Progeny (The Progenitor Trilogy, Book Three) (10 page)

When he got about half way round the bay he heard the Dryads become more agitated.  They set up a cacophony of shrieking and jabbering and then as one, bolted for the tree-line.  Something was up.  He crept to the edge of the trees and looked out across the bay and soon saw what had frightened the creatures.  A craft was moving in the sky above the bay in the direction of the hillside from which he had come, now over a kilometre away.  One glance told him that it wasn’t human.  It was small and almost silent, about the size of a human shuttle, but there was no mistaking the spiny, crystalline form so similar to the warships that had defeated his fleet.  It was a Shaper vessel. So, they had detected his transmission after all.  He’d hoped he’d have more time before they located the source.

As he watched, the craft slowed and descended to the hilltop, the plates that made up its hull sliding against one another to reshape itself for landing.  As it touched down, the front of the craft split open and humanoid forms could be seen jumping down from it and moving out across the hillside.  Then something else appeared from the mouth of the craft.  It was difficult to see at first, an indistinct cloud that took a moment to solidify.  It began heading for the place where he had made the transmission.  He didn’t know how well those things could track a man.  Pretty well, he suspected.  He turned away from the edge of the tree-line and started to run.

He had abandoned all attempts at stealth now.  Fear had overtaken him and speed was of the essence.  He just wanted to get away from that thing on the hill.  His mind imagined its spectral form descending the hill and floating speedily after him through the trees, questing tendrils of glittering motes reaching out to him.

He tripped and fell over a projecting root, his hands plunging into sand and mud filled with writhing worms.  In horror he jerked his hands free, bringing a few of the hungry creatures with them, their annular mouths already latched onto this new source of food.  He shook the horrid things from his skin and winced as their rows of hooked teeth tore small patches of skin from his fingers.  He plunged onwards, scrambling over islands of mud and vegetation and stumbling down the soft beds of tidal channels, his boots splashing in the brackish water and mud.  He dared not look back.

Eventually, the ground began to rise. He scrambled out of the last of the water channels and found himself amongst dryer surroundings.  Panting, he dragged himself up the slope through dense thickets of vegetation until finally he reached the road.  It was the first sign of civilisation he’d seen in days.  The two lanes of asphalt stretched east and west into the jungle, gently curving around the hill.  West lay back towards the sea, he turned east and kept running. 

It was getting too much for him now.  The heat of the day and weight of his pack and the fact that he had been running or jogging for several kilometres now were proving more than his aged body could take.   His vision was starting to blur.  Stumbling, he came to a halt underneath an overhanging tree and leant against a low branch to catch his breath.  He felt sick from the exertion, his lungs struggling to pull enough oxygen in from the humid atmosphere, his heart thudding against his chest and his mouth filling with a metallic taste from the adrenaline brought on by his fear.  He dropped his pack and plunged his hands inside for the water bottle.  Taking grateful gulps of luke-warm water he dared a glimpse across the bay, back the way he had come.  The Shaper ship had vanished from the hilltop.  He glanced about the sky and could see no sign of it.  Whether that meant that they had gone or were simply out of his sight he didn’t know.

Slightly recovered, he replaced the bottle in his pack and hefted it onto his shoulders once more, then continued eastwards.  Above him, Dryads moved among the branches of the trees overhanging the road.  He could see their greenish forms moving amongst the foliage.  They were keeping pace with him, watching him.  It was attention he could do without. Anyone watching the creatures would notice that their interest had been drawn by something on the road.

As the road began to bend to the left around the foot of a hill, the Dryads began to hoot and screech to one another.  He cursed inwardly.  That was all he needed.  Suddenly he then realised that it wasn’t him that they were screeching at.  Figures were approaching from around the bend, figures wearing combat fatigues and carrying weapons.  One of them pointed towards him, signalling to its comrades.

Panicked with the realisation that he’d been discovered, he threw himself into the undergrowth on the left hand side of the road and began scrambling up the overgrown slope.  The sound of boots running on asphalt thudded below him along with voices and the crashes of figures following him up the hill.  He was so intent on evading his pursuers that he failed to see the other group of armed men moving through the trees ahead of him and practically ran head first into their leader.  Now at close range he could see that the men wore Marine Corp uniforms and body armour.  In shock, he backpedalled and fumbled for his pistol, pointing it at the leader as he thumbed off the safety, the man’s face unreadable beneath his helmet and goggles.  The men from the road were right behind now.  He was surrounded.

