Microcosm of Space - a Science Fiction short story

This story is an original work copyright © Copyright Leon T Harrison 1999, 2000 based on a concept created by Philip K Dick from his short story called "Second Variety", it in turn the basis of a movie called "Screamers" which stars Peter Weller.  It was a couple of years since I wrote this particular story, so I might edit it one day soon to bring it up to scratch. Do enjoy.

PART I ^

Berynium. That was why. The ultimate answer to Earth’s ageing concern, the depletion of fossil fuels. Technology had been based on it for so long. Man had build his massive industries on it. The alternatives were there but it was too little too late for him to change. Voyaging into the stars they found the wondrous answer. The New Economic Block sent its Miners and Scientists off to this out of the way planet and they began the process of mining and processing the now vital resource for Earth. But it was not long before it was realised that nothing was ever perfect. The mining process produced massive amounts of radiation that could not be avoided. It was much worse an issue than first thought.  It appeared that, yet again man would pay dearly for his greed.

In time the miners refused to mine. The scientists in their ideological outlook probed the officials for an alternative. There was none. The work still had to be done. Then the scientists, who were well aware of how Berynium revolutionised the world, and how they took away its fears of grinding to a halt, said no. Even they said no. Precautions were not enough and the hierarchy of NEB was not convincing enough to its workers. Trust in the mighty empire, the dominant corporation, was dwindling. Eventually labour was forced and that lend to inevitable clashes of violence. Soon enough the violence became more organised and then the Alliance was formed.

Someone once was heard to say a tea-spoon of Berynium would take a cargo carrier from Earth to Saturn in a day. Maybe a little exaggeration but not far from the truth in large scale practical terms. So for both sides it was well worth the fight. Wars seemed so often to be able resources or religion. This time it was certainly the former but this time the vast expanses of space were the conflict’s home. Still some would say that Berynium was the new religion. Sure there were orbital bombardments and nuclear strikes but in the end one thing had never changed. In the end the territory needed to be occupied and controlled. That was the job of the Infantry. The God blessed Infantry. Or so the ground-pounders hoped. They could do with all the help they could muster. Especially on a barren iceberg of a planet so far from home.

The Gibson Expansion was a long chain of mountains which ran several kilometres across the largest continent of Sirius 6B. It allowed the Alliance to control a vast amount of territory with minimal man-power. Something that suited them well. A handful of Fighting Patrols as a show of force was all that was required. The New Economic Block had tried for several months to neutralise their plight by way of air attacks and bombing runs. To no avail. They knew now that the only way they were going to make any real ground, and hopefully eventually capture this prime piece of real-estate was to use aggressive infantry probes and get inside. They wanted it for their own. If they managed to pull it off there was probably no way the Alliance could ever take it back again. The powers that be constantly reminded the troops on the ground that this was the case. This rather large sector of the planet would be in NEB control unless some miracle gave the rebels an opening to retake it. Not very likely. It was theirs presently, and they were going to do everything in their power to keep it that way.

**********

Kaloski pulled down her white hood and threw her long mouse-brown hair about, after which she lowered the scarf about her face. The wind, though not very strong was quite chillingly cold, even with the sun’s rays beating a sheet of light over the landscape. It bit into her flesh like a knife. After taking a brief few swigs from her water bottle the scarf went back up. The trooper peered through tinted shades. Snow blindness was very much a threat and often disregarded by those on Earth. On Sirius 6B such environmental hazards were never forgotten. Many a new arrival had suffered the white blindness even though warnings had always been hammered home with great emphasis.  Niether Heroes nor those with lax minds lasted very long in such an unhospitable place.

Another patrol and Lisa was out in front, the lead scout. At least the most risky job would be over for her soon for another few hours. Advantage of being first. Unless there was a Commando infiltration risk of attack within a few kilometres of the base was not likely. And during daylight hours? Even more remote. The Gibson Expansion was one of those few places where the boot was definately on the other foot.  It was a comfort, but not enough for you to relax.  You could never relax.  The horizon was out there, over three kilometres away she guessed. It was a pleasant surreal view. But then a moment of the absorption could result in endless suffering.

The pale blue sky showered above the icy plane. It seemed to be the only thing that gave any depth perception. So she focused on it. Kind of like being at sea and looking at the horizon to avoid sea sickness. That thought reminded the trooper of times back on Earth as a child, out on the waves, her father at the helm of his fishing boat. Distant memories. Now she was a soldier, a former technical assistant to a treatment scientist. Back when they were all Neb’s. Not any more.

Johnny has a thing for peanuts and was getting rather irritated by the fact that supplies had run out. Lisa Kaloski was somewhat the same where smokes were concerned. It was so bad that the stakes had multiplied ten-fold since the last supply run out a month earlier. If that wasn’t bad enough, as always it seemed, the run was late by a week. Although peanuts were not essential to life the young soldier, just out of boot camp was at a loss without the taste of the rare commodity. It was his first real example of how deployment and real combat was not as straight forward as field manuals and idealist armchair combatants might have lead him to believe.

It was only an hour or so before that he’d been complaining yet again. People were getting sick of it and no one was envying those that were to be part of his patrol. All the same Lisa was impressed at how he seemed to knuckle down to the job at hand and get focused out in the field. Almost too focused. Results of just getting out of Basic. All keyed up and keen to get the work done and yet to learn the astute art of pacing ones self. The soldier had a very serious job to do and if they didn’t learn the essential art the stress would burn them out and people started dying all over the place because they just went nuts. Lisa quickly gained a real appreciation for the men and women who had chosen the path as a career. She, like so many others had just been thrown in at the deep end.  It wasn't money, or pride or reputation that was at stake, it was peoples' lives.

Johnny was acting at Tail-end Charlie, responsible for the rear area. It would be his turn up front soon. He was a level-headed if not over-confident kid Lisa thought. He’d do okay though. Every fresh jar-head was a bit cocky in the beginning.

Outnumbered and out-gunned the Alliance needed an edge. The scientists recreated the original weapon. Independent of human input. The autonomous mobile sword. Small titanium shelled creatures of the underground, coming up to prey on unexpecting NEB soldiers. Cutting through human flesh with ease. High pitched echoes focusing deep into the soul of the victim. Incredibly fast moving on skeletal legs. Edging forward like a tormented dinosaur in miniature. The mainframes below would run themselves with no human contact, the very way they had been designed. The creatures hunted out any biological entity it could find. The Alliance troops were only saved by the tab. A wrist mounted device that broadcast their heart rate one beat out of sink. It was like a life line in the field. If your tab malfunctioned or you lost it or took it off, expect to be the unconsumed meal of a Screamer, their whining saw blades, the unceasing high pitched shriek in the depths of your brain and whipping spiked tails as the utensils at the dinner table.

