Grotto of Silence: Alien Rebellion, #2

Chapter 1

At the end of his break, Sergeant Tyson Garcia put his helmet back on, cycled the airlock to match Wetworld’s atmosphere, and walked back out onto the landing platform. The New Bali Colonial Constabulary had erected a forward operating base at the northern edge of the Okefenokee Wildlife Sanctuary six months before, and he’d been assigned as part of the aircraft maintenance crew. Garcia had hoped to go on leave to be with his family for Christmas, but with the extended air operations going full swing, he figured he’d have a better chance of winning the lottery instead.

Moving alongside the row of six parked Dragonfly VTOL flitters, Garcia activated the com-link in his helmet. Hey Chiong, where are you?

Keung Chiong poked his head out from underneath the sixth Dragonfly. Over here, sergeant.

Garcia walked over and stood beside him. The unbreathable alien air hung like a greenish haze all around them, it felt like he could scoop up the surrounding atmosphere with a wave of his hand. What’s the status on these birds? They want to take them up at oh one hundred again for an all-nighter.

Chiong shook his head slightly while sealing the battery compartment at the side of the craft’s fuselage. Just about done. I know I’ve told you this many times over the past few days, but we need to ground these flitters for at least a week. Half of them need a serious overhaul job, and we don’t have enough crews to do it out here.

Garcia placed his hands on his hips. As I’ve told you chief, I already sent your recommendation up to HQ last week, but I haven’t heard a peep about it.

Chiong made an audible sigh. We’re all overworked, and there could be a malfunction with these machines due to overuse. If one of them crashes, you can bet the top brass will blame me and my crew for sure.

When I forwarded your request, I made sure it was on the duty log and I kept copies too, Garcia said. If there’s an accident and an inquest, we’re both covered.

It’s not just me and you. The rest of the shift crews could get hit too.

I know, Garcia said. We’ve all worked together for what? Six years now? I’ll fight for all my people if it should come to that.

Glad to hear it, Chiong said. With all the budget cutbacks even when we’re supposed to be on full alert, this is all just crazy. What are we even doing out here?

Don’t look at me, chief. I just follow orders, Garcia said. The Constabulary established this base for aerial reconnaissance because of the native attacks. We’re not at war yet.

You know that’s all bull, sergeant. I’ve fitted tons of smart bombs on these birds these past few months, Chiong said. Heck, even the batteries for the lasers have been drained on almost every sortie, so it’s obvious these flitters went into action. I talked to a number of flight crews, and they all told me the same thing: every time they spot a native, they have standing orders to swoop in and bomb them.

Garcia turned his head, looking out at the misty swamps in the distance. He was too tired for a debate. Hey, let’s not question why. Instead let’s think about how we can do our jobs better, okay?

If you want us to do better then assign more crews here and we need more of everything, Chiong said. My people are exhausted. It’s like we’re fighting a war with what we’ve got, which isn’t much.

We’re all hard-pressed right now. I know our commanders are screaming for more resources, but the governor doesn’t want to raise taxes to cover our new expenses because he’s scared of more rioting in the domes, Garcia said softly. Domes were a slang word for cities amongst the colonials.

Chiong shook his head in disbelief. Well I’m telling you we’re at the end of our rope here. If we don’t get more maintenance crews in this base and ground these flitters temporarily, we’re looking at a serious catastrophe coming up. I kid you not. The bombs we’re getting are old, and heavily degraded. I wouldn’t even have put them on the aircraft, but I was ordered to. I’m afraid they’re unstable and might blow accidentally.

I know how you feel, chief.

Look, I’m scared of the natives, just like everybody else, Chiong said. But if the governor is serious about putting an end to the c’thlooq attacks, then why doesn’t he use the BTC CorpSec troops? Why us? We’re more of a police unit for chrissakes.

Garcia was trying his best to keep his crew chief from complaining too much, but Chiong did have a point. The New Bali Trading Company pretty much controlled the whole planet, and their corporate security personnel were better equipped and far more numerous than the overstretched Constabulary forces. I’ll take it up with management, he said softly.

Chiong realized he was griping to the wrong guy. Sorry for venting like this, sergeant. I guess I’m just getting crankier in my old age.

