The Darkness You Bring

It was Reyalis who barked the reply: "What 'Teacher?'"

The man was taken aback by this--as if what she asked was so elemental that he feared he'd misunderstood her. "You know, Kirz... Kirz is the Teacher."

"Well, do tell us what your Teacher has to say. I'm dying to know." Her words dripped of scorn.

"The Teacher says to go back. If you go back you will not be harmed. If you continue, you will not survive. The Teacher's people are free now. They are not of the empire anymore."

At this, Reyalis threw back her head and laughed. "Please send Kirz my regards." A bolt of violet lightning lanced from the diamond-pulser at her wrist, striking the man's crotch. With a scream, he fell, clutching the spot where his genitals had been.

Then the lieutenant beckoned over her shoulder to the floaters. "Let's move."

"Fuck..." Feeling queasy, I shared a look with the sentry posted at the tail-end of the second floater. "Put the guy out of his misery, ok?"

The soldier nodded, evidently grateful for the order.

Over the next two days, our progress grew arduous. Every klick or two, we found the track blocked by a dense, thorny abattis of trunks and branches, far too imposing for the floaters to hurl themselves over. Each one had to be dismantled before we could proceed.

Gradually the squad developed a routine for dealing with them. As soon as one of these barricades was spotted, a couple of grunts were sent forward on foot, warding against boobytraps or ambush. Then the floaters set up a perimeter, with a few troopers keeping lookout, while the remainder labored hard to undo the work of our unseen foes. Reyalis rarely lifted a metal-gloved finger to help--except occasionally, when a log proved massive enough that only the fusion powered brawn of her suit could budge it.

The whole time, we never saw a living soul. And beyond the obstacles in our path, we witnessed precious little evidence of any human presence at all. Only once or twice did we come across an abandoned farmstead, close to the Heartline--structures burned recently enough that oily plumes of soot still trailed off into the sky.

It wasn't until the second day of downed-trees--the fifth day of our journey overall--that danger struck. And when it came, it was unexpected. We'd had a longer run than usual without finding our way blocked, several kilometers at least, and perhaps it encouraged us to let down our guard a little.

I recall I was peering ahead through the haze of humidity, and the sickly amber rays of waning afternoon, when from one blink to the next, in a spot where there had been nothing, a couple of old crones now stood serenely. They waited just a short way ahead of the lead floater, motionless in the shade of the foliage bordering the track. Only their brown eyes darted, sparkling with some secret we weren't privy to.

The women had wide, shallow baskets perched in their hands--holding them out, as if to tempt the shockers with some market-day delicacy. Besides that, however, they were entirely nude, just as the messenger had been two days earlier. And with their gray tresses tied severely on their heads, their tanned leather skin, their emaciated frames and withered breasts, the image of them sent a twinge of disquiet through my gut.

The first floater slowed. One of the troopers, a freckled, oval-faced girl with frizzy red hair, beckoned the women over, and they approached. The hum of the soldier's voice as she read out the imperial edict was indistinct, but I knew it well enough by now. And I wondered: was she really about to search the hags' baskets for plasgrenades? Surely these weren't our enemies!

I was quite wrong. One of the women said something, but I couldn't make it out. Then, with a quick flick of their arms, they flung the contents of their baskets up into the air. Instantly, a dusty cloud of bilious-yellow enveloped the lead floater. The fighters ducked away, covering their mouths and grabbing for breathers. The rip-cracking of autoguns sounded, and the old women fell, dropped cleanly into the underbrush at their feet.

But the damage was already done. Even as I watched, the floater's air intake sucked in thick, smoky tendrils of the stuff. There was a keening whine... a wheezing, gasping, reverberating series of clanks. With a shriek of rending metal, the cowling twisted and broke, and a volley of fan blades shot spiraling off into the trees. And then the wounded beast of a machine died, crashing awkwardly to earth.

The shockers deployed, but there were no more hostiles to be seen. I paced forward with Reyalis to inspect the damage. Peering through the jagged holes torn in the cover, it was easy to see what had happened--though a good deal harder to believe.

"I know this," I said, looking at the thick, solidified blobs and tendrils of goo that coated and gummed the mechanism. "Lentumus Glomerus I think it's called. But-" I frowned. It didn't make sense...

