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  “I think I heard two of the guys from B-squad express an interest in getting some fresh air. Two birds, one stone?”

  “Perfect. Tell them shit rolled downhill straight onto them.” Anna and Jocelyn laughed. “Did you actually want anything?”

  “Yes ma’am. A few of us were thinking about our situation and came up with an idea we wanted to run by you.”

  “Ideas are good. This sitting around and waiting bullshit is not gonna last,” Anna leaned back against the edge of the counter. “Marines are most dangerous when they’re bored.”

  “Don’t I know it. We have a good bit of food, and we have enough water to last a couple more weeks, especially if we setup a filter. A still or something. But we really need to figure out if there are other survivors in the habs. Someone had to have gotten to shelter like us. More of us would be good, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So with the monsters out there still, we can’t walk out the front or rear airlocks. We could try during the night, but we don’t know if these things can see in the dark, so it’s too big of a risk,” Jocelyn said.

  “Right.”

  “Same goes with the roof hatch. The little ones crawl over everything and if we popped the hatch one might see and alert the bigger ones.”

  “All spot-on. What’s your idea?”

  “Well it struck me that we should dig down to find groundwater instead of opening the top hatch to collect rain . . . ”

  “Holy shit. And there is a bottom hatch, isn’t there? Below the flooring panels?”

  “I asked a few people and we think so. It makes sense. Exits at the front and back, top and bottom,” Jocelyn puffed up, proud.

  “That could get us water, assuming we can dig down deep enough and find a place to put the fucking dirt.”

  “That’s like, totally secondary. What about digging a tunnel to the next closest hab? We’re closest to the science lab. Twenty meters at most. We dig under, shore it up with whatever we got in here, and knock on their bottom door. I’d rather have their brains working on our problems. I mean, assuming they’re alive and well. No offense, ma’am.”

  “None taken. You know we could use the spare stretchers as supports.” Anna sighed. “I wish there was a window that faced in their direction. I’d feel a whole helluva lot better about this idea if we knew someone was alive over there before we started.”

  “I think that’s asking a bit much.”

  Anna chuckled. “I can be greedy, Sergeant. Afford me that luxury, at least.”

  “Yes ma’am. Can I get your permission to explore underneath the floor panels at least? See if there even is an exit down there?”

  “Absolutely. In the meantime, let’s crack the cases in the corner and have an inventory taken of the contents. I want tools organized if we need to do the digging. If we need to make something, let’s plan. Make sure someone keeps watch on that fire we keep seeing on top of the tree. Has anyone thought of a way to communicate with them?”

  “Not yet. Light’s too dangerous and we’ve tried writing on stuff and holding it up near the window, but they haven’t shown they’ve seen yet. I think the polarization of the window panes is messing with us.”

  Anna sighed. “No matter. One way or the other we need to do something. No idle hands in this clinic, Jocelyn. I’ll jump in and help someone in a minute. Check the floors like you want. Let me know what you find.”

  Jocelyn saluted, and walked away happy. Anna watched as the nurse relayed the commands she’d given her with succinct instructions. The infantry marines listened, and put themselves to task without grumbling or complaint.

  When everyone left her in the common space she stood and looked out the window of the medical. She’d had the good sense to narrow the shutters in the day of the lost battle and the tiny slits afforded her enough space to see out, but not enough space for the wandering monsters to see in.

  The window aimed to the east and gave her a world of golden yellows and purple skies. The sun setting behind the habitat drowned out the auroras in the atmosphere, but she knew they would fade into view soon. Ever since the magnetic energy flared back up, every night had been lit with ethereal fireworks that spanned the entire spectrum of visible light. She wondered why such a beautiful place had to be so ugly up close.

