Tales from the Service: The Lurker in the Shadows

2954-09-09 – Tales from the Service: The Lurker in the Shadows 

The plight of Incarnation castaways in the deep inland forests of Håkøya is far worse than our protagonists here could have known at the time. Likely there are hundreds of them still out there, weeks after the battle is over, and most of them will probably never be seen by another human again. 

Obviously there are some plants and even animals on that world that a human can eat to assuage his hunger without coming to harm, but the biology of the species there differs from that of Terra enough that most of the nutrients in the fruit and meat are unavailable to the human gut without the use of enzyme supplements (or the use of gene-tweaked cultivars of the choicer varieties, but these do not compete well with natural specimens) they will waste away with full bellies over a period of weeks or months. 

Without some way to navigate these wild places and find civilization to surrender to, those still lost on Håkøya after the battle for the world have little hope. 

The next morning, a gray, almost muddy sort of light crept through the thin skin of the shelter and woke Vann Rudenko where he lay on the hard ground.  A muttering, fitful wind disturbed the treetops above the shelter, and his first thought was wondering if it would rain. Immediately after that, he remembered what he had seen – or dreamed, for so it now seemed – during the night. 

Vann wondered as soon as he opened his eyes if either of his compatriots had heard anything during the night, as he had, but when he sat up, he saw Langer standing over the still, silent form of Guardian Kaube, his face pale and grim. Fisher caught Vann’s eye from the other side of the shelter and communicated all that needed to be said with a barely-perceptible shake of the head. Kaube would never wake again. Whether the claim of his implants that his health stats were steady had been an error, or he had taken a turn for the worse in the night, hardly mattered. 

Vann and Langer helped the legless Fisher out of the shelter, and they ate their morning rations in silence, as the gusty wind tossed the canopy above their heads. Vann, who hadn’t known Kaube well, wondered how the battle for Håkøya was going. Even before their stranding, their unit hadn’t heard much; they were guard troops, shuttled from fortification to fortification, having actually fought the hated enemy only briefly, in a probing skirmish on the outer perimeter of Redoubt Kamata. Kaube and hadn’t been with the detachment for that fight. He’d been brought in to replace one of the guardians who’d been wounded. 

Langer set aside his only half-eaten ration and stood up. “Rudenko, do you think you can hike back up that hill?” 

Vann eased himself to his feet. His side still hurt, and the side of his face tingled, but the miracle of nanobandages and a night’s sleep had him feeling worlds better than he had the day prior. “It will be done.” Though Langer was technically only a guardian, just as Vann was, he thumped his hand into his shoulder in the traditional Incarnation salute, though he did it more slowly than normal, so as not to stress the new skin over his nanotechnologically-healed burns. 

Langer took the salute in stride, understanding it for what it was – an acknowledgement of the de-facto leadership of their little group, while no more senior personnel were present. He tossed his laser carbine to Vann, then produced a pistol from his pack. “Fisher, do you think you can start breaking down the shelter?” He winced as he spoke; asking a man with one leg to do any sort of manual labor bordered on cruel. 

Fisher saluted too, though the impact of his fist on his shoulder set off a wave of coughs. “It will be done... as far as I can manage.” He said, as soon as the fit subsided. 

“Don’t overtax yourself.” Langer waved to Vann and set off up the slope. 

As they climbed, Vann once again recalled the sounds and sights of the night prior. “I thought I heard something skulking around the shelter last night.” He shifted the carbine to his shoulder, then winced and resumed carrying it in his arms. “Did you hear anything?” 

“No.” Langer didn’t even look over his shoulder. “Maybe there was. But none of the wildlife on this world is any threat.” 

“Of course.” Vann sighed. “Still... there might be partisans. The infocasts said bandits attacked the perimeter at Render Point two days before we were sent out here.” 

Langer stopped for a moment. “I hadn’t thought about that. We should deploy a sensor net when we bed down tonight.” 

Vann, somewhat mollified and beginning to feel the exertion of the climb, fell silent. Fortunately, the hill was not very tall; just before he thought he would need to ask for a rest, the trees parted, and the scorched hilltop clearing came into view. 

At the sight, Vann’s stomach turned. A few wisps of greasy smoke still trickled from the burnt-out remains of the hover-transport, surrounded by a black halo of scorched rocks and soot that had once been knee-high grasses. Blackened metal shards protruded from the boles of several of the trees, and broken branches littered the forest’s verge. Langer had been busy the previous day; a lumpy pile covered by a tarp held down by a circle of rocks was probably where the remains of the rest of the unit had been gathered. There was a stack of packs and gear next to this rudimentary cairn.  