That was the moving mound of snow scurrying along. An ally of sorts. So long as everything worked as it should. There was always that fear that something would go amiss. Those in the patrol had all each witnessed at least one display of the lethality of the Screamer. All except the new kid. It never got any easier no matter the number of times you saw it. It was too personal, to vicious. The cutting of flesh and bone without emotion. Relentless death. The experience was nothing like that of a bullet from afar. Neither the killer or the killed. The shooter or their target. The Screamer was a new form of warfare developed on Earth to continue this sorry excuse for a white radiation plagued planet war. Only those that had been here could ever really appreciate the toll paid for humanity back home. For the modern home comforts, that for the soldier in the field seemed to mean virtually nothing. Nothing but false hope.

The soldier behind Kaloski was Hans Erricson. A German with a far-reaching military history.  Unlike so many of those in the Alliance. He’d been a security adviser for the New Economic Block on Sirius 6B, its sister planet and several others besides. Solid and tall he had that look about him of rugged exterior which was in stark contrast to his well-natured and calm demeanour. Both were required for true soldiering and leadership, qualities of which both he was naturally gifted. Erricson was well respected and he didn’t get that way by being a bully and throwing his weight around. And when necessary there was quite a bit to throw around, over three hundred pounds of it. Commander of men, his solemn prayer before leaving the iron clad fortress was that he, and all his people return in one piece today, from this typical yet daunting task. Keep the enemy at arms length. Vital roles upon deadly ground.

Commanding a Fighting Patrol was a nerve racking experience, even now after so many missions. Probing and counter probing, keeping the enemy at bay. Small unit tactics needed to be trained hard into so many whom were not soldiers before and did never envision ever having to be. The Alliance had no other means to fight other than in small units, sniping, harassing. They did not have the numbers to wage an all out frontal assault against a far superior numerically and technically sophisticated army. Their former selves. Their former employ, the Neb’s. It took courage, skill and men like Hans Erricson to lead them.

PART II ^

It was a standard three day Fighting Patrol. Enduring the freezing temperatures and laboured tramping through often ankle deep snow meant that they would only cover around twenty kilometres. Out around and back in via a different route from the one they took in. Depending on what was required different methods of covering the ground were used. Sometimes the out around and in procedure like now, the zig-zag affair, or maybe a variation on a search pattern if they were actively hunting down infiltrators.

Keep your eyes on your arc of responsibility, no one else could do it for you. You do it for your mate and he does it for you. That’s the way it works. The only way it works. You always depended on someone else.  There had never been, nor would there ever be any spare people to go around in the Alliance. Keep it together. Do your job, don’t drop your tab and you might just make it home in the same state you left, if not more, tired, cold and hungry than when left. Macro rations gave you energy but never fulled the stomach.  That can be worked on, given time. Dead can’t.

The Under-barrel rifle used powerful high velocity low calibre ammunition to charge it and made easy work of Alliance soft body armour. It also made equally effortless Swiss cheese out of NEB uniforms.  Functionally, other than offering a different camouflage were the same as those of the enemy. The fact that both sides now used Armour-piercing ammunition as standard did not help either. For what the rifle lacked in range the over-barrel Grenade Launcher made up for with high explosive firepower and area effect. Short range and high impact typified the NEB way of doing things.

Heavy armour was both cumbersome and expensive to produce. It was not the sort of thing a soldier on Sirius 6B appreciated. It was difficult enough to move in the snow as it was. A man that couldn't move was a dead one. And the sand during daylight hours was far too hot to bare wearing such a thing, even with climate control garments. Patrolling in the hours of darkness was just asking for trouble. Regardless of night vision devices and advances in navigation aids the night did not belong to the NEBs.

More manpower meant they could out-number their adversaries almost without effort. Their tactics reflected that, just as the rebels lack of numbers reflected theirs. Back to basics, uncomplicated methods which had been proven throughout human history. Guerrilla warfare, raiding, sniping and undermining the technical advantages of their foe. The New Economic Block were well used to dealing with that. Several years of war and decent leadership from combat veterans in the field and studied academics and politicians alike had seen to that.

It was the Screamers that were the problem. The night belonged to them.

Just like their creators they would appear from nowhere and attack with precision, striking without mercy. Only to be destroyed or to disappear into the mists below the ground. The Alliance was made up of not a typical army but men and women determined. It seemed so far that that determination was more dangerous and more effective than the traditional skill at arms. Even the most hardened and hateful adversary to them and their cause had to admit their intelligence and effectiveness. Regardless of what damage that had on the ego. A bunch of miners, who were hardy in their own way, and clued up scientists were holding their own quite well after years of war with the best the NEB could throw at them. You had to admire their fortitude.

A man, given cause is much more the threat than the man who has training and no cause.

O’Regan moved his off hand down from his waist to his thigh to encourage his fellow soldiers to go to ground. They complied under the presence of possible danger. The ground was cold against body but better that than getting shot.

"We got a contact sir," O’Regan announced.

"Alliance FP, 750 metres, two fingers left our facing" the current scout gave out a target indication for reference. O’Regan’s rifle scope spat out the relevant data for accurate ballistic and tactical action. An invisible laser projected out in front of him and sent a signal back. An effective battlefield rangefinder. He used the standard abbreviation for a Fighting Patrol. The Irishman made an educated assumption.

"Numbers?" questioned Urcamann, as he brought up his rifle and eyed the scope.

"Seen" he said letting his forward man know that he had got a bead on the target. "Seen" Carson announced.

"I’ll take ‘em down" Carson said half-expectantly. Gung-ho attitude to the fore.

"You hold that thought Carson" Urcamann shouted out with a hint of frustration bordering on anger.

"Hold your fire" the Captain added as an after thought. The standard way of letting a soldier know you didn’t want him to kill anything, at least for the moment.

Even with exceptional skill a marksman would have been hard-pressed to drop one of those soldiers at such a range with the short barrelled rifle. A shot fired would mean their presence would be betrayed and any advantage lost. Only a crazy man would allow an even playing field against any Alliance patrol, especially when things had previously been in one’s favour. They had become masters of getting themselves out of a spot. Things had to be done right. Urcamann wanted it done right. But more so he wanted to be back at base lying up in his thermally controlled bunker quarters. One depended on the other. The latter was not going to happen if the likes of Carson started blasting up the place.

The frozen wastes were playing havoc on the soldiers' muscles, straining them without remorse. But the distance must be travelled and endurance had to be consulted. It had yet to reach the mentally challenging stage but limbs were certainly sore. Rest was due and as usual the new addition to the 2nd Company was the one to lay down the first complaint.

"Time to down it Cap'tin"

"We aren't stopping here Carson" the Officer said thinking how stupid it was of Carson to make such a suggestion in such an exposed place. Was this guy an idiot or did he have to work on it?

Urcamann wasn't about to waste his time explaining the basics to someone who's experience should have reflected more sense.

Smooth and fast some unseen object scurried under the snow like a rat under a blanket. Whatever it was halted as if investigating a strange anomaly. Suddenly another shape appeared as if from nowhere. It too went out across the icy plains on a journey unknown. Then another. Then another. All now seemingly co-ordinated penetrating the polar landscape. Together the unexposed creatures worked their purpose like well drilled workers in a hive of bees.

