Alien Wars Page 3

  “First Rank!” a soldier shouted.

  “Keep it calm,” Timor said.

  The soldier nodded. “I spied movement ahead.”

  “Formation C!” Timor shouted in a voice filled with authority.

  The squad deployed as the testers picked up their locators, racing to the rear. They barely got there in time.

  A Chirr squeezed out of one of the wrecked vents. The black creature had glistening chitin with six scuttling legs. Two serrated pincers clicked and a long, thin flexible tail whipped behind. The Chirr squealed and its eyestalks surged forward, focusing on them.

  Timor’s lips curled with distaste.

  The Chirr, as long as a man was tall, bobbed up and down on its six legs. Then it leaped, landing thirty feet farther on the ground. Timor could hear claws scratch against the stony soil. With deceptive speed, the Chirr raced at them, its six legs a blur of motion.

  “Engage by the numbers!” Timor shouted. The first soldier sighted the creature. Everyone in the squad had a number. The first soldier squeezed off a three-bullet burst from his repeater. Exploding slugs struck the creature’s upper torso, blowing apart chitin and causing black gore to rain on nearby tremor stalks.

  The Chirr squealed with pain and it toppled sideways, sliding to a halt. Another trio of shots in the braincase killed the thing.

  Maybe that was the signal for the others. Chirr boiled out of the old vents, squeezing up with unnatural speed.

  “Grenadiers!” Timor shouted. Each squad had two. “Give the Chirr a second to gather below the vents. Then lob a pulse bomb down on them.”

  The secret to battling Chirr on the surface was keeping your head. If soldiers did that, it was hard to lose. Well, until the Chirr brought up the heavies. These were the sweepers, pure bio-creatures without any modern weapons.

  Like fleas, the sweepers leaped onto the ground. As they gathered, they squealed and clicked their pincers. In seconds, they turned, focusing on the soldiers. The bugs surged toward them, and tiny black objects sailed overhead.

  The pulse bombs detonated, flattening the Chirr, blowing apart their chitin-armored bodies.

  Timor aimed his heavy repeater, and he shot individual sweepers that escaped immediate destruction. The attack intensified as more and more Chirr boiled out of the vents.

  “Fall back by sections!” Timor shouted.

  Three-man sections leapfrogged back as the pulse bombs and exploding slugs continued to devastate the bugs. Then dirt erupted where the squad had first been. Chirr exploded out of the ground, looking for someone to shred.

  Timor grinned viciously as he took a small box out of his breeches. With a stubby thumb, he pressed a button. A previously hidden detox bomb ignited, and Chirr parts rained.

  He hated bugs. It was part of his conditioning. To kill them brought intense satisfaction.

  Timor waited, and he expected to call division and request mortar fire. If the bugs came up too fast and thick, he could ask for a bombing run. Instead, the Chirr attack ceased.

  The squad hunkered down behind chitter sage and waited.

  “Where are they, First Rank?” a soldier asked Timor.

  “Don’t know,” he said, but he thought it was a good question.

  Suddenly, the ground shook. Timor could still see the broken vents. They crumpled, toppling over, burying the Chirr parts around them.

  “The heavies are erupting!” a soldier shouted.

  That’s exactly what Timor expected to see, but the trooper was wrong. Instead, maybe several miles away, dirt and jungle trees blasted into the air. They blew upward, and he realized the junk must have been flying high indeed for him to see it from here. There was a lot of it, too. That would take extreme explosions, enough to cause the quake here.

  Then, solid columns of light blazed into the sky, clawing upward into the heavens.

  A soldier crashed down beside Timor. The man panted before asking, “What are those things, First Rank?”

  As the soldier asked, a shrill whine made Timor wince in pain. The distant beams of light intensified in color. More dirt and trees exploded upward, closer this time. Again, heavy columns of light speared into the heavens. The whining sounds grew worse until every soldier clapped his hands over his ears. The whine came from the beams, or perhaps the hidden beam projectors.

  “Those are rays!” Timor shouted.

  “Shooting at what?” the soldier asked.

  Timor craned his head, looking up at the clouds. The beams burned through them. “Shooting at spaceships, I guess.”