Reyalis pasted a look of disgust on her face, as if to say 'only on a provincial outworld!' For the first time, though, I also thought I caught a hint of uncertainty, even anxiety, in her eyes. "So? What the fuck is this Lenta-whatever?"

"For the early settlers on Barnards, it was a big concern. It's a kind of indigenous spore, or alga--nothing that would trip the chemsensors. In its usual form it's very light, and floats harmlessly through the air. But under the right conditions, it metastasizes. Sucks gas and water-vapor from the air. Gains mass exponentially. Divides. Clumps together into colonies."

Her voice was hollow. "Why the hell wasn't this in the briefings?"

I scratched my head. "I mean, it just shouldn't do this. For one thing, there was a big eradication campaign. Some chem they came up with. Wiped the stuff out for kilometers around every human center. And for another thing, I've never heard of it on this magnitude. Even when it was a problem, it was a small-scale problem, a gradual problem. How you could isolate kilos of it--enough to take down a floater? I can't begin to imagine!"

"Lieutenant," a voice broke in.

We glanced over to where the soldier indicated. Fuck. It was the blonde I'd seen disciplined on that second morning. One of the blades had smashed through her face. All the kevvron in the world wouldn't help against that.

It was a somber party that made camp that night.

The single floater that remained was overburdened. We'd jettisoned all unnecessary supplies. There would be no more tents, no more china, no more Celestria-caliber mealpacks--just ammo and hard-rations.

And we'd had to leave the girl's body behind as well, buried shallow in the soggy peat.

I could feel the anger and frustration building up in Reyalis, demanding an outlet. To lose a trooper on a piss-ant mission like this? At the hands of a couple of old ladies and some algae? She needed to take her rage out on someone. And Kirz wasn't there--so she settled for the people at hand.

"Attention!" She shouted. The squad lined up, faces sullen. "Who had duty stations on the right side of that floater? Present yourselves!"

The ginger woman who had spoken with the natives took a pace forward. So did two others--a tall, sallow-skinned fellow with dark hair and a scowl etched on his face; and a fair-complexioned lad who was shorter, more compact, and probably only a couple years older than Zefon.

"Shiyava, Balaan, Mikkil!" Reyalis snarled. "By your incompetence, you allowed a sister to die today. You should have spotted those hostiles before they even reached the road. You should have shot them on sight"

I saw Shiyava bite her lip. I knew what she was thinking--that their orders had sanctioned them to do nothing of the sort. But I prayed she wouldn't speak up. In Reyalis's current mood, that sort of truth-telling might have proved fatal for the girl.

The lieutenant allowed a long, ominous minute to tick away: fists balled, red-faced, feeding on the rising tension. Then her voice rang out hoarse. "Reg-Seven!"

The barest murmur of discontent ran through the ranks. It was nearly imperceptible--not even a murmur, really, so much as an alteration of the posture, and a glint of defiance in the eyes. But military discipline exerts a tenacious hold, and after a moment's hesitation, the unit complied.

The three accused followed much the same routine as when that poor dead soldier had received a switching, days earlier. This time, however, they stripped off entirely, from head to toe, revealing the kind of taut, chiseled physiques that I'd come to expect from imperial shock-troops. Once naked, they bent over, leaning their foreheads against the floater. Shiyava had smallish teats, but at this angle they still dangled pendulously--a pathetic, bovine detail that clashed awkwardly with her warrior persona.

While this was going on, Reyalis sauntered off to the edge of the woods. Selecting a thick, sturdy branch, she cut it down and limbed it with quick pulses of light from her wrist. Then she returned to the group, tapping the end of this makeshift staff ominously against the ground.

"Positions!" she growled. All three of the soldiers shifted their stances wider. In addition, Shiyava reached both hands behind and spread open her buttocks. This caused her labia to pull apart as well, exposing every intimate ridge and pleat of her vulva, and the inky-dark entrance to her vagina. I felt very uncomfortable about what was going to happen next.

Reyalis strode purposefully toward Mikkil first. With a single swift, merciless, upward swing she banged the side of the stave up into his crotch. The lad gave a cry of anguish and collapsed, grabbing his testicles. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead, and I pressed my legs together involuntarily. Holy Maker. The pose they were in left their balls just teed up for the woman. Totally defenseless--utterly vulnerable.