Urcamann barked orders and the four other members of the five-man patrol tightened up around him.

The 4.5mm micro bullets ripped into the air. O'Regan cursed as the rounds went high and beyond the metallic vermin. The thump of a grenade sent off down range. That ended that as the explosion rocked the exposed rocky ground. The Screamer blew apart into a thousand pieces. Another near miss was all it took for another one to get hurled into the air. It landed a few metres away thrown backwards under the tremendous concussion wave.. Mechanical servos struggled to remain alive. Slowly the life drained out of it. But still more of its machine allies drove forward on a relentless mission of human slaughter.

A second explosion burnt the atmosphere with pungent cordite, lighting up the dim slowly darkening night sky. Fletcher had fired and missed. The grenade clip moved along and a fresh round lined up with the breach. Lifting up his Assault weapon he eyed the scope and let off a accurate burst from the rifle. The target became a tangled mess of wires and metal. The soldier was so surprised that he'd managed to hit the Screamer that a grenade struck the already smashed Screamer before Fletcher realised there was no need. Swinging round the piercing scream of another metal monster cut into his ears as it jumped off the sandy floor. A impact fused grenade struck hard against it and the target exploded in mid-air. What was left dropped to the ground as Fletcher's eyes strained hard with the unwanted light of the resulting explosion. Under his uniform his body was shaking from the unwanted fever of tortured fear, so much so he was surprised no one commented on it. The feelings were drilling into his brain and amplified by the ringing in his ears. But everyone had felt it at some time. Even Carson said nothing. With him there was a unsound remoteness.

The co-ordinated attack encircled the soldiers but only a outward facing well disciplined defence made way for a rapid counter attack. Several sighs of relief were heard and Fletcher even went down on one knee exhausted with the intense encounter, very glad for its conclusion. Urcamann looked out towards the horizon then his focus returned to the sand swept snow nearby. Danger ever lurking below, his warily mind never straying far from that self-motivated relentless underground machine. The Alliance answer to an unbalanced conflict. If that didn't give the rebels an even keel upon which to fight then nothing would. If it wasn't for the Screamers the war would have ended a long time ago and those miners and their scientist colleagues would be working the Berynium whether they liked it or not. Slaves to their former employers. Fate had a interesting way of dealing to those who would choose to impose their power on others. Morals were morals and business was business. Sometimes these issues would conflict.

War was the result.

**********

The crack was underneath the surface, just waiting for an unsuspecting victim. To be roped together was a convenience that soldiers could not afford. Safety in a combat zone meant being able to move, go to ground and get the angle on an attacker. Fletcher moved across the snow. There was the solid feeling under foot of ice through the powder. No cause for alarm.

Suddenly the young soldier startled but the look in his eyes told his companions it was to late. His foot broke through first. Ice cold water soaked his leg and shocked his body with an unexpected rapidity. About the penetration of the ice sheet sharp edges cut into Johnny’s calf. As he looked down in horror blood merged with the liquid doom below. His free leg was not strong enough and he lost his balance. Everyone except Fletcher cautiously moved back away from the break in the ice. The soldier closest to the engulfed victim jumped forward in haste before he realised it might make things worse. It did. The crack in the surface opened wider from beneath. In a split second Johnny’s leg was down to the knee and it was impossible for him to come back up. Falling backwards he tried in vain to break his fall but that made little difference. The extra sudden weight upon the already fractured opening swallowed him up whole. Fletcher looked back but already knew what had happened. The screeching sound of breaking ice and the splash of Johnny’s body crashing into the water below told him.

A struggling mass of soldier and rifle battled to get to the surface. Johnny gasped for air reacting to the water and the sudden freezing temperatures. Raising to the surface he sucked in additional air, he knew he needed it for the effort of getting out. His feet couldn’t find surface below him through the merky mix of blood and crystal shards.

After a moment of sudden terror the soldiers’ surrounded their comrade doing their best to keep an even displacement over the ice. One person in the water was disastrous enough. The young soldier’s body was shaking without remorse and his face showed fear of a slowly dying child who knew the consequences of his fate.

Kaloski went on auto-pilot and her former medical orderly self kicked in. She was realistic about the boy’s chances but at the same time she just made a concerted effort to do her best. For him, more so for herself, though she didn’t consciously realise it at the time. Reaching into Johnny’s patrol pack she removed his emergency thermal blanket. She ripped open the protective seal and proceeded to lay the silvery envelope out readying it for its patient. Sun streamed down upon the metallic coating and instantly became warm to the touch.  Time was of the essence.

"Get your armour jacket off private." With slow progress Johnny complied. He was weighted down with the unwanted moisture of soaking clothes. The white under-garment was a climate control fabric that would dry doubly quick under the blanket. Still, Lisa was not convinced it was going to be enough. There was a struggle to keep her worries from her face. Hopefully the young man was a fighter where it counted, where things of the world would contribute to the outcome of survival.  The numbness was setting in.

"Trousers too Private."

Johnny complied under strained labour. He gripped with the realisation that there was no need to waste essential energy on removing his boots to get his pants off.

"I’m gonna… everything gonna… I’ll be alright... Corporal?" came a difficult and equally laboured voice.

"We’ve got Anderson looking after us. Best shot in the Company" unconsciously avoiding the question. All the while the Commander was frustratingly battling with the radio communicator.

"Damn radiation... glow clutter..." he cursed out loud.  One of his people was down.  This wasn't the time.

The rest of the unit shared in the desperation of the moment. Anderson spat into the snow and kicked the resultant slime infested powder into a mound. He'd even taken the time to loose his concentration on the scene where his companion had just been immersed. The realities of such a thing were there, somewhere, locked into the back of his mind. His head had become desensitised to it all. An uncomfortable displeasure came upon him of this unemotional mode he had assumed to cope.

It had been a reasonably comfortable night out in the open but Johnny was obviously deteriorating. Lisa was the first person to consider his state. It wasn’t that the others didn’t at all, it was just they were focused on the other tasks at hand. Anderson was already scanning out into the distance, on sentry duty before Johnny had woken up. He needed the sleep and the chill in the core of his body had only allowed him a couple of hours disturbed rest. As misfortune would have it, it was at the tail end of the night and Commander Erricson had to wake him before they continued on their way. They had to get themselves to some real shelter. Hans was concerned for his man and remaining out here in the open, even with a snow cave made was not going to do. According to the Tac Map there was a abandoned settlement about two kilometres away. That would do and Erricson was sure the kid could manage to hump it out to there.

"Just hang in there lad. We gonna make for that settlement and get you laid down proper. Get some real shelter."

"Yes sir" came a half stranded wounded agreement "I heard that."

The young soldier was involuntarily shaking.

