Clearance level 5, eyes only. Do not copy, print, or otherwise duplicate.
Following the loss of the ZN001 prototype, progress on the subsequent models RG001 and PG001 have been halted. It is the opinion of this committee that the decision to hand over any considerable military power to a poorly understood entity was deeply flawed. Dr Beckherd’s project history is to be thoroughly scrubbed. All prototypes are to be liquidated, and all previous work partners are to be remanded to Capitale for cross-examination. To assess and develop countermeasures for the new threat posed by the entity hereafter referred to as “Zen”, a new unlisted committee is to be established, by order of [Redacted] and Gen. Dupont. All data concerning the construction and testing of prototype ZN001 is to be sealed and placed in the care of said committee.
One other matter remains to be determined, pending the findings of scientific scouting party XXXX. Should the outcome be deemed favorable, it is the opinion of this committee that the next step be pursued.
Frank groans and crawls on his stomach, not daring to look back at what he knows will be unrecognizable as Faith. His ears ring with the blast that descended from the sky and shattered the depleted uranium shell of the walker. A piece of shrapnel protrudes from his arm, and he can feel another embedded in his cheek. He does not stop to remove them. Somewhere out of sight, he knows one of the arachnid tanks is preparing to fire a second mortar shell, aided by a satellite overhead.
The snow stings his cheeks. His arm begs at him to scream, to vent his agony. He holds his tongue. He hears snow crunching behind him. Slow, methodical steps. Pain shoots up his bicep as he exerts himself, desperately trying to crawl faster. A clawed hand grabs him by the leg, and he grabs his pistol, turning and shouting. Un’Ktehl grabs the gun before he can aim it, and clamps a hand over his mouth. Frank feels relief and exhaustion dump into his system as the Khanvröst picks him up and slings him over his shoulder. Then, hearing the whistling descent of a second shell, his beast-like compatriot begins to sprint into the storm.
An explosion rings dullly in his senses, and he begins to fade out.
When he comes to, he is laid on his back, his coat folded under his head. A bandage covers his arm, and a parcel rests on his stomach. Looking around, he surmises that he is in a cave in the mountain, the wind howling outside. Un’Ktehl is nowhere to be seen.
He sits up and takes the package carefully, unwrapping it with one hand. Jerky, three strips. Salty and savory, he chews it with relish, staring out into the storm. His bandage is soaked near to black. After an hour, Un’Ktehl appears at the mouth of the cave, carrying an animal carcass with a slash down the flank.
Frank watches in silence as his last surviving troop member skins and guts the animal, hanging the pelt over a jagged outcrop of sand-colored stone, before starting a fire at the mouth of the cave and creating a spit with the bones. His shotgun he leaves in Frank’s care without a word. He eats as he cooks, chewing a raw slab of flesh. Frank understands; the cooked meat is for him, and the raw is for Un’Ktehl.
“We cannot depend on staying more than a little while, else I’d consider salting and drying some. If you haven’t eaten all the jerky, give it back.”
Frank hands him the package, and he stows it in his rucksack.
“What did you manage to take before the second shell?”
“Two guns, two ammo boxes, some of the canned rations, the utility axe, my knife, and-”
He smiles wickedly, and juts out his chin with pride.
“Two boxes of instant coffee, the salt jar, and lots of your lady friend’s bread!”
Frank smiles, and his vision blurs with tears. Un’Ktehl laughs long and loud, and the harsh sound is a symphony to Frank.
When they wrestle their emotions back into check, Un’Ktehl packs snow into their canteens, and carefully places them near the fire. He pokes the smoldering coals with a rib bone.
“I did grab a hot plate, but I’d rather use the emergency coal first, as it’ll actually keep you warm, help you heal faster. The catch is for the same. Meat and fat. I did give you a good helping of disinfectant, but I’ll have to clean that wound when we change your wrappings.”
“Y’know, this is about the most I’ve heard you talk, big man.”
“Kreghhrah, only because there’s so little to say, Fr’keh. M’Rehn, you are lucky you needed to make water. That mortar made the turret split like a flower. Royce… Well, Johnson got a piece of shrapnel to his dome. I got two to the ribs, winded me.”
He pauses, and looks up from the spit, his eyes aglow in the orange light.
“I am sorry, Frank. I did not think to grab that picture of yours.”
Frank shakes his head and gestures for his canteen, which the other quickly brings to him.
“You got the bread, Ktehl. That’s already more than I could ask for.”
He takes the water, and stares out into the storm, watching shades of white slip and swirl past the yawning teeth of rock.
To Ms. Elizabeth Fillianoire,
We have been entrusted with the following parcel of handwritten notes for you by one Corporal Un’Ktehl Kreg’ohr. We have pulled one attached letter from the group as it contained confidential information; however, due to staff shortages we are unable to screen the entirety of the package, and so impress upon you that you are not to share the contents with anyone else, and should you discover sensitive information within, you are required by law to surrender the offending document to the nearest installment of the United Settlements Intelligence Bureau.
Regards,
The United Settlements Civilian Postal Agency.
Eliza.
I realize that this will likely never leave this planet. But I have charcoal and parchment.
I am wounded, but surviving. Johnson, Royce, and Faith are gone. Un’Ktehl has taken it upon himself to oversee our survival. We’ve promised each other that, should either make it off world, we will inform the other’s family. It may be bold of me to call you my family already, but I’ve wasted too much time in denying my want for it to be so.
Our life is a hard one. We survive on meat and bread. Bread that you gave me. Eliza, you have most assuredly saved me, the bread has sustained my spirit as the meat has sustained my body. And Un’Ktehl, bless him, has been so good as to sustain my hope with his presence.