Chapter 6

Chen’s left arm was almost entirely numb.  The dressing that had been hurriedly applied to the wound was beginning to leak and the sleeve of her uniform was soaked with blood.  She was starting to feel a little light headed.

              Outside the ship, the massive relief operation to rescue the survivors of the Amazonia Port attack was underway.  Under Chen’s direction, those warships that had suffered the fewest casualties had docked with the massive structure, allowing hundreds of desperate civilians aboard.  The medical bays of the warships were handling the influx of casualties, triaging the wounded and stabilising the more serious cases before they could be transferred to hospitals on the surface.  Meanwhile rescue teams probed the interior of the shattered dock, pulling survivors – not to mention large numbers of bodies – from the mangled wreckage. 

The total number of casualties was as yet unknown.  Chen expected the final figure to run into the thousands and had reported as such to the newly appointed President Sorenson.  Sorenson had been the Minister for Trade who had avoided the cabinet purge orchestrated by Admiral Morgan by virtue of being in Esacir space at the time and had found herself the most senior surviving member of the government and thus President by default until elections could be held.  She had seemed a little shell-shocked by events when Chen had spoken to her, as was everyone else, but she had a tough reputation that preceded her and lost no time in quizzing Chen on the situation and her requirements.  Transport, search and rescue and medical vessels were already en-route both to Amazonia Port and to Jupiter space to hunt for survivors from the earlier attack on Galileo Station.

              The
Churchill
and a number of the more severely damaged ships had hung back from Amazonia Port.  The carrier was unable to safely approach the dock under her own power due to the heavy damage she had suffered to her manoeuvring thrusters during the battle and she had enough casualties of her own to deal with, though her complement of transports and assault craft had been despatched to help the relief operation.  The carrier’s forward sections had borne the brunt of the enemy attacks during the battle.  The upper hull was torn and cratered in dozens of places where kamikaze fighters had struck home and a long, twisted scar of torn and melted metal showed where the
Hector
had struck the carrier with its main gun.  Two ugly, gaping holes like the wounds from recently pulled teeth marked where two of the
Churchill’s
forward turrets had been obliterated by the impact of the plasma bolt.  The remainder of the ship’s fighter and bomber wings had also returned and SAR missions had recovered a number of pilots who had ejected from their damaged craft during the battle. 

The carrier’s sickbay was overflowing with casualties, everything from vacuum exposure to burns, severed limbs and dozens of other traumas.  Those that could be moved were being stabilised and then shipped down to Earth.  The walking wounded would be kept aboard for now, and those that were less severely injured were, where possible, returning to their posts.  Part of the hangar bay had been set aside for the bodies after the ship’s morgue had run out of space.  It too was rapidly filling up.

Chen was immensely proud of her crew, and those of the other ships under her command.  She felt the burden of responsibility for their plight and wondered if she could have done more but, she reflected, if it hadn’t been for the timely appearance of the Nahabe ships she doubted whether any of them would have survived.

The arrival of the Nahabe fleet was still something of a mystery.  The Commonwealth had always enjoyed cordial relations with the notoriously secretive and insular aliens, but no military alliances had ever been formalised and the Nahabe had always given the impression that they were uninterested in wider galactic affairs.  Still, she knew of the Nahabes’ hatred of the Shapers and their previous, and successful, defence of their worlds against them.  Furthermore, their interference in the Hadar system via their proxy organisation known as the Hidden Hand was at least an indication that they had been extending their reach, but she wondered what had happened to finally coax the Nahabe out of their self imposed exile.

Answers had not been forthcoming from the fleet of mysterious spherical warships.  They had destroyed or chased off the remaining Shaper ships still within the Solar System and had now assumed what appeared to be a defensive posture between Earth and the Moon, but there had been no further communications from the Commonwealth’s unlikely saviours.  Chen knew enough about the protocols of dealing with the notoriously sensitive Nahabe to know that it was far better to wait for them to initiate any dialogue.  Whatever their motives were, she was intensely grateful for their intervention.