“Should we cover them with rocks?” Vann asked, pointing to the tarp. 

“If there were more of us.” Langer shook his head. “But that will take all day in the condition we’re in.” He approached the pile of gear and took a laser carbine from the pile there. “I don’t think we should linger.”  

Vann stared at the transport wreck for a long moment, a convulsive shudder working its way up his spine. He decided that Langer was quite right about that. 

“See if you can get into any of the cargo stowage on the other side of the transport.” Langer flapped his bandaged arm as he picked up one of the packs and started pulling rations out of it. “I only had one hand yesterday and some of those compartments looked like they might have survived.” 

“It will be done.” Vann started picking his way around the clearing. 

Though parts of the wreck were still smoldering, the bulging cargo stowage sponson along its flank, below the personnel cabin, was quite cool, and did not look to have burned too badly. The locking mechanism on each compartment would need implant access to unlock even if it was working, of course, so Vann hunted about for a rock and started bashing at the first one, hoping to bend the hatch until the latch worked its way free. 

Though the hatch deformed nicely on the first blow, it took several more before he got it open. Winded, Vann sat down on the scorched ground to rest before he dug into the compartment’s contents. 

As he sat there, his back to the wreck, looking down the opposite slope of the hill, Vann spied movement among the trees. Whatever it was, was pale and quick, flitting between the tree-trunks and shrubbery. 

Remembering the briefing material that was quite clear on the harmlessness of all of the macrofauna native to Håkøya, Vann watched the spot the motion had vanished. The seconds stretched to minutes, and still nothing happened except the occasional grunt or clatter of activity indicating that Langer was still going through packs and plundering gear on the other side of the crash site. 

Finally, just as Vann was going to give up and go back to his task, he saw the creature again. One slim, luminous-white limb curled around a dark tree-trunk. It had an almost hand-like appendage at the end, but that limb bent in ways no human arm ever could. 

After the arm, a head peeped out, just as pale, and then Vann held his breath. The face peering out at him might have been mistaken for human, if he hadn’t seen the arm first – it was flat and white, with wide, dark eyes and a dangling mane of webby hair like a lace veil. 

Just as soon as it had appeared, the creature vanished once more. Vann blinked twice, instantly doubting what he had seen. He tried to silently comm Langer to report what he’d seen, but of course his implant, comm and all, was still broken. 

Grabbing his laser carbine and switching off its safety, Vann started going down toward the trees where he’d seen the face. If it was just an animal, he might get a better look at it – if it was some person, he’d bring them back to Langer and they’d decide what to do next. 

Details

Tales from the Service: Whispers of the Night

2954-09-02 – Tales from the Service: Whispers of the Night 

Langer helped Vann Rudenko crack the chemical heater on one of the silver ration-packs, and set it against a tree root while the contents warmed. Vann, after licking his cracked lips, was able to drink a little water unassisted while Langer changed the bandages on Fisher’s stump of a leg. 

Langer sat next to Vann with his own ration-pack, and they ate in silence. Though his fingers arms felt as heavy as lead, he found he was able to manage to raise the food to his lips.  

At first, the others watched Vann eat, but when it seemed he would suffer no ill effects from the meal, both Fisher and Langer dug into their own rations as quickly as their various injuries would allow. Though a ration was left out on the ground for Kaube, nobody cracked its heater. 

The shadows were already growing between the trees when Langer stood up again. He looked silently at Vann, then winced. Vann realized with shock that his compatriot had tried to send a routine mesh-network message rather than speaking. Without a working implant, of course, that message would bounce back.  

“Bah.” Langer shook his head. “Think you can help me set up some shelter, Rudenko?” 

Vann held up a hand, and Langer took it with his. With help, Vann levered himself up into a standing position, leaning on the tree behind him. The still-healing muscles in his abdomen protested, but not nearly as much as he’d expected. 

The pair unrolled an adaptive-camouflage shelter tent in almost perfect silence, broken only by grunts and hissed breaths as injuries were over strained. Vann could tell a silent conversation was going on between his two compatriots. For the first time since he’d enrolled in the Glorious Cause, he was sundered from the silent bustle of digital camraderie, the gentle whispered reminders of the Cause, and the watchful eye of the Incarnate’s will. It felt... cold. Like being left outside on a chill night, knowing that on the other side of a simple door, others were chattering gaily by a fire. 