  She turned her attention to the creatures that had taken over the settlement. The earth-shaking grasshopper giants had left. Unneeded by their masters against the remnants of the human tanks and heavy weaponry, they walked off to feed and find something to drink. She’d hoped they’d die of thirst but the recent rain quashed that. The rock bugs had thinned as well. She could only see two of the creatures lying face down on their odd crustacean legs. If you looked quickly they could easily be mistaken for a boulder, but she knew that was all part of their disguise.

  Three of the humans who had been partially transformed sat sullen and lost thirty meters away, near the edge of the battlement. She wanted to call them dead, but they were alive. They certainly weren’t entirely human any longer. Their misshapen bodies rocked, trying to soothe whatever pain and mental anguish they felt.

  Anna stepped away from the window and rubbed the bridge of her nose where a headache was taking root. She turned and picked up a small half-drunk bottle of water and took a swig of the warm liquid.

  I wonder how long that shit took to take away their personality?

  I wonder how much intellect is still in there?

  I wonder if they will ever regain their brains?

  God help us if they remember how to operate a door.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Science habitat, town of Stahl, planet of Selva

  8 October 163 GA

  Micah Balashov slumped against the cabinet of a lab counter and sighed. He looked out a thin window at the Selvan sun beyond. We ache, and rot away, he thought. Another day passes in our tomb.

  “Micah, I have a question about the things outside,” Margaret Ford asked.

  Micah wiped the bead of sweat off his forehead and nodded. “Of course.”

  “Range of vision? What are we looking at? Can they see in the dark? Ultraviolet? Do you have any idea what they can see in limited light?”

  “My research didn’t come anywhere close to completion, but I can say the majority of what I learned indicated that the rock bugs are limited visually. They are not predators by nature, and have fair binocular vision. The insect leaders are predators in the sense they hunt and transmute their prey to reproduce. Their vision is more acute. Very similar to that of the mantis shrimp of old Earth, based on observation. Huge ranges of color and spectrum I suspect. The small insects I believe have typical eyesight as compared to a beetle.”

  “Can they see in the dark?”

  “Doubtful,” Micah said after thinking. “Most insects use smell or touch to navigate in low light conditions. No reason to believe these creatures are any different. Some insects have the ability to see into the ultraviolet spectrum. Now I say this with no idea how the human hybrids will evolve. And they are evolving, just look out the window to see how they are changing. They might become something entirely different. Why do you ask this?”

  “We’ve tried a few different ideas to reach out to the marines on the top of the mushroom, right? Nothing has gotten their attention that we can confirm, though they are still burning their fire.”

  “I follow.”

  “I was talking to Phillip and he said that the binoculars the marines have can sense fluctuations in the thermal index. In essence, if we can make some kind of heat, their device will alert them of the temperature difference.”

  “But fire makes too much light for us to try. We’ve thought of this,” Micah said.

  “Fire does, yes. But heat doesn’t.”

  “I no longer follow.”

  “If we use one of the lab’s burners to heat up a piece of metal, then hold it against the glass, the heat of the metal should project through, without giving off visible light. I ask because
I’m curious if the insects can sense a change in heat like that?”

  “Doubtful. They might have some thermal senses but it would be attuned to the temperatures of living things in contrast to cooler environments. Something very hot, as hot as fire might not attract them or tip them to the presence of life.”

  “Especially if it were small? Like heated metal letters?”

  “Yes. Something like that would be very unlikely to tip them off.”

  “Perfect. I was poking around in some of the storage bins and found some spare metal racks for Erlenmeyer flasks. With a pair of pliers I think we can bend them into letters. Spell out words in the glass. They can respond with Morse code. Phillip is pretty sure they will do that.”

  “Skip vowels. There’s no need for them, to start.”

  “True. Probably be an hour before it’s ready if I start now and get some help,” Ford said, getting to her feet. Her clothes swayed strangely on her dwindling frame.

  “Take your time. There’s still several hours of daylight. It will work best at night. This won’t work if the glass is well insulated.”

  “Stop. Don’t gum the idea up with negativity. Oh, thank you, Micah,” she said.