I do not know what day it is. My dear friend tells me it has been something like a week since our walker fell prey to mortar. My arm has healed much, and I seem to have avoided infection, but sadly, the bread is all but gone. We will soon leave the cave we have sheltered in, and attempt to make our way down the mountain. Based on memory, the nearest outpost is twenty one miles down the mountain, but finding it in less than perfect conditions requires a miracle. It is still our only hope. I believe that Un’Ktehl would be capable of making it by himself, as he has already proven quite adept at survival thus far. He hunts our food, purifies our water, and cares for me without apparent difficulty. I only hope I will not burden him too much.
A new cave, thank goodness. After the first, we were forced to make a sort of igloo, which was sufficient, but certainly could not be called comforting. This cave is less pleasant than the first, but it suffices.
Un’Ktehl has said that there is a reasonable possibility that the machine has already chased the ground forces off the planet. Given that we had not heard from HQ in days prior to the attack, it seems a little too plausible for my liking.
Another nightmare last night. I dreamt I was drowning in oil, just below the surface, unable to get anything more than my fingers out.
I miss you.
There is something out in the storm, something big. It shakes the ground, groans into the wind. Even my companion is made uneasy by the sound.
A walking fortress. The thumping and groaning is all from a structure on eight legs as big around as houses, bristling with cannons. We watched it pass down the mountain, in the same direction as we now head. We are certain it shares our destination. Eliza, my hands shake as I write. We must follow it, we must enter it, and we must bring it to a stop before it marches over our only hope of escape.
It is like watching a landed dreadnaught drag itself across the ground.
Our plan is simple. There will certainly be some kind of engine, with some variety of fuel. We will sabotage this so as to explode. We have very little firepower between us, but we also have no choice. If we do nothing, we will die here, to either the cold or the enemy.
It is a ponderous creation. It marches along rather like some kind of dense mammal, like the elephants from the old videos. It’s cannons sweep from side to side, and a great big tower in the center churns out steam. Un’Ktehl supposes it may be using nuclear energy, and I concur. We may have the chance to really shake things up.
Eliza. This is it. We are close to the beast now, and it seems to have become still: we can just make out the settlement in the distance. It seems the beast is waiting for something, perhaps a team inside to lower the shield. I fear the terrible cannonade that will follow, should such a thing occur.
The outlook is bleak. The beast will surely be crewed, and will probably catch us before we have even scaled the leg. But we will be trying, regardless. Un’Ktehl has clapped me on the shoulder, and called me his brother. We now seek to grasp fate with our own hands.
Dinner tonight is the very last of the drake jerky, coffee, and a can of sliced peaches.
Un’Ktehl regaled me with a story, one I think meant to inspire us both for what is to come. With the way the wind howls around us, I can imagine that I am living on the very home world he described.
It was a story of the hunt of the drake, of how, as a young buck khanvröst, he had to participate in the hunt to demonstrate his maturity. Every khanvröst, male or female, goes through this harrowing experience, it seems. They set out with the trackers and the harpoons, and they leave the valley to go stand on the upper crust of the glacier, and they wait in the storm for the flap of magnificent leathery wings. They make lots of noise then, using carved horns to imitate the call of their alien bison, to entice the leviathan down so they may spear it.
It is a game of chicken, waiting till the last moment to leap out of the way and throw the spear, praying that it finds the mark. The beast is huge, and has the strength to lift three full grown off their feet. If it is perfectly executed, the beast can be dragged down and slain on the first throw. His, however, was not so lucky a hunt, and he found himself clinging onto his rope, desperately climbing to mount the monster and slay it with his knife.
As he told his story, I found myself caught in the suspense, wondering if the fledgling warrior would make it out alive, all while hearing the tale from he himself.
He felled the beast, and claimed his place in the village, and when the Pliktik came, he enlisted in the navy, and eventually wound up here beside me. My heart burns with great pride at hearing what an accomplished person my friend is, though I understand that all his kind must endure the same to be considered adults. I have faith that, should I fall tomorrow, he will deliver my words to you.
Eliza. I have, do, and will continue to love you as I have no one else. I yearn to one day return to you, fling my arms about you, and never let go. I cannot wait to again smell the wonders of your little bakery on the corner of Lestrade and Main, under your father’s apartment. I will see you again, in this life, or the next.
Yours,
Frankie.
(Translated from language: Middle Vrösh)
Eliza. You know me not. I am a friend of your lover. He has asked me to here make my mark, and promise that these words reach you, should either of us survive. He is a great man, and I would be honored to die in his stead, that he may rejoin with you. I once loved a strong and beautiful woman from afar, and found myself unable to reach her. My friend has succeeded where I failed. If I am to depart this world for the black maw, know that my wishes are with you.
Un’Ktehl
Eliza sets down the last of the notes, and sits back in her chair. A small clock ticks away the time from the mantelpiece. A few dying coals in the fireplace hiss angrily, splitting and crumbling. A child laughs in the street.
She looks out the window to the amber and rose sky, and pushes the package away from her with a pained breath, that catches in her throat as she hears something small and metallic fall out of a small fold of parchment. She leans forward, and reaches out, picking up a small, plain ring of silver.
The doorbell rings, and she slams the ring on the table, standing and rushing away from it to answer the door.
She swings it open wide, and stares up at the long, white-furred face. Un’Ktehl lowers himself a modest amount, dipping his head, and speaking more softly than one might suppose is possible.
In the street, a child holds a toy ball in her hands and watches with unabashed curiosity as the woman in the doorway gasps loudly and hugs the giant thing in the military uniform. The girl stares and stares, and watches as they enter, closing the door behind them.
Seeds of Fear 