  “The bugs are shooting into space?”

  The question put a cold knot in Timor’s gut. The Chirr had never done that before. He didn’t like that they did it now while he was stuck at an equatorial nest.

  Then the earth rumbled and shook so badly that Timor’s teeth rattled. An even louder explosion threw him upward into the air. He landed hard with the breath oofing out of him.

  “Was that a bomb?” a soldier shouted. “It sounded like an atomic bomb.”

  Timor nodded. It did indeed sound like one. Then huge black objects appeared in the sky. More nuclear ignitions thundered with noise. Blinding light and vast flames roared behind the black objects as they jerked higher into the air.

  “Are those Chirr spaceships?” asked a soldier.

  Timor stared at the soldier. First, the Chirr had fired beams into . . . what, into orbital space? Maybe the bugs tried to clear away Kresh laser platforms. That made sense. Now the Chirr launched spaceships into orbit. They didn’t launch atmospheric flyers to clear the air. No, they sent warships into low orbit. If the bugs could clear space of Kresh laser platforms and spaceships, what would happen to all the soldiers on the ground and in the tunnels?

  A sick feeling spread through Timor’s chest. The bugs might cut off the 624th Army from resupply. That would mean they were all alone at an equatorial nest with thousands of miles of jungle between them and the nearest polar region.

  5

  In the stolen Attack Talon cruising the high atmosphere on Pulsar, Cyrus listened in awe as Klane gasped out Timor Malik’s story.

  Would the new Chirr space fleet defeat the Kresh around Heenhiss? How well could the bugs operate in space? They were used to three-dimensional warfare in the nests. Certainly, they could adjust to space. Of course, they could. The question would be how quickly they would do this.

  Cyrus noticed that Klane had become quiet.

  The Anointed One opened his eyes. He looked at Cyrus.

  “You’ve been telling me what Timor Malik sees,” Cyrus said.

  With an effort, Klane climbed to his feet. Left-handed, he grasped the junction-stone dangling from his throat. He spoke in a thoughtful voice.

  “I used to think the Kresh were demons, but not anymore. The Chirr are the demons. They’re long, black, glisten with evil, and climb out of the hot ground. If they defeat the Kresh, what will happen to the clans on Jassac? Becoming protein for the bugs is worse than living in subjection to the Kresh.”

  “Don’t forget the cyborgs,” Cyrus said. “If they win, they’ll turn everyone into monsters.”

  “That is why we must reach High Station 3,” Klane said. “We must use your Teleship and flee to Homeworld. They can return with a battle fleet and destroy the aliens.”

  “That might take too long,” Cyrus said. “By the time we travel to Earth and come back again, all the Fenris humans might be dead.”

  “What other choice do we have? If we attempt to help the Fenris humans with our lone warship, we’ll fail. The people here will lose to whatever race is victorious in the coming struggle.”

  “Yeah,” Cyrus said. “That’s the problem; that, and we lack a Teleship.”

  Klane’s eyes widened as he searched Cyrus. “That isn’t why you come to me: to discuss our objective. You’ve had a precognitive dre
am.”

  Cyrus wanted to tell the Anointed One to stay out of his mind.

  “I can’t help it,” Klane said. “You project so strongly.”

  “No I don’t. I was trained to hide my thoughts behind a mind shield.”

  “Trained by weaklings,” Klane said. “I don’t mean any offense by that, but Earth’s Specials are inferior to the Bo Taw and to the seekers on Jassac.”

  “Earth humans built a star-drive, not the Kresh.”

  “True,” Klane said, “and completely immaterial to our subject. Fenris psionic humans are superior to Sol psionics. That’s going to change everything one way or another.”

  Cyrus thought about that. “Okay. So . . . can you teach me a proper mind shield?”

  “Maybe . . .”

  A chill made Cyrus’s shoulders shake. “You mean you could if I lived long enough, but seeing as how I’m going to die soon, it doesn’t matter.”

  “No. I can’t pierce your dreams. The memories . . . something hides those from my view.”

  “So I do have a strong mind shield.”

