Queen of Jarilo

"Have any of the other teams checked in?" Walked asked, gesturing to her heavy pack and the comms equipment within.

"No, not so far."

"That's weird," Walker muttered, his brow furrowing with concern. "Get on the horn to Fleetcom and see if they've heard from the other scouts. We're a little early on our report, but I can't believe that not one team has found traces of the Bugs yet."

She sat on a raised root, tapping at the touchscreen on her wrist with her padded fingers. Her expression changed, first confusion, then alarm.

"What's wrong?" Walker asked.

"I got nothin', can't send or receive. The line is dead."

"What do you mean the line is dead?"

He walked over to her and brought up his own display, examining the connection status bar. It showed nothing, no signal.

"The fucking equipment has probably gone out of sync again," he grumbled as he opened the pocket on her massive rucksack, flipping open the protective cover on the blocky device and messing with the dials. "I swear to God, if this piece of junk keeps losing connection then I'm..."

No, it was properly synced. Walker turned up the volume on his computer and set it to speaker mode so that Kaz could hear it, playing back the radio channel. A series of bizarre bleeps and pops came through, it was interference of some kind.

"That's EMI," Walker explained, "something is jamming us."

"There's no storm," Kaz said as she rose to her feet, her hand hovering near the rifle that was slung across her chest. "The planet is uninhabited, there's no way that this could be accidental."

"I agree, we're being jammed by someone. Have you ever seen Bugs do this before?"

"No, never. They don't even use radio. They communicate using pheromones, and for ship-to-ship they use those big, luminescent fins on their hive ships to signal one another."

"Well, we need to get outside the range of whatever is jamming us. We should head back to Charlie, come on."

Kaz stood, straightening her pack as Walker set off. But before they had gone more than a few feet, she raised her fist and hissed a warning.

"Walker! Stop. I smell them."

He flipped his visor down and drew his .45, switching to infrared as he scanned the trees for heat signatures.

"Talk to me Kaz, what do you smell?"

"Bugs, a lot of them, and they're close."

"Why didn't you smell them earlier?"

"They must have been downwind of us, they knew we were here, and they used the terrain to their advantage."

"How close?"

"Probably fifty meters."

"What direction?"

"All around us..."

They couldn't call for help with their signal being jammed, and they couldn't run, it was time to fight.

"Weapons hot," Walker ordered, holstering his sidearm and shouldering his XMR. "We are not gonna let these creeps trap us, got it?"

"Got it. These roaches went to a lot of trouble to corral a couple of scouts, they must really want to keep their hive hidden. Do you think they're attacking the other teams too?"

"I wouldn't doubt it, but we can't warn anybody until we get out of jamming range."

They stood back to back in the forest, Walker's visor and Kaz's feline eyes scanning the gloom, weapons ready to fire at anything that moved. They glanced up at the canopy, remembering that the Bugs had been using the trees to get around, and Kaz sniffed the air as her round ears swiveled like radar dishes.

A pair of reflective, compound eyes appeared from behind a tree trunk, as if they had manifested from thin air. More followed, until Kaz and Walker were surrounded by a ring of glowing eyes, a dozen Drones staring them down as the aliens emerged from the undergrowth. They weren't making any moves, their mouthparts twitching and flexing as if anticipating something, their surprisingly low body heat showing up as a dull smear of red through Walker's optics.

Even Kaz was confused by their odd behavior. They didn't attack, they just waited as if they were expecting something. She didn't fire, waving her long rifle between targets, her sharp teeth bared.

"What are your orders, Walker?" she hissed through clenched teeth. "What do we do?"

"Do you see any guns? I don't see any guns."

None of the Bugs were armed with their usual plasma weaponry, just the ceremonial daggers that they liked to employ in close quarters, and those were all sheathed. Why would they stage an ambush without guns? It didn't make any sense. Fuck it, whatever the Bugs were doing, it wasn't anything positive.

"On my mark, you kill as many as you can," he whispered. "I don't know what they're up to, but it can't be good."

"Just give the order, Walker."

He felt a sudden, sharp pain in his neck, his hand moving to cover it reflexively. Kaz spun her head, eyes wide.

"What's wrong!?"

"Something...tagged me..."

