Scorched Earth Read online

  The Gardener had itself changed since arriving upon this world. Even as its agents had begun their work, a dedicated few had returned to it and sacrificed their newly grown bodies, supplying it with more base material. It had built up the ambulatory ganglia that supported its cranium, even as it had expanded the volume of its brain case and coaxed its cortex to expand to fill it, growing its cognitive abilities. As the tech-wearing Meat attacked, it spun off a trio of strategies, any one of which might resolve the conflict at hand.

  From its pod’s remaining seed bank, it jettisoned a precious few mega seeds, the advanced form of the utilitarian purge agents that could combine and grow to gargantuan proportions for those tasks that required macro rather than micro scales of action.

  Next it unleashed a burst of anaerobic symbiotes. A fraction landed upon some of its purge agents and took over a portion of their surface area to generate aerodynamic pollens too small to be seen. These in turn wafted toward the Meat.

  And finally, it reached into the dormant communication network that bound its purge agents, taking direct command of the different contingents of them to use them more strategically against the Meat foe.

  Such an approach, hasty and multiplicitous, violated the Gardener’s training and experience. When designing a world, it would expend vast time determining the one best and true way to accomplish its goal. But contingencies had forced it to invoke other methods. Any one strategy might be required, or two, perhaps all three. But when it was done, the Meat would be destroyed and there would be sufficient resources left for it to select a more purposeful course of action, alert its people to this new danger, and put end to the threat of the Meat.

  Part III: Seeds of Doubt

  Colby lay in the darkness, his fingertips intertwined in Duke’s fur—the only sensory input he had. The last of his plant hosts had been cut off five, ten, fifteen minutes ago. With only his thoughts, it was hard to keep track. It occurred to him that the Marines might opt to destroy the broken ship he arrived in, weighing the advantage gained by eliminating an unknown threat over the loss of alien technology. That possibility slowly grew, like a loose thread unraveling on a sweater, until it came to the fore and took over most of his thoughts. He needed to communicate, to let them know he was in here. But nothing he tried had yet allowed him to contact the Marines, and the troubleshooting worm he’d initiated during the fight had revealed nothing. It should have been simple. His implant should have inserted itself effortlessly into the comms net, but when he reached for the system—and he’d used the comm system on New Mars tens of thousands of times—it was as if nothing was there.

  He’d been locked out, and it didn’t take much effort to guess who had done it. Vice-Minister Greenstein. The asshole, probably fearing that Colby would have started a rebellion when he was relieved of command, had blocked his implant from the tactical net.

  The tiniest of vibrations reached him, pulling his attention away from all competing thoughts. Had it had been real or just his imagination? Then, a few moments later, he felt it again. What did it represent? Was the ship taking off, ready to be shot down, or were the Marines boarding it? Were more of the plant soldiers being harvested inside the ship? Colby didn’t know enough to hazard a guess.

  “It’s OK, Duke,” he whispered.

  And then, like water in the desert, oh so faintly, he heard voices—human voices.

  “In here!” he shouted, “In here!” as Duke let out a half-whine, half howl. The talking outside stopped, and he shouted out again, “I’m in here! In the wall!”

  Nothing happened for a long minute. His mind swam with images of Marines firing their weapons into the ship’s locker, prompting him to keep up a steady stream of pleas to help him.

  Light cut the darkness of the locker. Colby squinted, eyes tearing with pain, but nonetheless tried to tilt his head up to see, but the vines crisscrossed his face, leaving only tiny gaps to see through. A Marine peered in, M86 pointed at him.

  “What the fuck?” the Marine said.

  “I’m Lieutenant General Colby Edson, Marines. Get me out of here!”

  The Marine leaned back, passing out of Colby’s view, and he said, “Sergeant, you’re not going to believe this.”

  Colby felt a tap on the bottom of his foot, as if poked with the barrel of an M86. A man-packed version of the larger M88, it still fired the same rounds, any of which would be more than enough to end Colby’s journey through life.

  He caught a glimpse of a second figure. Keeping his voice calm with a huge force of will, he said, “Listen, Sergeant. I’m Lieutenant General Colby Edson, Republic Marines. I need you to get me out of here. I’ve got vital intel that has to be passed to higher headquarters.”

  “We don’t got no General Edson on New Mars,” the sergeant said, distrust plain in his voice.

  “I’m retired now. But I’m still a Marine.”

  Duke chose that moment to whine, and the sergeant jumped back out of view.

  “He’s got a dog in there with him,” someone said.

  Colby didn’t know if it was Duke or him that convinced the sergeant, but he said, “I’m sending a runner to get the lieutenant, sir. You hang on.”

  He didn’t want to hang on, he wanted to be free. He was tired and hungry and had to get word to someone in charge because it was damn sure that Greenstein hadn’t shared the report he’d sent before entering the wormhole. And to top it off, something about the light or maybe his interaction with the Marines was causing the vines to constrict even more. Colby recognized the early warning signs of a panic attack. He had to get out of the locker and out of the grasp of the ship.

  “What’s your name, Sergeant?”

  “Sergeant Prius Mannigan, sir.”