Balaan knew he was next, and he handled it a little better. Only a brief grunt of pain escaped between his gritted teeth (though he too was left gasping on the ground afterwards). And finally, Shiyava received comparable treatment. Was that better for a female, or worse? I had no idea.

After the squad was dismissed, I slunk off to try to get some sleep, aiming for a spot as far from Reyalis as possible. What was wrong with the woman? I'd never treat even the most heavily-mortgaged indenture the way she'd manhandled those soldiers.

I'd heard rumors that in rare situations, DNAssage could scramble one's circuits. Still, I doubted that might be the case here. Such malfunctions weren't supposed to be subtle enough to remain undetected for long--certainly not for long enough to graduate the Imperial WarCombine...

When we packed up the next morning, I saw that the three troopers Reyalis had singled out wore neither body-armor, nor clothes. Only boots and guns. And the way they were hobbling around, I doubted they were good for much anyway.

I tried to intervene. "Lieutenant, we need our squad at full strength. Give them their armor, at least. Kirz may have un-safed the weapons of those provos we lost."

But her manner was austere and unwavering. "Reg-Seven is clear. Don't tell me how to run my unit. I'd love an excuse to bring you up on charges."

I didn't think she'd dare follow through on that threat--but I didn't want to test it either.

Once again, our progress was slowed by knotted, thorny barriers, doled out to us at regular intervals by Kirz and his disciples. In her mechsuit, Reyalis took the lead in clearing the obstacles now, unwilling to lose the time needed for her depleted force to accomplish the task unaided.

The shockers remained on high alert; and although their orders hadn't changed, I knew that any human being we saw would be cut down instantly. I didn't feel entirely at peace with it--these were the civvies I was ostensibly here to oversee, and there might still be loyalists among them. Yet, I found it hard to argue with the general sentiment.

More than once that day, those trigger-happy grunts hosed down the treeline with a fusillade of ordinance. Shooting at shadows, or ghosts, or who knows what. Privately, I harbored serious doubts whether we'd manage to spy the enemy when the time came. Even before setting out, we'd known the infragear would be useless. The flora of Barnards ran a high metabolism that kept the jungle decidedly hot, even at night. So, it was purely a matter of visual sighting, and I didn't like the odds. Our foes had a limitless expanse of dense, murky wilderness to hide in; whilst we toiled in the open, hewing stubbornly to the only road in town.

And sadly, my premonitions were correct.

Disaster struck just as the big, red-gold disk of the sun reached its zenith. The soldiers were strewn out over the floater, some of them gnawing mealbars, while the rest bristled munitions in all directions. It was a spot like a thousand others we'd passed--one where the jungle encroached a bit, and some of the largest frond trees arced drunkenly out over the track. One moment, everything was fine. And the next, a deluge of bubbly brownish liquid spilled forth from the foliage overhead, splashing messily into the floater's cockpit.

Everything happened at once. The screaming was awful. The vehicle veered off course, curving mindlessly to the left and smashing head-on into one of those giant, woody stalks. A half-dozen autoguns rattled out, and a young, unclad man dropped from the tree, thudding dead on the ground. I never did know exactly how he'd concealed himself from us--I only saw him fall after the shockers had got him.

The squad fanned out, waving their flamers wildly, igniting the canopy for a hundred meters in every direction. But there was no one else--just a single lad hiding in ambush, with suicidal determination in his heart.

I'm no scientist, but I'd be hard pressed to name an acid as caustic as the fluid he poured over us. Up on the observation platform, Reyalis and I missed the worst of it. My own escape was particularly miraculous. A few stray drops hit my arm, and even that made me bite my tongue in pain. I bear the scars today. But if it had been an ounce of the stuff, I wouldn't have lived to tell the tale.

Reyalis was hit harder. A fair dollop splashed up over her chestplate and helmet. The infinalloy remained entirely unmarked. But the substance was potent enough to etch the clear bubble of the visor, rendering it impossible to see through. Unserviceable.

The scene in the cockpit was much, much worse--a seething, smoking mess. Three troopers were down. One was Mikkil, and honestly, there wasn't much left of him. He might have been the lucky one, though. The others had died more slowly, as the liquid seeped into the joints and seams between their kevvron panels.

The floater was done-for as well. The controls were melted beyond recognition. Even if the motors still worked, the craft simply couldn't be operated.