  “I think it’s something else. Maybe you don’t want to remember the dream. You’ve rejected it.”

  “Because it was too awful to think about?” asked Cyrus.

  “I’m not a trained mentalist. We could ask Niens.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “As you wish,” Klane said with a disinterested shrug.

  “So . . . if I have long enough left for you to teach me, why can’t you show me the proper techniques for a powerful mind shield?”

  “I will be blunt: because you’re too weak.”

  Cyrus felt the familiar heat rise in him, and he stuffed it away. Klane was only speaking the truth as he saw it. Cyrus pursed his lips. “Okay. I asked for that, I suppose.”

  “I meant no disrespect.”

  Cyrus studied the young man. Klane had open features and a likeable way about him. Cyrus believed he had a sense about people. It wasn’t a psionic gift, but an ability to read character. He realized Klane truly didn’t look down on him. On Earth, the variously ranked psi-classes looked down on those weaker than they were. Seeing that he belonged to the bottom class, other Specials had always looked down on him, and Cyrus resented it.

  “I have a question,” Klane asked.

  “Shoot.”

  “Do you mistrust Mentalist Niens?”

  Cyrus wanted to say, “Why don’t you just read my mind for the answer.” Instead, he said, “Maybe a little.”

  “So do I.”

  “Can’t you read his mind?”

  “Not as easily as . . . as I can others.”

  “You were going to say, ‘Not as easily as I can read your mind.’”

  “Since you are correct, I could accuse you of reading my mind.”

  Cyrus grinned. “Sure. What’s your point? Why are you asking me about Niens?”

  “Don’t you want to know why I mistrust him first?”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m uncertain his loyalty conditioning for the Kresh has been fully broken,” Klane said.

  Cyrus nodded. That was one of the ways the Kresh kept the telepathic Bo Taw under control, by brainwashing them early to love their masters. The Kresh also wore mechanical mind shields, protecting them from their psionic slaves. With those shields, the dinosaurs were safe from mind attacks.

  “Can’t you just break the conditioning for Niens?” Cyrus asked. “Simply enter his mind and fiddle around with it?”

  “I might strip away his loyalty conditioning that way, but in turn, I might make him . . . I’m not sure what the right word is for the concept. Ah, I might turn him into a killer.”

  “A soldier?” Cyrus asked.

  “No. Into a man who hates so strongly that he enjoys destroying lives.”

  “Oh. You could turn him into a homicidal maniac.”

  Klane stared at him—and Cyrus realized the Anointed One was reading his thoughts.

  “Yes, exactly,” Klane said, “a homicidal maniac.”

  “You can do such a thing to a man’s mind?”

  “I believe so. It would be delicate work, but after what happened to me on Jassac . . .”

  “Too bad you couldn’t turn individual Bo Taw into homicidal maniacs against the Kresh,” Cyrus said.

  Klane became thoughtful. “Yes. I might be able to do that.”

  It was Cyrus’s turn to stare. He snapped his fingers and began to pace with excitement. “Maybe that’s how we can defeat the Kresh. You could start a rebellion among their Bo Taw.”

  Klane pursed his lips. “Should we attempt such a thing as the Kresh fight the Chirr for control of the star system?”

  “We can’t worry about the orbital battle around Heenhiss right now. My idea is to use the Kresh’s strength against them. Have you ever heard of the Trojan horse?”

  “No, but I see the story in your mind.”

  “Yeah, go ahead. Scan it.”

  Klane was quiet for a time, until he said, “I have it. The Greeks tricked the Trojans. But by your memories, the gods helped them do it.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Cyrus said, waving that aside. “The point is the Greeks used an inside job to defeat the Trojans. We can use the Bo Taw against the Kresh.”

  “By having them trying to murder their masters?” asked Klane.

  “Not exactly,” Cyrus said. “Maybe it would be wiser to reroute the conditioning. Listen. You’re supposed to be the savior of Fenris humanity. Great visionaries of the past had precognitive dreams about you. Doesn’t that mean you need to use your psionics in some new, clever fashion?”

  “I do not know.”

