Carnage Read online

  Paul and Cal-com were spending another day walking around a different city on Turron and just practicing being ‘small’ when they tired of the subterfuge and instead set out for the primitive regions of the planet beyond the cities.

  They purchased supplies from the locals, with both of them hefting large backpacks over their robes as they walked out the city gates into the desert beyond. There was nothing to see except sand dunes and a few towers in the distance. Those were visual markers for the people out here to use, as well as comm towers to link the few mining sites, reclusive resorts, and other spots of civilization out here, but most of it was just empty wasteland to explore…and apparently many people did, for the line going out the gate was long and delayed, with both outgoing groups and incoming ones.

  Some had more gear, some less, and from the look of it a few of the groups were set up for multiple weeks in the wilderness, though Paul and Cal-com only had provisions for 8 days…and with Paul’s advanced metabolism that really meant 3.

  After passing through the gate and logging their credentials…which they’d also had to acquire with fake IDs to avoid attention…they began walking side by side in the sand as the sun baked down on top of their hooded heads.

  “Are these supposed to be heavy?” Paul asked after they were out of earshot of the wall gate and the ingoing crowd assembled there.

  “After a while it probably will be. Are you finding it too light?” the Voku asked.

  “Just wondering how much my perspective has changed training in the High G chamber.”

  “With this dry air I’m wondering if we packed enough water. Do you consume extra amounts as well as food?”

  “Unfortunately yes. I’d wanted to take off where the others weren’t going, but we should probably hit one of the oases to top off before heading further out.”

  “Where exactly do you want to go?”

  “Somewhere we can be conspicuous and anonymous at the same time.”

  “Then I recommend we head southeast, across that low ridgeline, and strike out from the New Luminance outpost. The Sand Sea is beyond that, and it has as a Triple L hazard rating. The second highest they have. Hardly anyone goes there.”

  “What’s the hardest?”

  Cal-com pulled out the folded up plastic map he’d been given at the supply store and checked the legend. “Skull and crossbones. Those aren’t allowed at all due to specific hazards.”

  “Any of those close by?”

  “Not if you want to get away from people. The ones I’m seeing are nearby establishments or popular trails.”

  “For example?”

  “A decommissioned fuel processing facility that has a number of hazardous chemical leaks that leeched into the sand and couldn’t be fully cleaned up.”

  “Couldn’t be?” Paul asked.

  “That’s what the info bubble says.”

  “Sand sea it is then. You’re navigating, and don’t cheat.”

  “That would be counterproductive,” Cal-com agreed, not accessing his armor shoulder blades hidden beneath his robe. He checked the map again and correlated it to the visual markers on the otherwise bland horizon that seemed to go on forever without definition as heat ripples and dunes seemed to blend together everywhere. “This way…”

  9

  Paul and Cal-com walked through the sand alone for the next 7 hours, following a barely visible trail of footsteps that were already disappearing before the wind kicked up. Now it was starting to get bad, and Paul was grateful to have the hooded robe to keep the sand off his face, though Cal-com didn’t have to worry about it getting into his eyes thanks to his visor.

  Neither man used their Essence, nor their psionics, nor their armor…and it was the first time in a long time that Paul had to deal with blowing sand and wind the old fashioned way, with him starting to gain a newfound respect for the usefulness of his powers that had somehow become the norm.

  In fact he was realizing that had happened a lot more than he’d noticed. Just walking through the sand as his feet dug in several inches with each step provided an old challenge that he hadn’t bothered to try in recent years because he had better ways of traveling. Just walking through it was inefficient, required awkward muscle movements, and his shoes were somehow still filling up with it.

  “Maybe we should have got those boots,” he noted as he kept his left hand on the top of his hood to keep it from blowing completely across his face and blocking his vision as the wind was coming from their left.

  “No. We would be even more sore now if we had. They were not built for our pace.”

  “If I didn’t have a skin upgrade I’d be bleeding from the grinding on my heels by now.”

  “That’s because you chose to wear low socks and running shoes.”

  “For some reason I thought that wise.”

  “And now?”

  “I have a newfound hate for sand. Do you want to keep going in the dark?”

  “I can with my nightvision. The question is do you want to continue?”

  “Can you navigate if the storm gets worse?”

  “No,” he said, stopping and pulling a 360 as he scanned the horizon as Paul stayed put and continued to shield his face with his hood. “And it’s considerably darker to the north. I estimate no more than an hour before it reaches us, and it will be nightfall before then.”

  “Can you see any terrain within walking distance?”

  “Nothing but shallow dunes. Where we are standing is no less desirable. Shall we make camp here?”

  Paul responded by slipping his backpack off his shoulders and letting it ‘thump’ into the soft sand that was moving a little on the surface in the wind squirrels. “Thought you’d never ask. I hope this gear is as good as advertised.”

  “We can always ask for a refund?”

  Paul looked his way, then squinted as a bit of sand hit his eyes. “Was that a joke?”