"I'm cold inside Corporal" he said shallowly and with signs of desperation. He was as afraid as any soldier, veteran or recruit, could possibly get. It could be seen in his eyes, filled with despair. The place about him, the air circulating around him seemed even colder now.

Anderson turned away and occupied himself with what he knew to be a needless task for the moment. Sometimes even a man like him could wane into the emotion of human kindness even if he dared not to show it too bluntly. Young Johnny was still nimble of mind even if his body was collapsing from under him. He just lacked the strength to show it now. Even with the muscles in his face. Gaunt and pale was the warrior. His first and last battle for real would be on this planet he did not know, but for a half dozen lectures and two VR simulations before arriving. Aside from that it was just the standard stuff about why the Earth Alliance needed to be formed and why the N.E.B's had screwed everyone over.

Why did people like him needed to be there? As if he needed to be reminded. Now, even with every possible summoned strength, his mind slowly delved into hopelessness. And there, eventually he slept.

**********

PART III ^

There was something in the white sand, off in the distance. Or was it anything?  In time everything looked white. Straining his eye up against the optical sight of his rifle sure enough there it was. Only a slight contrast allowed some visual hint to anything amiss. A shape not unlike a body, human body. Lying down seemingly very close to being totally immersed in the cold death. Motionless. Ranged now.. Bearings of the subject appeared on the scope. An invisible laser had sent a beam of light to the targeted object and instantly feed information to the operator.

"Arrh just forget it O'Regan... wast'in our time... got better things to do. Get some Alliance scum."

"Shut up Carson" the Captain spoke out what everyone else was thinking.

O'Regan looked through his scope a second time. This time with more ease, less strain on the eye.

"Help me... help me..." slowly stirring came the weak voice.

"And you bastards think I’m crazy. Fuck it. I’m going over the top" the outsider spoke out defiantly.

"Halt Carson!" the Captain exclaimed immediately.

"Fuck you!" Carson pushed forward with his words and his body through the snow like a man possessed.

Urcamann saw the impossibility of the situation presented with an uncontrollable man. Not that he cared one bit for Carson, but not doing it by the book could get his people killed. He could get killed.

"O’Regan get ready to drop a round on that point eh."

"Sir" the Irishman complied clicking his optics over for the required indirect shot of a grenade or two, just as the officer sent the relevant target data to his subordinate’s weapon. The on-board computers of both weapons now shared the same target. If trouble erupted then that area would be obliterated with a mass of explosives and lead.  The Grenadier didn't even need to have a line of sight on the target.  So long as someone did.

Carson kept on trudging forward through the snow with his inhuman unrestrained single-mindedness. Just like the experienced soldiers they were, the rest of his team waited off in preparation for the shock of a sudden ambush which might never come.

The soldier was one of theirs’. A NEB soldier. Injured Fletcher saw down the tube of his optics. The face looked confused, dazed. There had been no reported actions here. Not that the techie could remember. No calls. A finger tightened around the trigger of his weapon. Anxiousness surged through his body and made his spine twinge. The fact that the guy didn’t have a weapon seemed all the stranger.  Just a make-shift walking stick.

"What the....!" Carson hit the deck as he heard the pop as the first grenade came hurtling towards what he knew was his position.

"Fire!"

Two grenades landed behind the target and high explosive ripped into the air, cleverly, precisely dropped behind the target so as it acted as a barrier to the grenadier’s comrade. No matter how much he despised Carson O’Regan had the feeling the guy might come in handy one day as a body shield or something.

A twisted metal wreck lay in front of Carson as he pulled his body up off the snow, finally convinced that the fireworks display was over.

"A fucking screamer?!"

By this time the others had already made their way up to investigate.

"I saw him move for a weapon..." Urcamann raised up the broken remains of an Alliance issue rifle.

"Cheers" Carson said in his first, seemingly unnatural statement of gratitude.

No one cared particularly for any remark he might make. They just had a near miss, it was the end of another day in the field.  All that remained of it was the fear in the eyes and the molten metal remains, relays and drive wheels smashed and pulverised by high explosive.  A chip amongst the wreakage of the wounded soldier, triangular in shape, read Type I-V.   No one said a word.  Only Urcamann had heard the rumours through HQ channels.  But rumours would only send a shockwave down the spine of the military machine.  They were becoming more human.

There was a very uneasy feeling running through the troopers as they tried to manage themselves after the brief but close call with death. Carson was his usual bravado self not caring much about how anyone else felt. Fletcher was decidedly shaking in his boots.

"Ah Fletcher yah girl… what’s yah problem?"

"Piss off Carson and leave him alone" Shaw said with a fair amount of force in his voice.

"Shut up Shaw… I just imagine how bad you were just out’ta boot camp" came the reply.

"Shut up both of you" came Urcamann’s sharp conclusion.

That ended the verbal conflict but the bitterness was still in the air, and in the eyes.

All anyone wanted to do was get some shut-eye. Asides from some looking over of what remained of their unexpected encounter there was nothing else said asides from ignored comments about Fletcher pulling first stag on sentry.  For the rest it was time to sleep.  It would not come easy with the thoughts of some new Screamer out there.  The rumour of HQ had been confirmed.

Carson began to toss and turn. A nightmare had began to stir in his mind. Again as it had several times before. A struggling sense fought against its blood-curdling imagines threatening his consciousness and his sanity.

Blinding flashes struck hard at him in the blackness yet he did not wake. His subconscious mind could not understand why. Like a unseen force had taken control of him and there was nothing he could do no matter how much he struggled. Efforts of a subconscious fight were not enough to throw him into the real world again. Something stronger had him firmly in its grasp. Then the struggle was gone in him and the pain was more. Resistance was unrewarded and the drilling of his soul continued. His own mortality had left him and returned with blood. Driven by madness which would not cease, the blood was not his own. Understanding was crushed under a tyrant of flame and molten metal gripping at his heart.

No one said a word after the close encounter. No one had to. The machines were their enemy. More dangerous and unpredictable than those who created them. It was crap, all that stuff about humans being more forward thinking, more cunning than the machines they created. Those that said that had never faced them. And most had never faced a human in real combat. Just damned simulators. What would they know?

**********

Anderson scanned the horizon repeatedly. Over and over like he had a million times before. He was far from the sentimental kind but his mind kept flashing back to the kid. Another victim to this iceberg of a planet. It was the ice that killed him, but it was the NEB’s the put them all in this predicament. His silent payback would come. Given time. There was no relationship forged between the two men, but they had the common bond. They believed, or so Anderson thought, in the same basic ideals. Other more personal agendas were not important. They were a man down. It made things increasingly more difficult, the concentration more strained and the edge more predominant. Any moment now. No, more of the same. Hurry up and wait. Waiting for nothing to happen real fast. Eyes and ears penetrating the howling wind, cutting through the thermal undergarments. Anderson, like those that remained was used to it now but it was still noticeable. His mind blanked it out. Any distraction, even the most trivial, was one that would distract you for that brief fraction of a second. And in that microcosm of time you would die for your dependence on the moment.