Garcia chuckled. Ah, don’t worry about it. This is all part of my job. Crap flows uphill, so it’s my duty to listen to your ramblings. He patted the chief on the back. Hey I heard some good news for once. There was an article in the Examiner this morning, it said the natives will be exterminated in a few week’s time.

Oh yeah?

Yeah, Garcia said. The piece talked about BTC and the big guns they’re bringing in to wipe out the last of the c’thlooq. Even our own pilots reported enemy native sightings are down by a lot. Their villages are all empty, which probably means most of them are dead.

Chiong rubbed the back of his E-suit and stretched. Wow, it must be a heck of a thing killing all these c’thlooq. You know, I never had a problem with them before. I took my kids once to one of the outposts by the sanctuary a few years back, and we watched as some of those c’thlooq hopped around and traded for a few tools. The kids loved it. I always thought the natives were peaceful, now all of a sudden they’re killing any human they find.

Yeah, I dunno what triggered it. Even the boonies have begun to fortify their settlements, Garcia said. I heard one of their little outback villages got overrun. Every man, woman, and child was killed and eaten by those froggers.

God that’s sickening.

Sure is, Garcia said. You know, just before he died, my great grandfather told me about what happened during the Singularity Wars. I was just a young kid back then, and I sure hope stuff like that doesn’t happen again.

Singularity Wars? Didn’t they happen over a century ago?

They sure did, Garcia said.

I don’t know much about it, Chiong said. I was never big on history anyway. I got through high school taking lots of woodshop and PE classes.

It was us humans against intelligent machines, Garcia said. We called them true AIs, or artificial intelligence if you want to be technical. Machines that could think on their own and learn on their own, and they could reproduce. Heck, they were pretty much like us except they were made of synthetic stuff.

And we fought against them? Why?

I don’t remember that part, Garcia said. All I remember is what my great granddaddy told me about all the killings. He said tens of billions died in those wars. The human race nearly went extinct.

Yeah? How did we win then?

Garcia shrugged, his loose fitting E-suit’s shoulders slouching back. I didn’t remember that part either. All I know is we won and all true AI’s were banned ever since, that’s why we have guys like you to fix the aircraft instead of some robot who’s probably gonna do a better job and not complain as much.

Very funny, sarge.

A woman came into view from the other side of the platform. Irene Mila was one of the younger members of the maintenance crew, and even the thick E-suit she wore couldn’t hide her curvature. She greeted them with a wave. Chief Chiong, the flight crew will be up here in fifteen minutes they said.

Okay. We’re all good here, Irene, Chiong said. Let them know the birds are fully operational.

Everything alright with you, Irene? Garcia asked.

Irene nodded before looking out into the nearby marshlands. All is well, thank you, sergeant, I—

Garcia turned to look in the direction Irene was staring at. Something wrong?

I don’t know, Irene said. I thought I saw something glinting out there.

Garcia activated the enhanced visual sight on his helmet visor and scanned the distant line of alien trees a few kilometers away. I don’t see anything.

Chiong had also turned and took a look. I think I saw it too. The moment Irene stopped talking I took a look in the same direction.

I don’t see anything, Garcia said. What did you two see out there?

I’m not sure, sarge, Irene said. I thought it was like a shiny reflection of something.

Garcia kept eyeing the terrain, but he still couldn’t get a glimpse out of anything peculiar. Chief, what did you see?

Right when I put the smartglass on my helmet into telescopic mode I thought I saw some movement in the forest out there, Chiong said. Big enough to be people or maybe even vehicles.

Garcia patched in his com-link to the nearby air-traffic control tower. Ronson, it’s Garcia. You guys have any transports coming in from the south, over?

Ronson’s voice came over his helmet’s audio speakers. No inbound at this time, sergeant. Over.

Roger that, out, Garcia said before he signed off. You guys sure you saw something?

I thought I saw something, sarge, Irene said. But please don’t put me on report for it.

Garcia decided to activate his suit’s external audio system, hoping he could pick up something. Let’s see if we can hear ‘em.

Maybe send an aerial drone out there to take a look? Chiong asked.