  “Sergeant Mannigan, I’ve got to get out of here now. While we’re waiting for your lieutenant, can you try and get me out of here?”

  The sergeant hesitated, then asked, “What happens if I touch that stuff?”

  “I. . . I don’t know,” he said, suddenly ashamed that he hadn’t considered the question before asking. He didn’t want to put the sergeant at risk. “Better not touch it, but if you’ve got a blade, maybe you can try to cut me loose?”

  Asking a Marine if they had a blade was like asking them if they breathed.

  “Corporal Lin, cover me,” the sergeant said to someone out of Colby’s sight. “I’m going to try and cut the general out.”

  The sergeant leaned forward, and a moment later, a searing pain shot up his leg. He screamed and Duke howled.

  “Stop, stop!”

  “I didn’t cut you, sir. I know I didn’t,” the panicky-sounding sergeant shouted.

  “Just don’t do it again,” Colby snapped, as waves of pain washed through him for a few moments before it diminished to more of an ache. “Let me think.”

  20/20 hindsight assured him that the vines hadn’t just connected him to the plant soldiers, they’d bonded to him as well. He had to figure out a solution that didn’t harm the vines. There was no way he’d survive being cut out.

  “What’s going on, Sergeant Mannigan?” a woman’s voice reached him.

  “There’s some general in there, ma’am.”

  “And a dog,” another voice added.

  A new Marine took up position beside the sergeant and peered in. “Who are you, and what the hell are you doing in an enemy ship?”

  “I’m Lieutenant General Colby Edson, Republic Marines. How I got here is a long story, and I’d prefer to only tell it once. Who’s your commanding officer, Lieutenant?”

  Only silence answered him. Colby had run out of patience. He snapped, “I’m not a fucking plant-soldier, in case you haven’t noticed!”

  “He looks like one, all trussed up like that,” someone muttered from beyond his limited line-of-sight.

  There was another long pause, then, “Captain Sotherby.”

  “Your commanding officer, not company commander,” he said, struggling to hold back from erupting again. He might be a
retired Marine Corps general, but he was trussed up like a New Year’s hog on the spit, and this lieutenant had a platoon of armed Marines out there.

  “Lieutenant Colonel Manuel Sifuentes, sir,” she said grudgingly.

  “Manny? Manny Sif?” Colby could have wept with relief. “Get word up to him. Tell him that I know what he did on Harris Reef!”

  “Sir?”

  “Just tell him who I am, and mention that I know about Harris Reef.”

  Manuel Sifuentes, of all people. “Manny Sif” had been a company commander for him, back when he was a colonel and the commanding officer of Marine Deployed Reaction Force 33. While at Harris Reef on a liberty call, the young captain. . . well, suffice it to say that events unfolded so that the captain had shown up stark naked at the liberty shuttle, begging the Navy chief for a ride back up to the ship. Colby had listened to the captain’s story of woe, took pity on him, and decided that he’d been more of an innocent—well, not completely innocent—victim than a transgressor. He’d covered up for Manny Sif, ensuring nothing official was entered on his record.

  The Marines outside the locker spoke in low tones while Colby lay there. At one point, someone muttered, “Just burn the suckers. They’ll let go then.”

  “No one do anything until your CO gets here!” Colby shouted out. The Marines fell silent after that.

  It took at least fifteen minutes before Colby heard activity outside. A familiar voice said, “So, just what is going on in this thing?”

  Colby could see the lieutenant step back, and a moment later, an older-looking, but still recognizable, Manuel Sifuentes came into his view.

  “Who are you?”

  “Colby Edson, Manny.” The colonel frowned and pulled back just a hair. “MADREF Thirty-Three, Harris Reef, a certain captain and a local young . . .”

  “Shit! General Edson! You were shit-ca. . . you retired and went off to be a farmer somewhere. What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Yes, I was shit-canned. And I was a farmer on Vasquez, and that’s where the boss plant first invaded. I fought them off and took its ship, but as you can see, things kinda went to hell, and I’m stuck in here.”

  “These aliens attacked Vasquez? Why didn’t we hear about that before they landed here?”

  “I sent a report up, to Vice-Minister Greenstein.”

  “Nothing was promulgated. They surprised the shit out of us when they landed. What the hell are they, anyway?”

  “I’ve got some ideas,” Colby said, and I need to brief the staff. Who’s the CG?”

  “Brigadier General U Te, sir.”

  Well, it could be worse. She was a bit of a brown-noser when she was a battalion commander, but she should listen to reason.

  Despite the importance of New Mars, despite the presence of a Marine Sector command, the planet only had a reinforced Marine battalion and the local militia for defense. The civilian officials on New Mars liked having the generals with them, but they feared combat troops that could theoretically take charge, though nothing like that had happened for over four hundred years. But as a result, the Marines were limited to a single combat battalion. That battalion was part of Ninth Division, but the bulk of the division was based on Mongut III, two wormhole jumps away.

  “I really need to brief her and her staff, but I can’t do it like this. You’ve got to get me out of here.”

  “We tried to cut him out, sir, but he screamed as soon as we cut the vines,” the sergeant said.