Reyalis tugged her helmet off with great care and discarded it. The look in her eyes was wild, haunted. "What was that?"

I was at a loss. "Much of the vegetation has acidic sap. Mildly acidic. But... if it was concentrated somehow? Distilled, maybe? Or... perhaps a species we haven't cataloged...?"

"Fuck..." Just for a second I feared she was going to have a breakdown. Then she rallied. "Gear up, soldiers! We're hoofing it on foot now."

We unloaded what we could from the floater into our packs. I judged that with a couple of extremely hard days of hiking, we might make it to E'ban. Three at the outside. We weren't finished yet.

Before we set out, Reyalis keyed up a sequence of nuke-rockets, leveling the next several klicks of Heartline ahead of us. Given that we'd already traversed some 700 kilometers of this cursed trail and only seen four of Kirz's supporters, it seemed unlikely to accomplish much. Nor, as a purely personal matter, was I thrilled about the rad dose I'd incur either. But by this point, I figured living to die of cancer decades hence would count as a win. The show of force might at least be good for morale.

Zefon had to be left behind. He was half-delirious, but we dragged him into the shade, stuck an autogun in one hand, and piled mealbars in the other. "We'll be back for you," Reyalis promised. I guess she said it for her own benefit, because none of the rest of us believed it.

Amaya tried to stay with him, but the lieutenant threatened to shoot her down then and there, and the warning seemed credible. The melancholy in the girl's eyes when we turned our backs on Zefon and began tramping toward E'ban was heartrending.

I don't know if the nukes Reyalis unleashed succeeded in vaporizing any of our enemies, but the aftereffects played havoc with our forward progress. Whereas before we'd faced only intermittent barriers, the next stretch of Heartline was rendered very close to impenetrable--a churned up, clotted tangle of tree-trunks, shrubbery, vines, and branches, that stretched on without break.

Reyalis navigated the traverse easily in her suit. For the rest of us, though, it was a nightmare. Climbing, falling, scrambling, sweating--surmounting one obstacle only to face the next, and the next, in endless succession. Our throats were dry, and our hands were torn, and our eyes stung with salt. My own gear was sorely inadequate, but far worse was the predicament Balaan and Shiyava were in. Even now, Reyalis had not shown them any leniency, and they crossed that stinging, stabbing, flaying stretch of foliage with next to no protection at all. It's a testament to their spirit that they didn't give up.

It made my heart leap when we finally hit the end of the blast zone--grim mountains of debris at last giving way to the lush, uneven track we'd grown accustomed to over the preceding days. Our speed seemed to increase tenfold, and we made up some of our deficit before the sun set behind the wall of jungle and we stopped to make camp.

The next day, Reyalis allowed the entire team to suit up again, and we tried to hold on to the feeling of weightlessness we gained after leaving the nuke zone. For much of the morning, our luck held--but I might have known it was too good to be true. That delicate spark of optimism we nursed was abruptly stamped out by a cry of pain, as the shocker pulling point duty suddenly disappeared from sight.

It was a punji pit, just about the lowest-tech weapon known to man, concealed within a thick verge of rushes. The soldiers' armored boots should have been proof against such a crude device. But the squat, powerful warrior I saw hunkered down in that hole, trying to hold his flesh together, was out of the fight for sure, and probably short half a leg.

I lowered myself in carefully to examine the stakes. And it turned out they weren't stakes at all, but rather the long, spiny, sword-like leaves of some plant. I didn't recognize the plant--had never heard of anything like it. However, I judged that the razor-edge on those leaves would give the keenest Celestrian nano-dagger a very good run for its money.

Reyalis didn't even bother to ask me the details of Kirz's scheme this time. We simply shambled on our way, leaving the wounded man behind like one more piece of flotsam in our wake. After that, there were more punji pits, but not so many, and we were forewarned. The threat of them slowed our advance considerably, but we managed to avoid further injuries.

A few hours later we passed the first major settlement we'd seen since Captown district, a modest agcombine. This struck me as encouraging--it meant we were closing in on our goal.

The complex appeared deserted. An effort had been made to torch the buildings, but flames generally struggled to thrive in the damp hothouse atmosphere of Barnards. In this case, the fires must have sputtered out, leaving the dorm-units mostly intact.