Son of Justice (26 page)

He flexed his neck and gently shook his head in an attempt to relieve the pounding but quickly decided the misery wouldn’t be shed so easily.

With an effort, he turned his head to the left and came face-to-face with a gray, brick wall. He found himself staring at the surface and thinking the gray color—while somewhat dull—possessed a nice sheen, and the lines between the bricks were straight and uniform, just like they should be. His next thought was that his brain must be fried.

Who cares what the wall looks like?

He groaned and struggled to rotate the tired, pounding lump that was his noggin 180 degrees to the right. The movement—executed perfectly, after only a minute or so of painful concentration—revealed several rows of bunks. More than one was occupied. The closest was filled by Sergeant Ellison, who seemed to be sleeping. He managed to lift his head a few centimeters and scan the rest of the room. They were in a standard defense force barracks.

For a fleeting moment, he tried to consider how they had come to be here, but quickly gave up. His head wouldn’t allow any degree of mental processing.

Satisfied there was no immediate danger posed to himself or to those around him, he surrendered his consciousness to that most effective pain reliever: sleep.

* * *

“Crimsa located what looked like an on/off switch, and well . . . it was,” Tenney explained. The worry and the pain in her eyes were clear, and Eli knew exactly how she felt.

“So, someone put that device there knowing we’d investigate,” Eli clarified. “It must have worked on the first two scout teams, and it almost worked on us.”

“To be clear, it did work on us,” Tenney reminded him. “Just not as well as they had planned.”

Eli nodded and sighed. The pangs of grief threatened to push him to his knees, and he had to draw a deep breath to settle his thoughts. Losing two soldiers—and two key leaders, at that—hurt more than he could have imagined. He shook his head again and wondered what Benson and Twigg might have felt as they passed through the mysterious contraption. He struggled to reconcile the desire to grieve those who were gone with the need to lead those who remained. With no other choice, he made a conscious decision to push the grief away from his consideration. For now. Instead of thinking about those who had been lost, he struggled to focus his efforts and attention on getting the unit through this situation.

“So, there weren’t any remains? Nothing . . . left?”

“Not a single drop of blood,” Tenney answered. The waver in her voice let Eli know how shaken she was over the ordeal. “They just . . . disappeared.”

“Disappeared through a door of white light.”

He had inspected the device right after learning what had happened from his XO. It looked like a complex door frame attached by cables and wires to some type of generator-like equipment the size of a large ammo crate. The dazzling white light that he remembered was absent now that the weapon had been deactivated. “Any idea of how the thing works?”

“We don’t have a clue, Captain. I’m not sure if our scientists—human or Waa—will be able to figure it out. It’s so different from anything we’ve ever seen, a completely new technology. There are a couple of Waa engineers headed down from the Rhino mother ship now to investigate. They should be here this afternoon.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Let’s get the Waa on it. If anyone can tell us what that thing is, it will be those guys.”

Though Tenney didn’t seem to give them much credit, Eli knew better. He grew up on their home planet and knew what they were capable of. The small green aliens weren’t strong, but they were intelligent and had a much better understanding of how “things” worked than any human or Minith ever would. They were responsible for the technology that provided the Shiale Alliance with their spaceships. A small crew of Waa was posted to every mothership for engineering work. With luck, they’d have the strange doorlike weapon figured out quickly.

Eli thought back to the vid Tenney had shown him when he finally woke up and was able to concentrate.

Taken from her vantage point, several kilometers away, the magnified view from which she had observed the events of the day showed the scene well enough. The first few moments mirrored Eli’s recollection perfectly as he and Second Platoon approached the station. The scene unfolded as he remembered, right up until the moment when Benson opened the comm station door, and the white light poured forth. The vid had the sound turned well down, but he could still hear the unbearable, ringing whistle that had accompanied the light. Eli watched in fascinated horror as every member of the leading element raised their hands to protect their ears from the painful assault. He recalled his own initial response, including the strange, undeniable desire to move toward the doorway. Then nothing, until waking up in the barracks of the Rhino-3 station.