  “Perhaps some sarcasm. I have learned a great deal more from you on this trip, and you may be right about picking up on some of your tendencies.”

  “No I like it. It suits you,” Paul said, kneeling next to his pack and pulling it in front of his robe to shield it from the flying dust as he opened it up and pulled out their tent.

  Cal-com came over and helped him stretch it out, so it wouldn’t fly away in the wind. Unlike Star Force tents, this one was a flimsy material that resembled cloth, and would be held aloft by ridge poles. The fabric acted as a good sail, and the two of them had some difficulty spreading it out on the sand without it blowing away, but then managed without having to use any of their powers, though both of them had to stand on it with their knees to keep it in position as they began scooping sand with their hands onto the two rigid ‘wings’ that extended 4 feet out on either side.

  They, when unfolded, made a platform at ground level, and onto that the sand was dumped for stability. They got a few inches thick covering it before they risked standing up, and seeing that it held firm, the pair began popping up the fabric dome from the inside and fixing the ridge poles in place as they fought the wind to make all the connections fit.

  Once done they went back outside and scooped another foot of sand over top the wings to ensure it didn’t erode away enough to move the tent, then they did a little landscaping around the entrance in order to direct the newly sprouted dunes from building up in a bad place…like directly over the tent.

  By the time they got done the sunlight was nearly gone, and not from the storm to the north. It was completely black in that direction, but a little spec of sun was still visible in the west, though it gave almost no light on Paul’s footing. A small lantern on the top of the tent gave him a waypoint to work off of, but he was basically walking around in dark footing, having to feel his way through the sand and being glad for once he had worn the thinner shoes, because boots tended to dull your connection to the environment…especially the clod hoppers that were for sale in the excursion store.

  He turned and looked back at t
he splinter of sunlight fighting with the blowing sand for possession of the horizon and having to keep the hood on his right side held firm by his hand to block the wind from his face. It peppered his fingers but didn’t cut them as he starred at the sunlight as it began to dip behind a distant dune.

  For some reason the storm and the oncoming darkness were a comfort. As if they were blocking out the rest of the galaxy and reducing him down to just himself and this spot, even with Cal-com nearby. He knew he could see through it if he turned on his Pefbar, but right now that thought wasn’t very tempting. He liked being blind to the universe, and it being blind to him, even if that wasn’t entirely true. Certain orbital sensors could find them through the storm, but not all. Thought for the moment he let himself forget all that and just go back to being a simple Human that didn’t have that much tactical knowledge.

  Paul sighed, though he couldn’t hear it. The wind was too loud and the sand hitting his robe sounded like sleet, but he stood there and watched until the last of the sunlight disappeared, with the transition happening more rapidly than he anticipated. One moment it was there, then boom…it was gone and totally black. Not even a little glow in the sky left to mark its proximity over the horizon.

  Paul felt very small looking out into that pitch black and seeing nothing, but feeling the wind hammering him on his robe. He turned around and saw the small orange light marking their tent and walked towards it on memory, stumbling once on a new dune that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. He caught his balance quick enough, but the surprise was shocking and refreshing, and like any good Archon he adapted to it, taking smaller steps and giving himself plenty of leverage as he did so, finding some steps sinking in more than others as he made his way around to the side that held the entrance, though he couldn’t see it until he was only 3 feet away.

  Paul opened the zipper on the leeward side of the tent and stooped down to walk in, then spun around and zipped it back up behind him as a second brighter lantern hung in the same spot on the tent roof, inverse to the exterior one.

  “Night is upon us,” the Human said, pulling off his robe and seeing trails of sand pouring off it onto the floor. “Nuts.”

  “Here,” Cal-com said, handing him a brush and collection pan. “I had the same problem.”

  “At least the vendor’s package anticipated this,” Paul said thankfully as he knelt down and cleaned up most of the sand, then unzipped the door enough to toss it outside before resealing up the interior and dampening the sound of the ever increasing wind.

  “You sound better.”

  “I feel better. Logically I don’t know why, and for some reason I don’t care to find out. Being ‘small’ is easier in the storm I think.”

  “Isolation without responsibility. We have no one to protect. No one to monitor. No one that we can monitor if we wanted. Our responsibility is only in this tent and to each other. The storm and the night create a void into which we shelter from rather than fight. When was the last time you sheltered from anything?”

  “I’ve been in ships and internal cities so long I don’t know the answer to that. I haven’t spent much time outdoors in general, except in my armor. And never a sandstorm.”

  “Never?”

  “Have you?”

  “Such things were required of all Voku, as hardening for battle. We were sent to many harsh environments where we could make mistakes without it getting us killed. That way when we faced similar conditions in battle there would be less of a learning curve.”

  “Most of Star Force’s training occurs in indoor parks where we determine the weather. I can’t recall ever being in a sandstorm training session though. Sand dunes, yes. But a storm on them…I don’t think so.”

  “Then this is new for you?”

  “It is, but I’ve always had this feeling in storms…though until this moment I had forgotten. I feel more alive in them.”