Of course, there was little chance the traffic between the other two was pleasant, but Vann hated the feeling of knowing he was being talked past, like an extinction-bound barbarian. They could be planning to leave him while he slept, and he’d never know it. 

That was nonsense, of course. There were only three of them left now – four, assuming Kaube recovered – they'd need each other. 

When the shelter was set up, Langer lit a battery lamp inside. Vann and Langer dragged Fisher into it, then the still-motionless Kaube. They talked for a little while, but the conversation dwindled as darkness outside became total. Eventually, Langer shut off the light, and they laid down on the bare ground to sleep. 

Vann lay awake in the darkness long after the other two dropped off. The silence in his head made every noise in the woods outside seem extremely loud, as if animals were crowding around its flimsy polymer-cloth walls, crooning, croaking, and chirping. Supposedly there wasn’t an animal on Håkøya big enough to threaten even a lone, unarmed human but that was suddenly hard to believe. 

Vann had heard a few stories from other Guardians about the spook-stories the locals told, of phantoms stalking the woods at night, of snares both physical and otherwise laid for the feet of unwary walkers in untamed places. He’d laughed at this as obvious nonsense then, but now, all those stories crowded into the space where his implant’s gentle reassurances should have been. 

As Vann wondered how long he would have to deal with the vast silence in his own head, All of the nighttime noises outside the shelter suddenly went silent. He froze, even holding his breath. 

Vann strained his ears, hearing only his pulse for what seemed like an eternity. Then, at the distant edge of hearing, so faint he wondered if he imagined it, there was a sound – a whispering noise, like the sound of fine cloth rustling. It was too quiet to even be gentle footfalls on the leaf-litter. 

Vann sat up and listened some more, trying to find the direction of the sound. It seemed to come from first one direction, then another, in the pitch darkness within the shelter, but he was more sure of it now – there was something out there, something very quiet. He itched to creep out and see what it was – but didn’t dare. If he could see it, it could also see him. 

The sound grew closer. Vann thought he saw the faintest glow of gray light underneath the edge of the shelter for a moment, but then it was gone; perhaps it was only a status light on one of the various electronic devices within the enclosure, but it didn’t seem that way. Vann tried to breathe as quietly as he could, irrationally terrified that whatever it was might discover he wasn’t asleep. That was ridiculous, of course. Wouldn’t he be safer if any creature knew he was alert? 

Something brushed against the side of the shelter. That noise, Vann couldn’t have imagined. He turned to look in that direction, but of course he could see nothing. 

A moment later, the night-time denizens of the forest began to make their accustomed sounds again. As they did, Vann heard – or imagined he heard – another noise, melodic, weaving between the sounds of the night as it dwindled away. 

He fancied it was a voice, wordless, but filled with dreamy promise. It scared him at first, but as he dwelled on it, searching for meaning in it, it put his mind at ease better than the reminders from his implants ever had. That should have been more terrifying still, but he was at his limit of terror for one evening. 

Vann eased himself back into a comfortable position on the ground. In a few moments, the forest sounds lulled him to sleep. 

Though we published seen several convincing Gossamer sightings on this feed before Håkøya was a battlefield world, it is important to keep in mind that the existence of sapient native life on that world remains officially unconfirmed. As these creatures – whatever they are – become more well known, the likelihood of hoaxes also increases. 

Could Vann Rudenko’s sighting be some sort of elaborate psychological operation conducted to demoralize stranded enemy soldiers on that world into surrendering rather than fighting to the death? Yes, theoretically. It would be brilliant if it was, frankly, and if the technology to make it work exists, you can bet Naval Intelligence would try just that sort of thing. 

I still prefer to think of this as a legitimate sighting. The Gossamers, if they really are nonhuman sapients, don’t seem particularly hostile to humans, only wary of them, and I doubt they’d be able to tell the difference between Incarnation soldiers and Confederated civilians. Even if they could tell the difference, it’s doubtful they’d care to make it. 

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Tales from the Service: Stranded in the Galbrandt

2954-08-26 – Tales from the Service: Stranded in the Galbrandt  

As promised last week, this is one of the accounts sent to us after Datasphere connectivity to Håkøya was restored. Interestingly, it claims to be the account of a prisoner of war taken on that world by a F.V.D.A. mopping-up patrol in a low-intensity sector, recorded and passed on by his jailors at a holding facility on Leopold Bay. At his own request, or so the message claims, his name and other names in the account have been altered by the submitter. 