‘Ma’am?’

She was tired, so unbelievably tired.  She couldn’t remember the last time that she had had a decent night’s sleep, or any sleep for that matter.

‘Ma’am?’

She turned, a little groggy; one of the ship’s medics was standing patiently at her side.  The woman’s nametag read ‘Collins’

‘Yes, what it is Lieutenant?’ Chen replied.

‘I need you to come down to sickbay so we can have a proper look at that arm.’

‘I’ll be fine.  I have... a lot to do here, I...’

‘Admiral, with respect, you don’t look fine.  You’re very pale, and your uniform is soaked.  You’re losing quite a bit of blood.  You were shot, after all.  Dr Anderton said that if you didn’t come then he would come up here and order you down to sickbay for your own good.’

Chen knew that her Chief Medical Officer wasn’t kidding.  He would come up to the bridge and scold her if she didn’t take the hint, and Collins was right, she was starting to feel pretty bad.

‘Okay, Lieutenant.  I take your point. Maybe I do need patching up.  Mr Singh, you have the bridge until I return.  I’ll be in medical if you need me,’ said Chen and stood up.  The room swam and she staggered, hit by a wave of nausea.  Collins grabbed Chen’s good arm to steady her.

‘Shit,’ said Chen under her breath as the room came back into focus.  ‘Okay Lieutenant, let’s get me down to sickbay.  It wouldn’t do to have me passing out on the bridge now would it?’

With Lieutenant Collins’ help, Chen made her way down to sickbay in the bowels of the vessel.  By the time she arrived, her forehead was slick with sweat and her arm had begun to throb terribly.  Upon entering sickbay, she had to steel herself against the scene that greeted her.  The facility was overflowing with casualties. Men and women, some bearing terrible injuries, were crammed together in rows whilst the overworked staff triaged and attended to them.  There were screams and cries, pitiful pleas for aid and the sounds of sobbing.  Doors leading off the main central space led to the isolation wards, where the burns and vacuum exposure victims were being held.  Chen didn’t doubt that they too would be full also.

A number of her crew saluted her as she passed or offered her congratulations on the victory.  Despite feeling fragile she returned the salutes and chatted briefly with her injured crew where she could, exchanging greetings or words of encouragement with them, thanking them for their bravery.  It amazed her that so many of them could remain in good spirits despite what they had been through, and it made her immensely proud, and a little ashamed that she should be troubling Dr. Anderton with injuries that seemed to slight in comparison, even if he had ordered her down here.

She found Dr Anderton waiting for her at the back of sickbay.  He seemed remarkably composed, all things considered, though his eyes betrayed the horror of some of the things he had had to deal with today.  He indicated an empty chair and she sat down heavily.  Collins saluted and left to attend to other patients.

‘So,’ said Anderton.  ‘We finally managed to drag you down here.  I was starting to think I might have to shoot you again myself so that it would sink in that you’d been injured.’

‘Sorry,’ Chen replied.  ‘There was so much to do, the rescue operation...’

‘The people under your command know what they’re doing for now.  Let them get on with it.  Now let’s take a look at that arm.  Can you take your jacket off?’

Chen tried to move her arm and found that it had stiffened completely. ‘No.’ She shook her head.

‘Okay, not a problem,’ said Anderton and produced a small pair of scissors which he used to cut the entire sleeve from her uniform jacket and the shirt underneath.  ‘Apologies for the uniform,’ he said. ‘But I think the damn thing was ruined anyway.’

‘I can always get another, don’t worry.   Look, doctor, couldn’t one of your staff handle this?  I’m not the most badly injured person here.  Surely you’d be more useful elsewhere?’

‘I decide who I treat,’ said Anderton, concentrating on his work.  ‘Besides, you’re this ship’s commanding officer.  I’d be remiss in my duties if I didn’t ensure your wellbeing.’  With infinite care he finished snipping away the fabric of her uniform and then peeled away the temporary dressing, revealing a bloody gouge in her upper arm almost a centimetre deep in places.  It was oozing gently.