  “And the dog cried, too,” another voice called out.

  “Manny. . . uh, Colonel,” he said, “I’m somehow connected to this thing. I feel what’s happening to it.”

  “Are you still, you know. . . are you still, you, sir?” the lieutenant colonel asked, leaning his head into the locker and speaking too softly for his men to hear.

  “Yes, I’m still me,” Colby said.

  I hope I’m still me.

  “Sir, Master Sergeant Jelavić comes from a farming family. Maybe he can figure something out?” the lieutenant said.

  “Well, hell, it can’t hurt to see if he’s got any ideas. Good thinking, Lieutenant. Someone get him over here.

  “How the hell did they shut down our battlesuits, General?’ he asked Colby, turning back to him. “We’re down to 17 percent effective. Do you know how they managed that?”

  Colby didn’t know, but the image of the green mist of atomized plant bodies came unbidden to his mind. Something told him the mist was part of that.

  Before he could articulate even that vague thought, Sifuentes held up a hand to silence him with the familiar look of someone listening to an implant.

  “Major Lyme, did you get that?” he yelled out to someone out of sight, probably his XO or operations officer. “OK, get the company commanders ready. We need to move. All of you inside this ship, get to your companies now!”

  “Manny! What’s going on?”

  “Sorry, General, you’re going to have to stay put for now. I’ll send someone back for you when I can.”

  “Why? What’s happening?”

  “One of your plants broke into the food containers and is growing out-of-control. We’ve got to stop it before it gets God knows how big!”

  ***************

  Colby was going batshit crazy. He had light now, at least, but he still couldn’t move. Wiggling his fingers and toes just didn’t count. Duke clearly felt the same way; since the Marines had left she hadn’t stopped whining and nothing he could say calmed her. Her discomfort only fueled his own frustration. Manny Sif could have left at least one Marine with him, maybe that farmer master sergeant who could figure out how to free him.

  Then he felt a little guilty for feeling put out. Colby had seen the giant plant warriors back on Vasquez. They’d been like some vegetable version of the daikaiju from the Hollybolly remakes of ancient B-movies. And like those movie monsters, these plants had been powerful enough to tear apart a massive launch cannon and they looked pretty unstoppable. With a full Marine division and a couple of cruisers, they’d make short work of the plants, but he wasn’t sure how a reinforced battalion, especially one down to 17 percent battlesuits, would fare. He wished he could be out there with them. It hurt to know Marines were marching to danger while he lay there like a piece of cargo. He had to get out of the ship to help in any way he could.

  “Hell, Duke. I guess it’s up to us, huh girl?”

  He’d already tried to push his consciousness to whatever was out there growing, hoping that he could somehow affect it. But there was nothing. When he reached out as he had with the plant soldier he couldn’t find anything to connect to. It was as if he was lost in a sea of black cotton that held him tight inside his green prison. Everything beyond the ship’s hull was an empty void. At least inside, he had some input. If he looked down, he could see the lump of vines that was Duke, and straight ahead he could see a narrow sector of the ship’s bridge. It wasn’t much, but it was so much better than the blackness he’d endured before. Without that little bit of light he would be crazy, and probably wondering if Manny and the other Marines had just been a fevered dream.

  Inside the ship? I can’t sense anything outside, but I can see inside, and what is this thing but just another plant?

  He felt a slight jolt of excitement. He’d felt pain when the vines holding him had been cut, which meant they were connected. All he had to do was figure out a way to open than connection, and then maybe he could get the vines to release him.

  “But how the hell do I do that?” he said aloud, reverting to his habit of talking things through. “OK, think of it like an enemy comms network, shielded from eavesdropping. How do we break into that? Standard operating procedure would be to use either subterfuge, worm my way in, or a resort to a brute force attack.”

  Colby had enough respect for the boffins he’d met over the course of his military career to know he didn’t have the brain power to hack into a system even if he had a controllable interface. But he did have his implant, an
d that gave him some pretty impressive power options. It took him a good ten minutes to go through the mental gymnastics required to set up what he wanted. He ran a quick self-check, and it looked like it would work. Maybe.

  He hesitated a second before starting it. There was no way to know how the ship would react. It could recognize the attack for what it was and take action to eliminate the source. Colby didn’t think getting strangled by vines would be a particularly comfortable way to go. But that was a chance he had to take. Visualizing a big red button, he mentally pressed it.

  He didn’t feel any different, yet he knew the implant was sending thousands of thrusts at the ship, trying to find a crack in the alien operating system and forcing it wider. Colby tried to focus, ordering the vines to release them, pushing against nothing in hopes that his implant could open, identify, and exploit even the tiniest of portals. It was difficult, though, with Duke whining, but there was nothing he could do about that. The poor dog had reached her limit.

  Twice, the vines jerked, giving his heart a jolt as he pictured squeezing the life out of them, but his attempts to control them got nowhere. He was beginning to feel the futility of it all when suddenly, as if picked up by a tsunami, he was carried. . . somewhere? He was inside the ship. Not like his body was inside the locker, but more intimately within the core of it.

  Stop! he ordered his implant.