  “Da. Thank you as well. I will help with the metalwork in a few minutes. Just let me figure out how to get to my feet.”

  She laughed and extended a hand down to him. “Maybe now that you’re out of those cancer sticks, your lungs will come out of hiding and lend you a hand. In the meantime, I can help.”

  He took her hand. “I suppose you can.”

  Margaret offered her hand - and the biologist took it.

  It took four of the captives in the science habitat almost three hours to bend the tubular steel into shape. They had underestimated the resilience of the metal. As Micah suggested they omitted all the vowels and stuck to the consonants. They skipped Z, too.

  As Micah and Margaret worked with Phillip and Lima, one by one the others in the shrinking science cell took a greater interest. Suggestions were made, some taken, and in the end they had twenty crude letters made of shaped metal tubes. Each letter hung at the end of a length of glass piping.

  They sat atop the lab’s counter, bookended by a pair of burners that would be the warming apparatus. The scientists were thrilled; excited into sweaty hugs and stifled giggles at the thought that it might work.

  From the window, Phillip called out.

  “The fire is lit. They should be able to see the heat signatures now.”

  “What’s our first message?” Margaret asked.

  “Let’s put up S, T, H and L,” Phillip offered.

  “Right, ‘Stahl’. Let’s warm the letters, then every few minutes rewarm them until they see it. It could take hours. We will work in shifts.”

  Micah heated up the S and the T while Margaret held the H and the L over the blue flame of her own burner. When the four letters turned to the color of ripe cherries, they moved to the window.

  Margaret and Micah stepped forward and lifted the letters until they were parallel and evenly spaced. With a look to each other to coordinate, they pressed the hot metal against the thick window at head height, and held steady.

  Breathing stopped as all eyes looked out into the deepening darkness of the Selvan evening. The gentle swimming lights of the glowing auroras above were underscored by the pinprick of orange firelight atop the distant tree. Above the horizon the flame was a beacon; a light to guide those seeking safety or shelter from the ghost town of Stahl and the monsters that roamed it. Each set of captive eyes–some wet, others dry–stared, waiting.

  Five minutes ticked by. The two scientists fought against trembling muscles and perspiration that stung their eyes. Then, they stepped back to their flames and warmed their irons again.

  Five more minutes passed before something happened. The distant flame flickered. The orange dot blacked out and then came back. The light disappeared again and came back.

  “That’s a sign,” Phillip said. “They see us.”

  Lima jumped into Phillip’s arms and he spun with her, elated.

  An eruption of silent laughter and energy swept through the weary scientists. They covered their mouths and ducked down below the windows and the suddenly curious eyes of the stalking monsters on the other side of the glass. Arms wrapped around shoulders and fists pumped, out of the view of the creatures who wanted them dead.

  “Paper, quick, something to write on,” Phillip said as he set Lima down and turned his eyes to the window and glued them to the fire. One of the technicians handed him a dry erase slate and a marker. The meteorologist looked up then down, scribbled dashes and dots, then looked up again. This went on for minutes, and eventually the fire’s light returned, steady.

  “What does it say?” Lima asked.

  Phillip held up a porridge bowl of dots and dashes that looked like an antiquated version of binary code. He had a smile as wide as his face could manage without being mutated by the monsters outside.

  “What does it say?” Margaret repeated.

  “It says, ‘Lo. Three FEM here. How many safe in lab?’ I think, at least. My Morse code is tarnished. I’m close but I could be wrong.”

  “You’re either a very good guesser, you’re allowing your hope to guide your observation, or you’re right. I would err on the side of trust in you. Someone bring up a Morse code reference on a screen so we can show Phillip he’s right. Margaret, you’re a genius. This could save us,” Micah said.

  She blushed hard, so much so that the change in her cheek color was visible in the light from the auroras outside.

  “What do we say back?” Lima asked.

  “I suppose we start with the good news.”