Then he saw his man. Some skinny bespectacled man who would have looked more at home in an Alliance uniform, or a lab coat. Whoever he was he had made the fatal mistake. An inviting silhouette against the skyline drew closer as the optics on Anderson’s rifle automatically zoomed in. A small servo motor motioned the scope as it did so making the expected sound, the low whining which every true soldier hated which the former technicians didn’t seem to mind. Anderson figured it was like a spirit to them, a sign of their great genius. Their technological wonderousness. If they were so brilliant why couldn’t they make the thing quiet? The thing which was there to give them advantage could have just as easy got them killed. Damned techies never seemed to understand the requirements of Close Quarter Battle. Anderson thought of the feeling of his combat knife at his side. Some things never change, no matter what technology brings us.

Inside the shooter was the feeling of freedom. You could concentrate on your shot. Comfortable position for any necessary follow-up. Aim high, compensate for the wind, a lot right now. Comfort of the snow, better than rocks. Take in the breath. Release it partly. Hold it. Squeeze off the remainder of the pressure. Your only world is that which is in the sight. Nothing else matters. None of this running around, chest raising under effort as the lungs gasp for more air, shots going all over the place, and the target is only one hundred metres away. Then the shot impacts. The slight ceasing of time as you see the body realise its fate. Silently off in the distance. The smell of cordite. Caseless ammunition consumed in the fires of death, the chamber within the instrument of your trade. Shock in the eyes unseen but known. The soldier fell. Only a single small hole in his chest.

**********

"Go to ground, go to ground!" came the sudden urgent call from the Commander. Carson hit the deck in an instant and rolled around to where he suspected the shot to have come from. Off to his left he caught a glimpse of Fletcher’s body, a limp lifeless corpse. The blood flowed over his arm from a single hole in his chest that Carson could not see. There was a very capable man out there. The hunter was not going to be seen with the human eye. A shot like that did not come from a man who didn’t know how to hide himself. The search had begun.

Several shots rang out in quick succession from semi-automatic mechanisms.  Reactionary, not planned, not calculated.  Like the action a moment before.

"Cease fire, Cease fire!" Carson yelled out, anger and frustration in his rough tone.

"We can’t get a bearing if you’re firing crazy into shit" he declared. His head turned back to his rifle, an eye back to the scope. Damned Alliance. Even if they could get a bead, there was little chance of being able to hit him at this range. The NEB assault weapon wasn’t designed for that sort of fighting. And this clever fellow knew that very well. The frustration deepened. The soldiers scampered around searching for someone they already knew they were very unlikely to find.

**********

"Why in blazers did you do that?!" screamed Erricson.

"For the kid" replied Anderson as if it was both obvious and part of a causal conversation.

Then in as much time as it took for the soldier to take the shot he realised he had made an error no matter the quality of the marksmanship, no matter the horror he had gifted his unseen enemy.

That death had had an effect, one he had never felt before, and it had only presented itself after he had squeezed off the shot, sending it on its way to the unsuspecting victim who now lay in a pool of crimson.

"One less NEB" he justified.

"And now we’re seriously in the shit" called back Erricson, a face full of snow as if the shot had come in his direction. The others’ had gone prone too, not knowing what was going on or whether or not they were going to be on the receiving end of incoming fire.

"Two fingers left of rock."

"Don’t waste our time... bug out and back... get out of here."

The others complied with the Commander’s order even if it was evident Anderson wanted to take the fight to the now obviously present NEB soldiers.

The withdrawal began without additional firing. The shot was made in typical Anderson style at a range outside most shooters’ effective range. That had given them distance. Several rounds were heard in the distance as the NEB’s fired into likely spots hiding the assassin.

Kaloski held back her thoughts of Anderson’s tactical ineptness with a comment of humour. "Talk about shoot and scoot, warn us next time will yah?"  It was more an unconcious effort to avoid the desire to throttle her companion.  Still, she had seen him action before.  If he said he'd taken a NEB down, then he had.  There was some comfort in that.  One for Johnny.  The sad inhumanity of man. Running as fast as she could as the team sort to increase the distance between themselves and the enemy group, she didn’t expect any sort of reply. After a short pause Anderson thought better of his confrontational attitude and high-tailed it as well.

**********

Experience showed in the eyes of the NEB soldier out front. Shaw scanned out ahead taking in all the details; distant abandoned structures, an old low key mining facility, the hills off to the east which grew slowly into the mountains further off, and the nearby rocky outcrop across their westerly facing. A halting signal and a waving off-hand from the horizontal down to the thigh commanded everyone go to ground. Although a solid effort revealed nothing, those rocks where a ideal place for an ambush. To have made visual contact with the enemy already was enough sense for worry, but a classic hunting ground only fuelled the fear.

It was reasonable to assume that the Alliance soldiers’ whom, even under harrowing circumstances that this place was just such a tactical danger. The area once seen to be safe from ambush, the safest route to be travelled would be behind the rocks to the west. Where the NEB troops where now was definitely far too exposed. And to move off in the opposite direction was too much like hard work for tired troopers. Shaw was going to give their trailers a nice surprise. One death, even if it was Fletcher was bad enough. This time they would get the upper hand. No one was willing to let the cowardly confrontation go unpunished.

It was time to call the CO forward and suggest a method for quick and painless victory.

Shaw insisted that he go out on his own. The less he had to worry about the better. More people, more chance of being seen. The most prominent issue was keeping Carson back in his cage. Shaw was feeling the same way his Irish friend was, but voicing it less. That imbecile was becoming a real pain in the arse and he’d sooner have placed one of the mines under his thermal sheet than waste it on some poor unfortunate and unsuspecting Alliance fighter. Urcamann had agreed with Shaw’s justification of going it alone but knew well enough that it was pointed at Carson’s ever-present nuisance value. All the soldier wanted to do was make best his attempts at damaging the rebels in the best possible way. Well away from Carson, without any possible threat to his own health.

Carson had come in on a re-supply ship apparently and was considered a biological re-enforcement. As far as the troopers were concerned all he’d been since he’d arrived was a PIA. A right royal Pain In the Arse. Those who didn’t simply overtly dislike the guy would be said to be tolerant of him. And the latter were considered not to have known him well enough yet to find deliberate displeasure in him.

The officer and the scout discussed the situation and the proposal. A sign and counter sign where recorded mentally as the rest of the unit went on, leaving Shaw to do his thing. He was actually quite glad to be alone for a while. The solo mission found him almost relaxed, drawing out the task to retain the freedom. Anti-personal mines where meant to be laid out in large numbers and particular patterns to make cleaning them up later an easier job. It also meant better protection of your own assets and slowing down of enemy progress. This day it would only be share luck to score a hit. And if that happened perhaps that would be enough. With only a couple of enemy soldiers out there they couldn't afford to be slowed down by a wounded man, just like themselves. If and when they hit one would be the first and last indicator they would need to know that they where in amongst the dozen or so mines that Shaw was busily burning in the snow.

