouted. “But carefully…they may still think we’re an enemy.” Moving toward a fort that was almost certainly bombarding you with communications, with requests for ID you couldn’t answer, couldn’t even hear, was dangerous. The silence would only increase suspicions…and every Marine on the planet walked around waiting for a First Imperium bot to leap out of the shadows at any minute.

The whole group scrambled forward, moving quickly, but not running…nothing that would look like an attack. “Spread out,” Frasier snapped. “Let’s move up to the lights and then stop, let them get a good look at us.”

He heard a chorus of acknowledgements from behind him. “And Hieronymus, I want you in the rear with that…thing.” He gestured toward the cylinder. “Just in case they misunderstand and open fire. We wouldn’t want a random shot destroying it.” Then he felt a personal urge, a need to keep Ana safe. “Ana, you stay back with him. You’re not armored.”
And I can’t stand the thought of something happening to you
.

Cutter paused for a few seconds, as if he was about to argue, but then he just nodded and said, “Okay, Duncan.” Then he slipped back a few meters, behind the Marines.

Ana hesitated too, looking back to Hieronymus and then to Frasier. But she, too, nodded without a fight and fell back.

Frasier looked ahead and continued walking, increasing his pace, pushing himself five or ten meters in front of the others. He could see movement around the camp.

A patrol coming to investigate?

That was standard procedure, but he wouldn’t have been surprised at a more trigger happy response, especially with so much enemy activity since they’d landed.

He walked another couple hundred meters, until he was well within the lit area. Then he stopped and stood perfectly still, making no moves that could be interpreted as an attack. He looked straight ahead. There was definitely a patrol coming…it looked like a squad.

He waited as they approached, calling behind him for the others to halt as well, and wait. The advancing squad had spread out, covering him from every angle. He was impressed with their discipline, with the tightness they were showing in their maneuver. Impressed…and proud. These were his Marines, after all.

Suddenly, he could see them relax, at least slightly. They had ID’d his armor.

“This is Major Frasier,” he shouted as loud as he could. “We have a com failure.”

One of the approaching Marines was coming directly toward him, with two others in support. The armored figure didn’t answer; he just kept coming.

Frasier waited until he was closer, and he repeated himself. The Marine was perhaps forty meters away. He still didn’t reply, but Frasier could see the assault rifle in his hands drop slowly from its ready position. He ran up the rest of the way and stopped about two meters from Frasier. He retracted his helmet, revealing his face. Frasier recognized the officer immediately.

“Major! Welcome, back, sir. We’d almost given up on all of you.”

“I can see that, Lieutenant.” Frasier gestured toward the half-disassembled camp.

“Colonel Preston’s orders, sir. We’ve got First Imperium forces incoming.”

“I suspected as much, Lieutenant.” Frasier waved behind him for the others to come up. “And I couldn’t agree more. Let’s get the hell out of…”

His head spun around, turning toward an incoming sound. Aircraft.

There were ten of them, streaking across the sky, heading right for the city. And in the distance behind he could see warbots, several hundred of them, racing across the ground.

Cutter was right. Some kind of final battle is about to begin
.

Chapter Twenty-Five

From the Personal Log of Terrance Compton

I have spent virtually all of the last thirty-six hours in my seat on the flag bridge or in the tanks. During this time I have made no log entries. Indeed, I would not have done so where any of my people could hear me, for my outlook is bleak, and I owe them more than words of despair and hopelessness. My gloom is mine, and I must keep it to myself. My officers and spacers deserve better.

We spent fourteen hours in the tanks, accelerating first at 30g and then decelerating to bring our velocity to a controllable level to facilitate transit. We will begin moving into X48 within twenty minutes, and I have decided that
Midway
will lead the fleet through. It is contrary to all orthodox tactics for the flagship to move first into a system that may—indeed, mostly likely does—contain major enemy forces. But I did not make this decision based on conventional tactics, nor on lessons learned at the Academy. No, for this I have relied upon my heart—and my gut—looking to basic fairness, to an action I can live with.

Erica West’s task force has served as a rearguard on this campaign…and then led the way into the X49 system. It is unthinkable to order them through in the lead again. Her people have done their part, and I cannot place them again in such a position. I will not. And though I feel guilt for the thoughts that rule my judgment in this, I simply cannot trust any but my own Alliance spacers with so important a task.

I must cut this entry short and return to my post. Indeed, I do not foresee again leaving it. I do not see how we will survive whatever awaits us in X48. Unless I am mistaken about the enemy forces lying beyond the warp gate, I believe this will be my final log entry. When I sign off, I will go to the flag bridge, take my position, and lead my people in their final battle. I will jettison this log before
Midway
meets its end.

In the unlikely event this log is one day recovered by any of my people, know that your brethren were here once, that a human fleet explored this space…and that it died courageously, fighting against an enemy bent on destroying all like us. And if you have come, some future and powerful incarnation of humanity…if you are here to destroy the First Imperium, know that men and women like you were here before…and that we are with you in spirit. Avenge us.