He pulled a small dart from his neck, examining it as he rolled it between his fingers. It was like a hypodermic needle with fins for stability, almost like the ones they used to play games at the recreation center back on the Pinwheel. He looked up into the trees and saw a winged Drone with some kind of rifle. It wasn't a plasma caster, something else, had it shot him with something?

"Walker, Walker!"

Kaz's voice was growing faint, as if heard from the end of a long tunnel, and he felt himself drop to one knee as if he was no longer in control of his body. He was confused, darkness creeping at the corners of his vision, fatigue greater than any that he had ever felt washing over him in crippling waves. There was movement around him, flashing blades, the crack of a rifle. He heard gunfire, but it was far away, of no concern to him. Try as he might, he couldn't rise to his feet. His muscles were failing him, and as he fell forward, his world finally went black.

***

Walker awoke to blinding light. He tried to cover his eyes with his hands, but found that he was unable to move them. It smelled musty, damp, and it was too warm. He blinked against the glare, the room slowly coming into focus. He could see a dirt roof and some kind of bright light bulb on a flexible arm. He couldn't remember anything, his mind was foggy, the memories escaping him like sand pouring between his fingers. What had happened? He had a cracking headache, maybe he was hungover and in the infirmary. He never could handle his drink.

No, something was wrong. He had a sinking feeling in his belly, as if his body knew something that his conscious mind had not yet grasped. He tried to turn his head to look around, but found that it was bound, what felt like a leather strap affixing it to some kind of hard table. His wrists were bound in much the same manner, and he felt a brief moment of panic as he realized that he couldn't move, quickly suppressing it as he tried to collect himself.

Slowly, his memories returned, and he remembered being ambushed by Bugs in the forest. Kaz, where was Kaz!?

He opened his mouth to call out to her, but no sound came, as if he was trapped in a nightmare. He saw movement, a shadow on the ceiling, and he turned his eyes towards its source in a desperate attempt to get a look at it. Something shuffled into his peripheral vision, something short and stocky, the glint of a Betelgeusian shell setting off alarm bells in his brain.

He struggled against his bonds, but to no avail, his eyes wide with fear as the table that he was strapped to was lowered towards the ground. The Bug loomed over him, like nothing that he had ever seen before. It was instantly recognizable as a Betelgeusian, it had the ornate horn and the four arms, along with the chitinous shell that reflected the light in iridescent hues of blue and green. Unlike its Drone counterparts, however, it was short and stocky. Perhaps four feet tall if you didn't count the horn. Where the Drones had four arms of comparable size, the upper arms of this alien were far stronger and stockier, while the lower pair seemed thin and atrophied. The Drones always wore their helmets with compound eyes that glittered in the light, but this creature's face was bare. Its eyes were expressive and remarkably mammalian, a striking blue in color, framed by pink discoloration. Its complex mouthparts were similarly discolored, and the mandibles opened briefly, a pink tongue that must have been a foot long shooting forth as if to taste the air.

It did not make eye contact with him, it looked over his body instead, examining him. Walker heard the clinking of metal, and his heart began to race as he watched the alien lift what looked like a scalpel or some kind of small knife in its secondary set of hands, surprisingly dexterous. He wanted to struggle, to cry out, but he could do neither as the insect brought the blade down towards his chest. He felt pressure, and he realized that the Bug was cutting open his armor. It skirted the ceramic plates that protected his chest and belly, cutting away the Kevlar as it moved down towards his belt. The knife must have been sharp indeed to cut through the material with such ease.

When it was done, it lifted the armored plates away with its upper set of arms. They must have been heavy for a creature of such small stature, but it set them aside without much difficulty. Walker heard it put the scalpel down on a nearby surface, and then he flinched as its hard fingers pulled open his fatigues and crawled across his naked skin. It was examining him, why?

The Bugs had taken him alive, they had planned it carefully. The ambush, the dart gun, what was their goal? The Betelgeusians didn't take prisoners, everyone knew that. Were they going to experiment on him in order to engineer some horrible bioweapon that would more effectively kill humans?