  “The mind is like a computer,” Cyrus said. “Well, it is in certain ways. Sometimes on Earth, hackers made a programming virus, a worm in the code. You’ve suggested that you already know how to fashion a mind virus that turns Bo Taw love into hate, or mentalist love into hate. What if you altered the conditioning a different way? Make it so the Bo Taw love you or love the idea of humans rebelling against the Kresh.”

  “Interesting,” Klane said. “I cannot guarantee I could do this, but if I probed a Bo Taw mind, it’s possible I could discover how to do this.”

  Cyrus snapped his fingers. He was on a roll. “And since the Bo Taw are psi-adepts, maybe you could reroute their thinking so they would send impulses to others that would change them, too. That would make it even more like a computer virus.”

  “Explain the concept to me,” Klane said.

  “Read my thoughts,” Cyrus said. “It will be quicker.”

  Klane stared at Cyrus. “Yes,” he said shortly. “Your idea has possibilities.”

  “We would have to make certain the Kresh continued to fight the Chirr,” Cyrus added. “We can’t let the insects win.”

  “Agreed,” Klane said. “I will ponder the idea. Yet I think in the end I will have to talk to Niens.”

  “Why him?”

  “He is a mentalist,” Klane said. “He will have insights into the brain I will have overlooked.”

  “First you’d better make sure about him,” Cyrus said.

  “Then you have no problem with me tampering with his mind?”

  Cyrus hesitated. That was a big step. Niens had thrown in his lot with them. It would be wrong to tamper with his mind without telling the man first. “First see if Niens is totally with us, and then let’s decide what to do next.”

  “Very well,” Klane said. He promptly sat down cross-legged and closed his eyes.

  Cyrus waited, but Klane kept his eyes closed. Finally, Cyrus backed away. He’d leave the Anointed One to his task. He needed to talk to Jana. And it would be wise to check on the grav-plates. If a space battle had begun around Heenhiss, it would soon be time for them to leave Pulsar and make their strike for High Station
3.

  As Cyrus walked down the corridor, he wondered if the Kresh were slaughtering the Chirr or if it was the other way around. The best outcome would be if the two alien species obliterated each other.

  “I can always hope,” Cyrus said, but he feared for the future.

  6

  In reptilian silence, Dagon Dar watched the holo-vid footage.

  He stood in his private quarters aboard the Battle Fang Whet Steel. The laser-fired news was more than two hours old, the time it took light to travel from Heenhiss’s present orbital position around Fenris to Pulsar.

  As dry hot air swirled around him, Dagon Dar witnessed the catastrophe. Gigantic beams rose from subterranean chambers in Heenhiss’s planetary surface. Chirr rays destroyed orbital laser platforms. Psionic shields held for several minutes on a larger, inhabited satellite. Finally, the Bo Taw adepts must have wearied from the strain. Then, massed Chirr beams obliterated the station, cutting away swaths of satellite. Metal pieces spun into space.

  One after another, the Kresh defensive stations disappeared or became molten slag. The extent of Chirr ordnance—the unrelenting beams—staggered Dagon Dar. How had the insects been able to keep it secret all this time? The mass showed years of preparation, possibly decades.

  Not only was this a disaster for the military effort on Heenhiss, but for the entire Fenris Kresh. The bulk of the star system’s population lived on or around Heenhiss. Three hundred habitats orbited the second planet. Some of those now came under the planetary Chirr beam assault.

  That in itself was mind-numbing enough, but there was more to the tragedy.

  Dagon Dar leaned forward. Could this be correct? Chirr space vessels launched from underground ports? By the data, it would appear they were nuclear-pulse craft, notable for their ability to lift hundreds of thousands of tons into near orbit. Only antimatter explosions could hurl heavier vessels into space with greater efficiency.

  It would appear then, the Chirr lacked antimatter engines. Good. That gave the Kresh a chance. It might be time to use vast antimatter bombs on the Chirr-held planets.

  Dagon Dar watched the unfolding assault. The hologram of Heenhiss appeared in its glory before him. Bright objects lifted from the surface. The vessels came from Continent I, from II, III, and from Continent IV. Only the polar regions failed to produce Chirr spacecraft.