The vid filled in the blanks. Eli watched as the armored soldiers began moving toward the light that spilled from the station. Lieutenant Benson, being the closest, was the first to enter the building. He was immediately followed by the four soldiers that had been standing with him. Eli watched in wonder as the vid showed all of them—himself included—marching like thoughtless zombies toward the building, called forward like ancient sailors to the siren’s song. Only Tenney’s quick thinking, and her ability to remotely shut down the speakers in every trooper’s helmet, had saved the day. It came too late to save Benson, though. He passed through the doorway without leaving a trace before Tenney could react. Once she did, though, the vid showed the remaining men and women drop like unfettered marionettes to the ground. It also showed Twigg, who did not have armor, keep moving toward the building and into the deadly device that beckoned from within.

Eli hung his head into his hands and struggled to fight back tears. Benson had been his friend, and though he understood he couldn’t have done anything to prevent what had happened, his heart still ached. And Twigg. To think of the old Minith warrior dying in such a . . . dishonorable way . . . felt wrong. He deserved better. He deserved a death by combat, not by deceit. Once again, he made a conscious decision to push the grief away, ignore it completely until a more opportune time presented itself. Then he might allow it to consume him. He knew he would never be the same, but he also refused to dwell on the loss right now.

After reviewing the recorded events, Eli had visited the former comm station. It had been gutted; the electronics, comms, and sensing technologies that had filled the space had been removed—replaced by the mysterious empty door frame, with the beckoning light and whistle combination. The weapon was as devious as it was effective. It somehow enticed its targets to enter of their own volition and then . . . what? Vaporized them? Burned them? Separated their bodies molecule by molecule? Only those who designed and left the weapon for them knew for sure.

Fortunately for Eli and his company, the PEACE armor had saved them from a similar fate. Tenney’s quick thinking allowed them to deactivate and capture the device. With luck, the Waa would be able to reverse engineer the thing to see how it worked and how their forces—the unarmored ones—could defend against it in the future.

His inspection didn’t reveal anything more than Tenney and Crimsa’s earlier attempts to understand the weapon had. Except for one thing. He recognized the alien characters printed on the control panel.

They were Zrthn.

He wasn’t surprised.

* * *

He came to his senses slowly, lying facedown. He detected the sound of movement nearby. The next thing he computed was the soft, damp surface on which he lay. The squishy texture made his face itch, and he struggled not to scratch, lest he alert any enemies of his waking. On the heels of the itch, he detected a scent of brine, which quickly grew to a stench as the smell of stagnant water filled his nostrils.

Still, Twigg remained still.

He forced himself to be calm and take in his surroundings before opening his eyes or giving any observers a sign that he was conscious. A Minith’s ears were quite sensitive, capable of picking up the smallest sounds. He had once heard a human describe his race as “large gorillalike creatures, with the ears of bats.” He had no clue what “gorillas” or “bats” were, but he thought they must be very revered beings since the words were uttered in a whisper and revealed more than a small dose of fear. He used those ears to take in the noises that surrounded him and filter them into two categories: known and unknown.

In the known column: Deep breathing by multiple beings, of the type that often accompanies sleep. A rustle of clothing. Whispers in the distance.

In the unknown column: a humming that accompanied an undercurrent of vibration. Was he on a mothership? Possible.

The whispering ceased and was replaced by the sound of wet, plodding footsteps headed in his direction. He tensed his body as the steps approached, preparing himself for action should it be needed, and found that he ached from head to toe. A slight groan escaped his lips before he could retract it.

Giving up the act, he opened his eyes. He found himself looking at a dark, gray mat in a dimly lit space. The mat was damp and covered in mildew. Several meters away, he spied a set of large boots headed his way. Each step sank heavily into the mat as it landed and kicked up a slight splash of moisture. He tracked the boots until they stopped two meters away from his head. With an effort, he lifted his head from the watery mat and looked upward. The boots were attached to legs. The legs were attached to the body of a Minith soldier.

“Greetings, warrior,” Twigg rasped.

“Greetings to you,” the other replied. “Don’t move too quickly. It takes a while for the effects to wear off.”