Its chitinous digits roamed up his neck and across his face, Walker shutting his eyes tightly as it pressed its fingers against his nose and forehead. It seemed to be probing for something, almost massaging the bridge of his nose and his cheeks. It withdrew, retrieving some other implement, Walker's fists balling in their restraints as it pushed something cold and hard up his nostril. He coughed, choking as the tool sprayed some kind of chemical into his sinuses. He didn't even have time to smell it before his whole face went numb. It was anesthetic of some kind, he could feel it all the way down his throat. His tongue was like a lump of lead in his mouth, and he found himself unable to open his eyes.

He felt pressure again, this time on his forehead. He had undergone surgery before, enough to know the dull sting of a blade felt through numbed flesh. Oh God, it was cutting his face. He couldn't move, and he couldn't call for help.

Walker passed out.

CHAPTER 7: P.O.W

He awoke in a cell, a four-foot cube of packed dirt, the only entrance sealed with some kind of resin door that formed an irregular mesh. They were prison bars of a kind, designed to keep him in but to let those outside see into his cage. His head throbbed, and he cradled it in his hands, noticing that his scalp had been shaved clean. He touched his fingers tentatively against his face, feeling knitting scar tissue and a sizable swelling just above his nose and between his eyes. It felt like somebody had cut a jawbreaker in half and had slipped it beneath his skin. It was hard to tell if it was filled with fluid or if it was a solid mass.

What had they done to him, and why?

He couldn't smell anything, his nose was clogged with dried blood, and his sense of taste was dulled. There was a hint of copper in the back of his throat, but beyond that, nothing. At least he could see and hear. His eyes felt bruised, but they were in full working order as he looked about his cell.

Packed dirt walls, packed dirt floor, packed dirt ceiling. He must be underground, somewhere in the network of tunnels that lay beneath Jarilo's surface. Even if he was able to get past the resin bars, he would no doubt find himself lost in a maze with no way of orienting himself.

He stood gingerly, he still felt woozy, the lingering effects of the anesthetic no doubt. It was a miracle that he wasn't dead. It took a trained anaesthetist to administer the drug safely, even when they knew the correct dosage for the species in advance. It wasn't something that you could just eyeball. Still, anesthetic suggested empathy, at least of a kind. Why would the Betelgeusians take steps to minimize his suffering? He had been strapped to the table, they hadn't done it in order to subdue him...

He stumbled over to the resin door, wrapping his fingers around the bars and attempting to see into the dirt hallway outside. Although they were underground, it wasn't completely dark. What appeared to be luminescent pustules clung to the ceiling in clusters like moss, providing enough light to see by. They didn't seem to be electric, or even technological in nature at all. Could they be biological? Producing light through some internal means?

He opened his mouth to speak, to call out to his captors, but no sound came. His throat burned and his mouth was still somewhat numb, he might not be able to use them for a while. He hammered his fist against the bars. They felt like plastic, their appearance was crude and yet their construction was remarkably sturdy. He wouldn't be able to break them. He took the bars in his hands and shook them, seeing if he could dislodge the door's hinges from the dirt wall, but their construction defied logic, and they didn't budge.

He stepped back, frustrated, glancing around the room. The walls were only made of dirt, perhaps he could tunnel his way out? He knelt in the corner and attempted to dig his fingers into the soil. It was hard, coated with some kind of clear resin. He wouldn't be able to get out this way either. He was totally trapped, and why would it be otherwise?

He sat, defeated, touching his fingers against the lump on his face again. God, it felt unnatural, like it wasn't supposed to be there. He wanted to take a knife and cut it out. He wasn't worried about the scars, the medics could smooth those out in the time it took to get a haircut. But there was a foreign object embedded in his face, and he was acutely aware of it.

Suddenly he felt as if he was being watched. He glanced at the door, seeing a Bug standing just beyond it. It was one of the new variety, about four feet tall and built like a linebacker, its almost vestigial secondary arms hanging by its sides. Walker stood, staring it down.

It was holding something in one of its larger arms and Walker recognized it as his pack, his eyes widening. He hadn't realized how ravenous he was, and there were MREs in there, his canteen too. The Bug placed a chitinous hand on the door and pulled it open, there didn't seem to be a lock or a switch. It waited in the threshold for a moment, as if expecting him to flee, then tossed his pack inside.

It closed the door again as he walked over to the bag, rummaging through it and withdrawing one of the plastic packets marked meal ready to eat. He tore it open, his stomach rumbling, then realized that he should probably pace himself. He didn't know how long he would be trapped down here and it was unlikely that he could eat whatever it was that the Bugs fed on. He should ration this food, stretch it out and make it last as long as he possibly could.