Going from inner most to outside in a backwards movement the NEB soldier tried his best to eradicate tracks he was leaving as he went. It had not snowed heavily for a day or so and he did not want to count on a downfall to cover his tracks. At the same time a very heavy fall inside an hour or so might cover the mines detonation plates. That would be a waste. Even if it was only a chance thing. Hopefully the enemy would come in close to the rocky outcrop to make best use of the cover. Any resultant explosion close by the formation would benefit from additional rock debris.  Only time would tell if his efforts where in vain.

**********

PART IV ^

The explosion ripped into the air. The shrapnel cut through the least line of resistance. Erricson's combat boot acted as a guide for the metal fragments as it tore upwards then ceased it's butchering effect just short of his knee, the bulk of the cartilage too much for the explosive charge. He let out a howl of pain as he fell to the ground, staggering forward trying to make a grab for his rifle which had been inadvertently hurled into the air. Kaloski hit the deck first in utter surprise. She was the scout, she should have triggered it. A weary head turned back seeing the wounded man shivering in the snow.  A flash of light quickly left the air while a cloud of blackness replaced it.  A sign of the destruction the mine had left.  Shock was probably already running through Erricson's system with as little remorse as the mine itself had shown.

"Keep still, keep still!" she demanded. He froze under command as his mind clicked back into soldier mode, the shock mode turned off. There was a few seconds of consideration to come to terms with the danger that was obviously around Erricson now. Mines where very rarely a solitary item out on plains like this. If there had been time to elevaluate the danger of his predicament perhaps the soldier would have realised his failings. The basics had let him down, a result of sear fatigue and the bitter cold that had been hammering them lately. Johnny's death had not helped either, death being drawn out like that. So then it was that Erricson had not followed precisely the step pattern of the scout in front of him.

The body of the wounded man was doing it's best to cut off the flow of blood but the rough damage done was not helping. He gritted his teeth at the searing pain as it shot up his leg, the heat of the explosion had made a poor job of cordorising the wound. Jagged fragments remained imbedded in the end of what remained of his leg, at the base of his knee cap. The endorphins where pumping and the pain was slowly subsiding. The anger in his face now came more from his foolishness than the agony he felt in his body.

The others spun around and watched as well as they could for any other dangers. A single well placed mine was often used as a trigger for an ambush. It certainly wasn't beyond the NEB Army to ambush a Alliance patrol, especially when in enemy held territory.

Anderson jumped over the snow as hard as he could in order to reach the rocks without touching anymore snow. He lunged forward and just managed to make it, his rifle smacking hard against the solid formation. Going up the rock face and looking out across the horizon he shouldered his rifle. The hardened metal polycarbonate alloy shell of his sight module had protected the sensitive optics from any damage they might otherwise have received from the impact.

"Fuck this shit" he complained out loud to no one in particular. Just to be sure that no unseen sniper put a bullet in his brain the soldier found himself a small hole from which to peer through. On his way, as a decoy he placed his as yet unused issue helmet three metres from his firing position only just above the rocks. Better the helmet get a hole in it from an over-keen shooter than his own head.

Kaloski just ignored him and made sure their commander was going to stay alive. She didn't make any comment about his inability to follow her foot steps. She knew that he knew well enough his mistake and that he had almost paid the ultimate price.  And they were not out of their fix yet.  Far from it.

"Follow my tracks, keep your body high." The wounded man knew the drill, he just found it doubly difficult having only one usable leg to move his frame across the ground. The scout was able to move slowly over the snow using her bayonet scabbard to probe deep on an angle for any further mines hidden beneath. She preferred to use the scabbard over the blade itself just in case the mines could be set off by metal. It was a slow and painstaking process but there was no hurry as the Commander was not moving overly fast himself. There was no way to know how far forward the mines where.

Almost half a very long hour later Kaloski was satisfied that there were no more mines left. Three had been recovered, disarmed and discarded. By the time she got up on her feet again Kaloski was rather relieved to find that the circulation in her muscles had not completely vacated her body. Only her thermal undergarments saved her from freezing to death as she meticulously crawled along the icy whiteness. The Commander managed to keep up good time all things considered. The blood had stopped flowing by now and Kaloski came back to help him to a spot where she could bandage up the resultant stump. Erricson had self-administered a jab of painkiller and it seemed to be doing the trick. They where still out in the open, exposed.

"Lets make for the building complex" Anderson suggested.

"Yeah okay best cover and a bit of a maze to tangle the NEB's if they get to us" Erricson agreed.

The wounded man was still a bit shaken by the experience but shock did not seem to be taking over. There was no nervousness and the Commander, aside from the physical aspect of his injuries, seemed to be otherwise normal. Kaloski encouraged him to keep his fluids up. Training and a level kept him on his toes. Over the open ground with only two able bodied people and one wounded man it was not practical to crawl to reduce their profiles as they went, and even if they did they would loose a great deal of visibility. Kaloski helped her CO along and Anderson kept a stern vigil, from time to time sweeping around to their rear arc in case anything might decide to up and surprise them. As they made their way slowly across the wasteland it was as if a thousand eyes where looking at them. The thought that the NEB outfit might again grace their presence was a nervous enough proposition and this open ground only further breed the unwanted condition.

**********

The NEB soldiers heard nothing of the yell of pain and the roar of the explosion as it rocketed into the sky.

Bearings where easy enough to get even if the explosion was not a very audible one. They did not quite manage to hear the mine detonate. A soft sounding alarm went off from a belt-mounted unit which Shaw was carrying. It was an indicator as to when any one of the mines he had laid was set off. Unfortunately there was every bit the chance that this had been the work of a solitary screamer and not one of the Alliance soldiers at all.  Apprently the Screamers didn't venture this far away from Alliance bases.  Apprently.  Once already there was evidence that things were changing.  Even though the machine menace was fearful enough in itself there was a different but equally unwelcome fear coming from their human opponents. Shaw lead the way as he was the one who wanted to see the results of his efforts most of all. It would only take half an hour to reach the area.

It was time to turn about and make good the effects of those mines, both physically and morally.

The progress was rapid through the snow, encouraged by the thoughts of revenge for the sniper attack that had visited them. Adrenaline was racing and efforts increased almost totally elevating the drudgery of pounding through the powder. Sirus 6B was not a hospitable place at all and when you were getting shot at by upstart rebels there was nothing like getting some payback.

"They made it out of the danger area Sir and..." a pause for conformation, "one of them is wounded."

The scope of Shaw's weapon threw up target data for him to relay. It appeared that the wounded man was no longer armed. This was no doubt the team that had tried it on with them previously. Revenge is sweet Shaw thought. Heaven only knows what was going through Carson's mind. The rebels had managed to get quite a distance away. Places that were mined might well be watched or targeted by other weapons of the same force. The pressured team appeared to be heading for some dead ground and had almost made it. Not quite soon enough to avoid detection from the NEB faction who was now hunting them.