  “As you also feel more connected to life in danger in general?”

  “That may be true, but this is different. There’s no one trying to kill us. This is player versus environment. I guess I’d come to think of the Hadarak as the environment, and forgotten what the real environment was.”

  “Your Excalibur is a poor location to spend so much time for a person of your responsibilities.”

  Paul glared at him. “I feel obliged to defend my ship, but I’m failing to find a means.”

  “Naval is a part-time Archon activity. Not a full-time one.”

  “And yet the Hadarak don’t give us time off on the Grand Border.”

  “That’s why you recruited the V’kit’no’sat. So they can guard the Border constantly, freeing up the High Guard and others to do other vital tasks.”

  “That wasn’t the only reason. And in truth not the primary one.”

  “You wanted to save them from themselves?”

  “It’s a lot more complicated than that, but in doing so we destroyed the purpose that had driven us into becoming Archons.”

  “You ended your quest by completing it.”

  “Yeah, we did. And part of me is missing it…” Paul said, about to put a caveat there, but instead he let it hang.

  “If you could travel through time and redo it, from the beginning, would you?”

  “And change things?”

  “No, just relive it. Suppose your memories were wiped and you would end up doing the exact same things again, over and over. Every time you finish the war you restart. Does that seem appealing?”

  “Not with all the work we have to do now, and have done since.”

  “Put that aside.”

  Paul considered his question for another 20 seconds before answering. “Yes and no. I felt more like a warrior then, but I also feel the journey isn’t about experience, it’s about accomplishments, and when you achieve one your purpose is to move on to the next. I just ran out of nexts.”

  “So you are not nostalgic then. You do not wish to go backwards, you are only searching the past to find a clue to your next challenge.”

  “Aptly put,” Paul said, feeling the vagueness in his mind crystalize to match his friend’s words.

  “You belong in the storm,” Cal-com said wistfully, almost as if he envied him. “You need to return to civilization periodically, but never to stay. In the midst of the storm is where you belong. And only there will you find your purpose.”

  “Why does my purpose keep changing and evading me? Every time I find it I lose it again in time.”

  “That is simple to answer,” the Voku’s voice said, returning to its normal crisp and formal tone. “The storm is not static. It is always in motion, always changing, never holding a due course. You must adapt to it, and in that adaptation you find your warrior nature at it’s most necessary. Those who are unworthy do not survive the storm…”

  “…and only those who are worthy can guide others through it,” Paul finished the line from one of the more recent scifi classics called Hotem’ba.

  “Star Force was in the heart of the storm before. Now it is more or less calm. You achieved that, and quadrillions of people, at the minimum, are immensely better for it.”

  “But I have to seek another storm, for I’ll never be content in my victory.”

  “Warriors never are, for more than a vacation or time to heal up or train. We always have to seek out the storm if it doesn’t come to us.”

  “Why aren’t the Hadarak that storm?”

  “The storm is relative to your skills. A storm to someone else is a stiff wind to you. The Hadarak are not the V’kit’no’sat. The V’kit’no’sat, if given the same technology as the Hadarak…”

  “Intelligence,” Paul said, seeing the obvious. “The Hadarak are strong, but in a brutish, dumb way. Not a worthy opponent.”

  “Especially not when you can’t even talk to them. They’re like a swarm of insects the size of this storm, rather than an assassin to fight hand to hand, skill against skill.”

  “Skills…are wasted on the Hadarak. You
defeat 100 of their minions and they just grow 1000 more to replace them. Everything I’ve worked for, except naval, is pointless against their storm.”

  “Then perhaps they are not your type of storm. Just a worthy side quest that needs done.”

  “A long side quest,” Paul said as he turned when he heard the zipper behind him pull down.

  There was someone outside, and had come up on them without him realizing it because he’d shut down all of his extra senses…but the hand that reached in to pull back the flap was black as the night and mostly covered with a robe.

  Cal-com walked in and started to reseal the flap as Paul looked back to where he’d been sitting…seeing him gone.

  “We have a tool for the sand,” the newly arrived one said as he took off his robe and rivulets of it dropped to the floor next to Paul’s…which was still inside and not thrown out like he remembered.

  “Where did you go?”

  “To relieve myself,” he said, seeing the odd look on Paul’s face in the white glow of the overhead lamp. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve just been sitting here having a conversation with you,” he said, opening up his full senses and searching the area with Pefbar, telepathy, and multiple Essence techniques.

  “You were standing on the far side of the tent when I came out. I saw you in my visor and went the opposite way. I’ve only now returned.”

  Paul pointed to the sand on the floor. “I cleaned that up too, with a brush and pan that you gave me out of your pack,” he said, sitting on the floor dumbfounded. “Search my mind to see if I hallucinated it.”

  Cal-com walked over to him and put his hand on Paul’s forehead, bypassing the Ikrid blocks via touch and searching his recent memories.

  “It was not me,” he said gravely. “If the sand has not moved, then it was not real. Did you sense any telepathy present?”