As those of you familiar with Håkøyan landmarks probably already know, this facility is a repurposed resort complex, and I’m already seeing complaints from service personnel still on the world that housing Incarnation POWs there is overly soft behavior. 

Given the documented poor treatment of Confederated prisoners in Incarnation hands, I can sympathize with these grumblings, but still disagree. For one, ensuring prisoners are treated humanely is the right thing to do, and erring on the side of comfort when there is any doubt or possibility of scandal is a time-honored military tradition. For another, I doubt these prisoners will be at Leopold Bay very long; Håkøya is still very much a front-line system. As soon as a facility somewhere less hospitable and farther to the rear is available, they’ll probably be moved. 

When Guardian Vann Rudenko came to, he was slumped against the bole of a gnarled, ancient-looking tree. Everything hurt, but the stiff, tingling feeling of nanobandages on his leg and side indicated that he was among his comrades. That was a relief, at least. He tried to query his status and location, but his implants responded only with an error buzz. 

The last thing Vann remembered was the explosion; most of the squad had made it out of the stricken hover-transport all right as it wobbled six feet off the only bare hilltop for thirty klicks and sprinted for cover. He’d seen Exalt Bailey hop off the craft last – well, last except for its crew – and then stumble in the stony grass. Three of the others had turned back to help, and just at that moment, the smoking, clattering engine of the transport had failed, disintegrating into an oily fireball. 

Vann must have caught shrapnel, because he didn’t even remember the transport slamming down into the hillside. No doubt, when it had, its remaining fuel cells had ruptured in a spectacular secondary explosion. It was a wonder anyone was alive, really. 

Vann turned his head to look around and hissed an agonized breath as the side of his neck and head blazed with pain. Gingerly, he raised his hand in front of his eyes – it was whole, at least – and started to touch the offended area. 

“I wouldn’t.” A voice – Guardian Fisher’s, but slurred and unsteady – cautioned. “The nanobandages haven’t finished with your new skin.” 

“New skin?” Vann tried to say. His tongue felt thick and his lips cracked. “What-” 

“Flash-burns.” Fisher chuckled, though it trailed off into a cough. “You didn’t keep your head down.” After a few labored breaths, he continued. “Most didn’t. You’re lucky to be alive.” 

Vann winced, and then wished he hadn’t. “My implant isn’t working.” 

“Yeah, you’ve got nothing but red lights upstairs. We were worried your brains got scrambled with the circuits but without diagnostics there was no way to tell until you woke up. ” 

Who’s... Who’s left?” 

“Just us, Kaube, and Langer. Langer’s gone back to the hilltop to look for anything we can use.” Fisher coughed again. “Kaube hasn’t woken up. We’re not sure he will, but his implant says he’s still alive. Strong pulse. Nearly no neural activity.”  

Vann turned his head slowly this time, and found Fisher not far away, his shoulders propped up on a fallen log. His right leg was gone at the knee and wrapped in a messy tangle of rags. He was at least as draped in nanobandages as Vann himself. 

After identifying a vague lump in the shadows below another nearby tree as Kaube, Vann  closed his eyes again. What hope had four lay guardians, wounded and on foot – no Mender, no Exalt, no Speaker, no sat-nav – of getting back to friendly lines, lines that were moving away from them every day? 

Normally, this would be where the implants would detect the beginning of despair and remind him of the Cause, and of his duty to it no matter what happened. About the extinction that was coming, should he fail, and the untold trillions both living and not yet born who were counting on him. But it was silent, dead. Even the whispers of the Incarnate couldn’t reach him now. 

Langer returned a few minutes later, carrying a torn trail-pack over the shoulder which wasn’t supporting a sling for his injured arm. Other than the arm, though, he looked to have avoided serious injury. “How is he, Fisher?” He asked, upon seeing Vann’s eyes open and following him. 

“Seems okay.” Fisher shrugged weakly. “You ask him.” 

Vann stirred. “Implant’s dead, Comrade. Must have smashed it on something when I went down. But I don’t feel like I’ve been brain-fried, just regular fried.” 

Langer nodded wearily and dropped the pack. “Small mercies. And Kaube?” 

“No change.” 