  Then, they put their minds to task to figure out what that was.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Atop a mushroom tower, Dampier Peninsula forest, planet of Selva

  8 October 163 GA

  “Omigod, omigod, omigod,” Steve stomped around the puddle at the center of their high altitude sanctuary. He couldn’t contain the energy that flowed through him after seeing the science habitat make contact.

  “They aren’t going to be good or quick at this. Establish short communication rules to save time,” Dustin said to Waren. “‘Y is yes, N is No.’ It’ll save us a few minutes of spelling shit out.”

  “On it,” Waren said from his place beside the fire. He held a spare silver thermal blanket in front of the fire, bullfighter style. He lifted the sheet with extended arms, allowing light to spill out toward whoever was trapped inside the science hab. Dustin watched from a few steps away, his binoculars firmly entrenched in the thermal spectrum and held tightly to his eyes.

  “How many are left in there?” Ping-Pong asked, restraining his body with great effort.

  “They said eleven,” Dustin replied as he watched the creatures skulk around the open spaces of Stahl, far below. He registered the red and orange heat signatures of a trio of men and women–horridly mutated, wearing shredded uniform bits and staring about, detached from reality–sitting in a circle, rocking their bodies in unison. One of their faces had split apart into mandibles as Lionel’s face had, while another had grown a ghastly huge left arm covered in hard red and black shell.

  “Nice. So fourteen survivors counting us we know of. That’s pretty damn good,” Ping-Pong said.

  “Unless the bugs are smart enough to learn Morse code and trick us,” Waren said as he signaled dots and dashes with his blanket.

  “Quit being a dick. That’s an order,” Dustin said.

  “Yes, sir,” Waren replied.

  “What else did they say?” Ping-Pong asked.

  “We can make water,” Waren said. “I’m guessing the nerds set up some kind of piss filtration system. They’ve got lots of resources in there.”

  “That’s good,” Ping-Pong said. “What else?”

  “’We’re waiting.’ Morse code isn’t the fastest method of communication. If they had a laser communication unit we’d be in
business, but nada. It would appear that this is happening in slow motion,” Dustin said.

  Ping-Pong sighed. “Well, okay then.”

  Dustin’s gut steered his eyes away from the science hab window to the three semi-humans sitting in their depressing circle. Something about the way the female held her head . . .

  “Message sent,” Waren said. He laid the hot blanket down and set a canteen of water on top of it. The wind atop the tree blew softly that evening, but there was no sense in risking the blanket blowing away.

  Dustin sat his binoculars down and walked over to where his rifle and armor lay. He picked his helmet up, donned it, then grabbed his rifle and trotted back to the edge of the tree’s platform and got on his stomach. He hit the power switch on the helmet’s electronic faceplate and his heads-up display fired into life. Data streamed in from a hundred prompts.

  “What?” Waren asked him, feeling the worry that had already found Dustin.

  “I don’t know. Ping-Pong, get your rifle. Waren, spot.” Dustin asked.

  Waren sprinted across the tree’s top and within seconds joined his team leader on his belly. He set up a tripod mounted optic and looked through it. Steve slid into position a second after, his helmet on his head.

  Dustin viewed Stahl at dusk through his rifle’s advanced scope. Using eye movements, he told his linked helmet to switch to thermal, and the darkness flared to life. Blues and greens dominated the foliage and structures while reds, yellows and oranges outlined the forms of the living, or machines that still ran or burned generated heat. He could see the smoldering remnants of the tank hulls cooling at the edge of the battlefield.

  Dustin found the trio of semi-human monsters near the science hab and knew his feeling about the female had been right. She had stood in the time it took him to get his helmet and rifle, and she faced the window of the dark science habitat, her body straight and alert.

  The larger male mutant with the misshapen arm stood, alerted. The third figure of the group followed suit. His grotesque face opened and closed with new hinges in an alien gesture of baring teeth.