"Let's get on it then."

The front man gave out some bearings and the unit moved out, now with a new sense of purpose but an equal sense of caution. No one wanted to get their head blown off. Things often were not as they first seemed and desperate people could do desperate things to survive, to avoid capture.

A few minutes later it was time to move down a gear in order to maximise surprise. Two able bodied individuals and one badly wounded man, who was still capable of firing a weapon if he needed to. Carson had the look of an animal in his eyes, out for the hunt. Out for blood. At least he was keeping his mouth shut, much to the surprise and relief of his fellow soldiers. The sink which shielded the target from view was a very short 50 metres away now and the tension was flowing full force. If the ambushers' were going to be snapped it would be any time soon. One person to look after the wounded man and another to keep watch. But one man did not have eyes in the back of his head. It was vital to get the information they needed and to get the angles. Shaw moved forward and off to his right to come down on them from above, or in from behind if he could. That last man could be lying in wait for just such a move and that really did put the willies up him no end.

The others' would come in from the front and sweep forward. It seemed reasonable enough to assume it would work. Lacking communications between them didn't help. All but Shaw where within visual range to utilise hand signals. Urcamann went off to the opposite flank left. O'Regan went up the middle pushing forward while Carson moved around on his right side and pushed even further forward to capitalise on the shock that would come when Shaw made his dramatic appearance.

Shaw peered through his scope as he lay prone reducing his profile as best he could. Even though his grey uniform made him almost invisible while he lay there motionless a trained observer would see him the moment he moved. Worse still the Alliance opticals were every bit as effect as their own and that didn't make life any easier. Stolen technology made better by the Alliance scientists, what a cheek. That entered his mind and the NEB soldier found himself flinching at the thought of that sniper who had taken down Fletcher, getting a bead on him.

He came to his senses again and scanned down into the shelter that the rebels had made their home. A woman was busy tending to the wounded man. His leg had been disintegrated by the explosive power of the mine he had stood on. It wasn't designed to kill, just to maim. And that idea lead to the present advantage that the NEB forces now had. The enemy being held up, someone needing to play doctor. A dead man could be left to rot in the snow, not a wounded one. Particularly not if you're a moralistic Alliance scumbag Shaw thought.

It was time to do his dirty work once again.

**********

They thought they were safe. They were not. A combination of fatigue and a false sense of security, and probably to a lesser extent an undue amount of focus on their wounded colleague meant that for a short time they had failed to post a sentry. It was the moment when constant vigilance was faltered that the enemy would come and he would kill you.

Anderson threw himself about as his sixth sense determined his worst fears. A rifle was bearing down on him some forty metres away. A shot rang out as he went to bring his own weapon to the aim, the projectile impacted the snow just a mere metre away from his thigh. This told him the man that was upon him had a good skill. The next one, if he dared move, would be right between the eyes. There was no point worrying about the things he'd failed to do. You did as you were told when a man pointed a gun at you. Especially if he was your enemy.  A hand came up from the forestock and flicked down tinted sun glasses.  It was all part of the phycological game, Anderson knew.  Remove the humanity to breed the fear.  The hand returned to the weapon and the figure came forward without a word, dauntingly forward.

Shaw walked down slowly as Anderson got to his feet, palms of hands outward facing to show he had nothing in them. Both men knew the drill, and both had practised it many times before. The wounded man and his medic remained still without sudden movement just waiting for orders. Kaloski looked over Erricson's shoulder to see the three forms moving towards them. She whispered to her Commander what she saw without moving her eyes or head to alert the man with the gun pointed precisely at Anderson. The scarf about her face concealed the moment of her lips as she spoke. The guy looked in a terrible state even if he was the one with the draw.  She imagined it would take very little for him to squeeze off the final pressure of that trigger.

Stripped of their weapons, each of the three were ordered by an encouraging muzzle sway to separate out so there was no way they could communicate without being seen or heard. Their captors ensured that they did not travel between them just in case there were any thoughts of bravery amongst them.

Urcamann reached over to each one of his captives' in turn and stripped them of the tabs, to the amazement of those who watched on. The captain's focus was such the he seemed more set on the protective devices' removal than disarming the soldiers'. There was no time to be wasted with everything that had already transpired. But it seemed that this self-obsessed officer had something on his mind which he was not about to share.

The dismay was quickly verbalised.

"Oh shit, you dumb bastard... why did you do that?"

And O’Regan was supposed to be the most loyal and professional of the NEB soldiers there.

"If the screamers can skill saw the rebels up then maybe they might just be quite happy to behave themselves while we protect them under the POW treaty" came a cold defence, as unrepentant as it was undoubting.

The Captain did not seem in the slightest bit concerned. That had his own people as much as the prisoners looking uneasy. All but Carson who was quite content in broadcasting his indifference to the whole proceedings.

"Who gives a fuck? Leave 'em out here to get buzz-sawed by their own creation."

"Shut your mouth Carson" Shaw snapped, "rather just leave you out here to rot than them"

"Shows your loyalties well and true then doesn't it boy’oh?" Carson said with a snide tone, of which the remark was not typical. It seemed to demonstrate some intellect above the level of sear brutality for a change.

Shaw just huffed and gave Carson the bird when the subject of his insult had turned his head.

PART V ^

An unknown insanity pulsed through Carson's body. It welled up inside him and no matter how he tried he could not sway it. Every muscle in his body seemed to tense up and veins came rushing to the surface. The damp chilling air did not hinder it. Some undisclosed force was possessing him without understandable purpose. His back arched violently without warning, the reflex bringing him to his feet. A squeaking silent scream cut up through his throat but his brain did not concern itself with the reason. Underneath there was only the thirst for blood, to search out blood. Human blood.

Eyes became recticles, like a rifle sight, homing into viable targets. Something inside controlled his nerves and his desire to kill. His bones and tendons ceased as if controlled by some unseen master. It was no good to hunt without stealth. There was danger and there could be chance of victory  if discipline was adhered to. Patience was suddenly important. Survival a priority.

Carson felt a swelling in his eyeballs, like they were so strained as to almost burst from their sockets. The pressure was almost unbearable. The pain was surging so much he tried to scream to rest his mind of it. But he could not. In a moment of humanness it was as if he had become a vessel for some single-minded dominating entity. Then his skull jerked to the side and the thought of reality was gone. It was replaced with a deep burning sensation grating yet slowly flowing through his brain.

Then there was an unanticipated staying of the torture. Still there it was simply held back by that entity. No escape would come. Carson was sure of that. Even if he could not reason with any other facet of his life. Memories were gone. And no understandable or conceivable idea of where. Senses where tuned beyond what he remembered. Amplified beyond imagination.

**********

Urcamann was the first one he saw. Beyond any humanity there was no motive or premeditation. The officer was not guilty nor innocent. He was just there. Under a cloak of unnatural silence Carson moved in on his prey. Only an unexplained instinct drove him. A free chest rose and fell under a thermal blanket, inside the restriction of a issue sleeping bag.