The other warrior stooped down and helped Twigg roll over, then helped him into a seated position. The dampness that had soaked the front of his uniform now drenched the rear. He felt like an old, wet cleaning rag, and he made a face at the . . . sogginess of his situation.

“I’d like to tell you that you get used to the damp, but that would be a blatant falsehood,” the other offered. “Unfortunately, this is how our captors like to live, so we’re stuck with it.”

“Captors?”

“Yes, First Sergeant—”

“Twigg. First Sergeant Twigg.”

“We’re inside a Zrthn prisoner ship.”

Twigg growled.

“Yes, First Sergeant. That was the reaction of just about everyone here. Again, I’d like to tell you that you’ll get used to it, but . . .”

* * *

Newly appointed Lieutenant (0) Gale Benson often asked himself “What would EJ do?”

Eli Jayson—
Justice
, he reminded himself—had become the directional beacon by which most of his actions and decisions were now made. It hadn’t always been that way. When the two first became bunkmates in basic training, he had looked at the other man as just another orphan, someone to be used if and when needed. But EJ had quickly proved that he wasn’t like the orphans Benson had grown up around. He now knew why. Eli wasn’t a product of the orphanage system—a harsh, cold system that had only one purpose: grow Earth’s youngsters into men and women capable of defending their planet and their race. The need for such a system was both real and vital. Benson understood that much. Earth could continue embracing the false concept of peace that the previous six hundred years had led humans into. But genuine acts of caring, consideration, and goodwill were rarely seen by the children who were raised by the soldiers, teachers, and administrators who oversaw the system. As a result, most learned to fight for what they wanted, take what they could take, and look out for their own best interests. Because of their upbringing, most were unable to blend in with the billions of humans raised outside of the system, so they had little opportunity save entering the Alliance Defense Forces. In that respect, Benson surmised, the orphan program did its job.

It wasn’t until EJ came along that Benson saw another way of interacting with his fellow recruits and orphans. EJ cared what happened to those around him. He viewed them as a unit of individuals, who shared common goals, rather than as individual units out to protect their own interests. He guided, he tutored, he supported. In short, he showed them what it meant to be a leader, and provided an example for each of them to follow. For most who spent time with their fellow recruit from Waa, it was a life-changing experience that they soaked up and tried to emulate. It also led to Benson’s ongoing internal query when presented with a daunting challenge or some new, undefined task. It was the question he was asking himself now.

What would EJ do?

What would Eli Justice do if he woke up and found himself strapped to a table? What would he do if he spied a tall, squidlike alien—
Zrthn,
he somehow knew—holding a circular cutting tool in one of his slimy, gray, tentaclelike hands? What would he do if the Zrthn brought the tool to whizzing, electrical life, and brought it into contact with his right, armor-covered arm?

Easy answer.

Benson flexed his armor-covered appendages.

The power generated by the PEACE suit easily snapped the straps that held him to the table. The alien, surprised by the sudden movement backpeddled. Once freed, Benson threw his body to the right and landed gracefully on the soft, sodden floor beside the Zrthn with the cutting tool. He didn’t understand the alien’s features well enough to be sure, but he assumed the open-mouthed look that appeared in the middle of the squid’s head was surprise.

He scanned the room and noticed two other Zrthns on the far side of the table. One had been facing away, and as Benson watched, the soft-looking head spun 180 degrees on the body to face him.

Freaky.

The same open-mouth look that Cutter Holder had shown suddenly appeared on the distant alien’s face.

Yeah, that’s gotta be surprise.

There was no surprise showing on the third face, though. Instead, Benson noted a tentacle being raised and pointed in his direction. The large tentacle was as big around as his arm, and ended in several smaller tentacles. Those smaller tentacles—his mind registered them as fingers—held a shiny, metal object that was undoubtedly a weapon. The alien seemed to be struggling with it, which was just fine with Benson. He didn’t wait for the ugly guy to work out the issue or to see what type of danger the weapon posed. Instead, he allowed his training, instincts, and armor to dictate his response.