Not doing that again, Garcia said. The last time I requested it, I got reprimanded.

Chiong gave him an incredulous look. What? You’re kidding.

True story, swear to God, Garcia said. Three months ago I thought I saw a contact a few klicks out so I requested a drone to fly out there and take a look. Nothing. The next thing I know I get called into the lieutenant’s office the day after and he chews me out. Says we don’t have the budget to fly a drone, much less lose one based on a hunch. He said the next time I think I’ve spotted something that I go out there, wade in the swamp for a few klicks and take a look personally.

Unbelievable, Chiong said.

Maybe it was nothing, sarge, Irene said. I don’t want to get anybody into trouble.

Garcia’s audio did pick something up. It sounded like a thumping noise out in the distance. He quickly adjusted the sound quality and he heard it again. A series of loud thumps and a whooshing noise reverberated in the air. It sounded familiar to him, a kind of sound he hadn’t heard since his training days at the academy.

Then he remembered. Garcia grabbed his two companions and pulled them both down onto the ground. Incoming! Hit the deck!

The mortar rounds fell less than a minute after. All three of them felt the pressure wave a millisecond before they heard the explosion. The first shell hit the far end of the landing pad and tore a gaping hole in the carbon flooring. The second shell fell wide, narrowly missing the platform and making a loud splash at the shallow waters near the air-control tower.

Garcia quickly stood up. He knew the ones who fired were making their final adjustments before they really let loose. Go, go, go! Get off the pad. Get into cover!

All three of them ran for their lives. They sprinted towards the nearest stairwell as Garcia heard more distant thumping noises, a full two dozen of them this time. He hoped they’d make it down the steps before the rounds landed.

The sergeant had just gotten down the first set of stairs when the full barrage hit the landing pad. Two Dragonflies took a direct hit and instantly blew up, the degraded bombs attached beneath their fuselages detonating, creating a cascade of explosions. A few were near misses, but almost every round hit the landing pad, severely damaging it. The enemy had zeroed in and only a lack of ammunition could stop the attack now.

Irene slipped and nearly fell over the railing just beneath the upper level, but Garcia was able to grab hold of her arm and got her back onto the stairs as they kept running down towards the support pillars which elevated the structure above the swamplands. People were screaming into their com-link channels, the cursing and cries of the wounded were terrifying.

Garcia got the two maintenance crewmen onto the lower platform, near the docks. Fires briefly erupted before quickly snuffing out as the spewing oxygen from the broken air tanks were consumed. He pushed them in between a pile of cargo containers. Stay down!

A third barrage came in. The worst one yet. The sergeant watched helplessly on his HUD video feed and he saw the control tower take a direct hit. It was the first time he’d ever seen an attack, and he instinctively turned off his audio. Garcia didn’t want to hear the death cries of Ronson and his team.

Suddenly it was over. The whumping noises coming from the tree line had stopped. There were no fires on the pad due to the lack of an oxidizer in the planet’s atmosphere, but there were sure to be some inside the oxygenated habitats of the base. Garcia stood up and looked around. Irene could be heard crying while hiding behind the crates like an abandoned child, and Chiong was doing his best to comfort her.

Reactivating his com-link circuit once more, Garcia tried to climb the emergency ladder to help the ones on the landing pad, but his strength gave out. Dazed, he leaned back and stared out across the moist landscape of New Bali. The once tranquil wetlands he had known all his life now symbolized both danger and death.

Something in the water caught his eye. Garcia stumbled forward, leaning out at the edge of the dock. When he enhanced the telescopic sight on his visor for a closer look, he let out a deep breath.

A c’thlooq male had raised his head just above the brackish waterway near the edge of the jungle less than a kilometer away from him. They stared into each other’s eyes briefly before the native went back under, and the marshes covered him up as if he was never there.

Chapter 2

Walking up from the stairs of the subway station, Father Conrad Gorski placed the duffle bag he’d been carrying onto the ground and looked up at the geodesic dome surrounding Virac City. The mid afternoon sun filtered through the clear nanocarbon lattices, the refracted rays of light casting scintillating shafts of rainbow colored hues down to the buildings and streets below. The whole place seemed so familiar, yet so very different.