“Sun’s getting low.” Langer leaned over Vann to poke at his nano-bandages. “I did find four camo-shelters and enough rations to last through tomorrow. Rudenko, if you can walk in the morning, we’ll do a last sweep at dawn, and then we need to move as soon as Kaube comes to.” 

“Move?” Vann shook his head. “What if someone comes for us?” 

Langer nodded, glancing up toward the sky visible between the trees. “Exactly my concern. I didn’t get a good look at whatever strafed us, but we’ve got to assume the skies in this region aren’t friendly.” 

Details

Tales from the Inbox: The Homecoming Duplicity

2954-08-19 – Tales from the Inbox: The Homecoming Duplicity 

The account we have been relaying these past weeks is of some interest, but Nojus and I are thinking that we will not publish its remaining two entries, at least not now. It is most certainly time to go to the Håkøya backlog, which continues to flow in. 

Obviously, other events on either front or interesting events from the civilian spacer world which reach our inbox will be interleaved as we decide is most entertaining. 

Margaret's message was, as usual for Lydia Fernandez's experience of her older sister, brief. It explained that Margaret was on the way back from her business trip unexpectedly early, and had received the message of regret just as the ship she was on had started its in-system run. It expressed hope – sincere or otherwise, it was impossible to say – that Lydia was still in the system and could redirect to meet at the spaceport. 

Of course, the bit about returning unexpectedly early from an interstellar business trip was bunk, Lydia knew that. The cost of moving a return-trip booking up on short notice would have far outweighed the cost of simply staying on location the few extra days, and Margaret's employer - some interstellar minerals firm or other – would almost certainly never pay a steep premium for her convenience.  

What Margaret was hiding, though, wasn't Lydia's problem. Perhaps she involved in some sort of corporate skullduggery, or covering for an affair. Lydia had always considered herself the more honest of the Fernandez women, since Margaret took after their mother in almost everything. It made no difference, at least to Lydia, that she was a solo operator in the gray markets, and her sister was married and held a legitimate salaried middle-management job with a stable corporation. 

Margaret having uncomfortable secrets of her own might be some help, at least this time. The only times Lydia could remember ever keeping secrets from her sister had been when Margaret was more interested in her own schemes. 

With a grin borne of knowing she was about give both her employer's agent and her pursuers fits, Lydia changed course, then sent a message requesting docking permission at the Terre Weigand spaceport. She didn't give any reason for the request, but then, as a small-time spacer, she rarely needed to, except at ports where docking slips were at a premium. 

With that done, she pulled up the list of all the other spacecraft in-system once more. It didn't take too long to narrow Margaret's ship down to two candidates: an old, creaky passenger mover running the line from Terre Weigand to Tours, and a small hauler operating a mixed passenger and freight service to Cardona's Landing, the mercantile hub of the coreward side of the Silver Strand. Lydia had a hunch her sister was on the latter, but they were set to arrive at the port within ten hours of each other so it didn't matter much if she was right. 

Knowing approximately when her sister would arrive at the station, Lydia quickly booked a suite on the station for three days, making sure to include her sister's name on the booking as well as her own, and forwarding the details to her sister's inbox. With that done, she went aft for a cup of coffee, then returned to send a message herself. If she did this right, her sister would have half an hour or so to stew over the meaning of the booking and to worry whether Lydia was onto her own schemes, and would interpret everything in that light. 

As soon as the recording started, Lydia beamed into the camera. "I was so afraid I'd missed you, Margaret!" She gestured around herself. "One of the perks of flying my own ship is that I set my own course. I was just on my way out of the system to pick up my next job when I got your message. And I would love the opportunity to catch up, Sis. It's been a long time, and I've heard so much about all you've been doing from Cousin Trent." 

After a pause to take a long and loaded sip of her coffee, Lydia continued. "I'll be there at the gangway on Weigand's Roost to welcome you home. And don't worry about the booking. I figure, if your trip ended early, you've got a few days to kick your heels up like old times. My treat." 

With an exaggerated blown kiss, Lydia stopped recording, shuddered, and drained the rest of her coffee before confirming and transmitting. With a deep sigh, she got up once more to figure out whether she had a valise aboard that was the right shape and size to carry her cargo aboard the station, where she could keep an eye on it. No doubt the authorities – at least, those who wanted to covertly reclaim that cargo – would be searching the Minotaur while she was trading jabs with Margaret. She had about a half-day to make sure this took them a long time – but she still didn't want them to find anything. 

 

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