A clasping grip of unrelenting steel struck out across the jaw and face of the soldier. Unstopping in a single bloodletting fury Carson pushed on without mercy or exhaustion. His torso twisted back and his right arm wound up as if to be propelled by some gigantic spring. With inhuman power it rebounded and a cast-iron clenched fist shot out into the shocked soldier. He struggled with life for five more seconds until his brain confirmed his vital organs crushed or collapsed. Soft armour was not designed to stop hammering blows and the resulting massive blunt wound soaked the cold grey uniform in deep red blood. Widened eyes remained open and lost in death. Carson released the head from his vice grip and it dropped back no longer having the life or will to stand.

Gratification did not visit the soul of the killer, nor relief or pity, only a need to survive in order to be able to kill again. All that remained was a velvet grime and a corpse as the soulless Carson made good his escape into the darkness. The night's only friend was unknowingness like that which forced the slaughter.

Kaloski screamed out as she suddenly realised what was happening. Instantly alert to the situation she yelled for Shaw who stirred in the cold atop his thermal protection on the snowy earth. The first thing he saw was Urcamann's body strewn across the white landscape. The amount of blood was enough to shock him into action. His sleeping bag was off him in an instant and his gun in hand. It had been inside the bag during the night. It was always easier to fire a round throw soft material in case of ambush than it as to have someone take your own weapon from you in the same circumstances. First thoughts racing through Shaw’s head that the Captain was not even in one piece. But he certainly was no longer alive. A massive thrusting had caused inconcievable damage pushing deep into his abdomen and then upward into his vital area, into the chest cavity. Remains were staining the pure whiteness of the snow blanket beneath the corpse. Kaloski reached for her weapon now too only after a few seconds too long a shock. She raised her rifle and looked into the scope scanning about. The optics computer whirred itself into action. there was nothing to be seen. Shaw did the same in the opposite direction.

Moments later, satisfied that they where not going to be the next target, of whatever it was that had killed the Captain, they policed up their equipment.

"Where the fuck is Carson" Shaw suddenly announced, surprised it had hadn't dawned upon him sooner.

"Yeah you're right" his female companion said trying not to sound surprised herself, "this is giving me the creeps."

"Never did trust that guy, stranger from nowhere..."

"Yeah I heard that, hadn't known him five minutes and I took a instant dislike of the guy. So what was the story with that guy anyways?" Kaloski asked, almost as an after thought.  Wondering if this was really the time.

"I'd been on this dump for years eh and one day out of the blue he transferred in from some place. Not much of a story really from all accounts but of what there was there was never any contradictions. Nothing to throw up any doubts of what did come about. Claimed some story about NEB Intelligence Group, black ops. Seemed fine enough.  Mean when someone is brief and to the point and mentions that sort of stuff you don't ask further questions... ya know what I mean?"

"Yeah nah I know what yah mean" came a sobering reply.

Then there was a roar as suddenly out of no where Carson appeared.  Right behind Kaloski.  Impossibility racked her mind.  Silent beast like stealth.  A killing frenzy.  Before she was fully turned to face him, with Shaw's sudden but worthless warning of danger, a hardened fist smashed her solidly against the face.  Blood came pouring as from her mouth and nose as she toppled to the ground.

Shaw looked over at the still form of Kaloski in the snow. He couldn’t tell whether or not she was still alive or not. He had other things on his mind, and if he didn’t stay focused he’d end up dead there was no doubting that. Normal humans with half a brain were dangerous enough. Machines with more than that, no pain receptors, or emotions were not going to give you any second chances.  Which was Carson?  There was no question now.  He was out for blood.

A powerful fist came crushing down determined to smash the side of Shaw’s face. The intended victim managed to swerve to one side just in time. The rock where his head was just a second before became splinters suffering to a blow that was not created by any human force. Shaw saw the rock explode as he fell back into a roll to bring himself back up onto his feet.

Lisa wasn’t willing to move. It didn’t seem that anything was broken. Quite surprising considering the impact she had obviously taken. The lungs were still working and the heart still beating. Her face was planted deep into the snow so she pulled it back just a bit. Then the pain came.  Suddenly it dawned on her that she couldn’t see what was going on around her. Carson could be looking straight at her for all she knew. To be motionless was probably the better part of valour. She remained still.

Only a few metres away lay her rifle that had sprung from her arms in her encounter with Carson. It might as well have been one hundred miles away. Effort aside, she’d need all the help she could get. To take on whatever it was that Carson appeared to be without a weapon of some type would be madness. Better to just lie up and wait. Shaw was still battling his own personal war with the beast of Carson, so obviously another one of the machines'. Dulled senses and weakness were no dwelling place for contemplating the questions of this mess. She was no use to herself much less a dying man. Just maybe she might survive. Shaw was about to die. Carson would wander the wastelands of Sirus 6B and find his next victim. Kaloski would remain motionless, her body chilled against the freezing surface of the planet until she saw it was safe again. She could be warmed again but there was no recovery from being ripped apart by a tireless monster in a senseless act of sacrifice for a man already on his way to the grave. In any case he was her enemy as much as Carson and she owed him nothing. Being human, did that make any difference to her? She could not consider this as he fell in and out of consciousness. On awakening Kaloski was even colder now and had forgotten her previous thoughts.Only a few metres away lay her rifle that had sprung from her arms in her encounter with Carson. It might as well have been one hundred miles away. Effort aside, she’d need all the help she could get. To take on whatever it was that Carson appeared to be without a weapon of some type would be madness. Better to just lie up and wait. Shaw was still battling his own personal war with the beast of Carson, so obviously another one of the machines'. Dulled senses and weakness were no dwelling place for contemplating the questions of this mess. She was no use to herself much less a dying man. Just maybe she might survive. Shaw was about to die. Carson would wander the wastelands of Sirus 6B and find his next victim. Kaloski would remain motionless, her body chilled against the freezing surface of the planet until she saw it was safe again. She could be warmed again but there was no recovery from being ripped apart by a tireless monster in a senseless act of sacrifice for a man already on his way to the grave. In any case he was her enemy as much as Carson and she owed him nothing. Being human, did that make any difference to her? She could not consider this as he fell in and out of consciousness. On awakening Kaloski was even colder now and had forgotten her previous thoughts.

Blurred eyes told her brain of danger and turmoil but little else. Human struggle against insane killing machine. Some presence of moral and responsibility seeped out of the wounded solder. It bleed through her veins and even though something told her now was not the time. The Alliance had made the Screamers, to defend her against the likes of him. Yet now she yearned for him to survive. She desired to be the one doing the battle. Some unfounded responsibility that it was her calling to fight Carson. It was the Alliance who created the deadly flesh-seeking metal monsters. They had evolved into something much more devastating than either side could have imagined. Yet she was still responsible. And the beast that had come from below would now kill them both.  For her, what was left of humanity.

**********

Ends ^

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