Did anybody know that he had been captured? MIA where Bugs were concerned universally meant dead. They didn't take prisoners, or at least they hadn't until now. Would the UNN forces on Jarilo be looking for him? Had Kaz survived? Would she go for help, or was she trapped in some nearby cell too? Walker didn't hold out much hope of rescue, they would have no reason to assume that he was alive. Perhaps the Bugs had taken many prisoners, using them as guinea pigs in weapons research, and nobody had ever found out about it?

He ripped open the wrapper of an oat bar, finding that he couldn't smell it, and took a bite. He chewed, unable to taste, and then swallowed. It caught in his throat, his muscles still numb and unresponsive, Walker coughing as his body violently rejected it. He sputtered and choked, fumbling for his canteen and taking a long draw. The cool liquid was soothing, and he could swallow that. Might be a better idea to wait a day or two more before he tried to eat again, give his body time to heal.

Had they been so foolish as to leave him a weapon or his comms gear?

He searched through the bag, but found nothing of use besides the MREs. They had taken everything else of value. He sat, leaning against one of the walls, going over the options in his head. The best thing to do now was to sleep, accelerate his healing. They had left him his fatigues, and so he removed his jacket, rolling it up into a pillow and placing it on the floor. He lay down, careful with his head. It was still ringing as if someone had stuck it with a hammer.

He would rest, heal up. Once he got his strength back, he would find a way out of here...or die trying.

***

The next day Walker awoke to a new sensation. He opened his eyes and sat up straight, running his hands across his face. The scars were gone, he could feel no trace of them. His nose was unclogged, his tongue spry in his mouth, and the numbness that had so impeded his ability to speak and swallow was now absent. His shaved hair had even grown back to its original length. The lump between his eyes was still present, but it was no longer sore and tender.

Had he healed overnight? He was a human, not a Borealan, it should have taken him days to recover from such an invasive surgery. And yet here he was. Had the Bugs somehow accelerated his healing process?

There was something else too, a new...smell? No, a taste. Some combination of both? It was as if he could both smell and taste the world around him. He could see through the walls in a manner of speaking, sense what was going on beyond them. The world was awash with this new awareness. It was complex, however, he couldn't make sense of it. It was like trying to read the text of a language that he didn't speak. It was so strong, almost overwhelming.

It didn't take a doctor to see what they had done to him. The Bugs had grafted some kind of new sensory organ into his body, but how was that possible? Human medicine was still tackling the problems of organ rejection between patients, and yet these aliens had successfully implanted an entirely foreign sensory organ, tapping it into his nervous system to boot. Far from butchery or experimentation, his surgery must have been deft and intricate indeed, but why had they done this?

His questions would not be answered, he must find out for himself.

He felt stronger today, and he was certain that he would be able to eat. He retrieved the oat bar from his pack that he had opened the previous day, bringing it towards his mouth.

He stopped, overwhelmed for a moment by the rush of information, difficult for his brain to process. He smelled...or tasted every dried fruit, their flavors exploding in his head like fireworks. He sensed the honey and the oils, smelled the oats and grains, tasted blueberry and raspberry. What part of his brain was processing this new data? The olfactory bulb? The gustatory cortex? Had they operated on his brain and rewired it? What else might they have tampered with?

He took a bite, rolling it around on his tongue, his sense of taste distinct from this new one. He needed a name for it. Smaste would do, at least until he had the time to think of something better. He chuckled to himself as he took another bite, his stomach rumbling audibly. Nothing like a meal to raise one's spirits.

He sensed something, pausing his chewing as he sniffed the air. Something was coming.

He stood as a Bug appeared in front of his cell door, watching him with its striking, blue eyes. It was the same one as before, short and stocky, with mismatched arms and an iridescent shell in shades of blue and green. Walker saw it in a whole new light now, his smaste painting a picture in his mind, like a kind of synesthesia. His brain obviously lacked the specialized lobes that would have better interpreted these senses, and so they translated as colors and smells, not seen with the eyes but rather felt. If you were to imagine the colors of a rainbow in your mind or recall the taste of your favorite food, you might not actually experience them, but memory and imagination could approximate the sensations.