Based on the briefings they gave him, the Jesuit compound was a mere two blocks away. Conrad still felt a bit queasy from the six month journey to the planet. The ship’s doctors told him he might be experiencing some nausea after having been awakened from cryosleep, but he didn’t think it would still bother him even after he took the shuttle down to the spaceport. My body still thinks I’m in space, he thought.

Adjusting his clerical collar to make sure the white tab lined directly below his prominent Adam’s apple, Conrad picked up the duffle bag and slung it over his shoulders before crossing the street. No one from the either of the two Catholic orders had turned up to greet him when he arrived at the spaceport, and it was to be expected since his pending arrival had not been communicated to either the Jesuits or the Dominicans.

The walk had finally cleared his mind of the remaining motion sickness, and his thoughts raced ahead to the mission when he reached the front doors of the Catholic compound. Conrad pushed the doorbell button and waited.

A diminutive man with swarthy skin opened the door and peered out. Good afternoon. May I help you?

Good afternoon, I’m Conrad Gorski, and I’m here to see Father Arnaud Leclerc.

The man at the door looked up and noticed Conrad’s clerical collar. He smiled and stepped back, widening the open doorway. Please come inside. My name is Santos, and I am the caretaker here.

Conrad smiled as he stepped into the compound. Nice to meet you, Santos.

Santos led him into an inner courtyard lined with carefully manicured terrestrial shrubbery. Would you like to wait here, or would you prefer to sit in one of the offices? We have a humidifier at the accounting office, much easier on the throat.

There was a stone bench situated to one side, and Conrad sat down after placing the duffle bag on the ground beside it. I don’t wish to intrude. I’ll just wait here.

Santos grinned and made a slight bow. Very well, I’ll inform Father Leclerc you are here. Would you like some jasmine tea?

Oh no, I’m fine, thanks.

I’ll bring you some iced water anyway, the dry air does parch one’s throat, Santos said before he turned around and shuffled down a side corridor.

Conrad’s thoughts turned inward while he waited. The briefing they had given him before he left didn’t paint a pretty picture, and the updates he had downloaded into his smartcom device while being shuttled to Wetworld’s surface was even more disconcerting. After Father Peter O’Malley’s tragic death, Father Arnaud and his Dominican Order had become the de-facto leaders of this compound, completely supplanting the original Jesuit contingent. It felt like a coup d’état had occurred.

A goggle-eyed, pinched nose priest wearing the black and white habit of a Dominican friar approached him from the western end of the courtyard. I’m Father Ramon Reyes, assistant to Father Leclerc. How can we help you?

Conrad stood up. Father Conrad Gorski, I’ve been sent directly from the Vatican.

Reyes eyed him suspiciously. We didn’t receive any messages of your pending arrival. Do you have any credentials?

Despite his exhaustion from the trip, Conrad remained cool. He pulled out his smartcom and keyed in the virtual documents. Of course.

Using his own smartcom, Reyes studied the holographic paperwork. A mild feeling of surprise came over the Dominican’s face. You were sent here directly by the Holy Father? For what?

I think it’s best I speak with Father Leclerc about it.

A flash of jealousy came over Reyes’s soft brown eyes. He felt slighted since every bit of information had to go through him, and now this upstart had gate crashed into the orderly world they had set up. Wait here, I shall inform Father Arnaud of this.

Very well.

The hawk-nosed Arnaud Leclerc came into the courtyard a few minutes later. The head of the Dominican Order on Wetworld dismissed Reyes with a wave of his hand before making his way closer to Conrad. Father Gorski, this is an unexpected surprise. Welcome to New Bali and Virac City, in particular.

Thank you, Conrad said, shaking his hand. The Holy Father tasked me with a special mission here. There wasn’t much time for planning, and the papacy preferred to keep this issue somewhat under wraps for now.

Arnaud sighed. All I’ve read on the letters you gave to my assistant is a request by the pope himself to cooperate with your investigation, but there are no details as to what this whole thing is about.

I’ll get right to the point, Conrad said. Brother Moises Borbon. What happened to him?

Arnaud gave a slight shrug. A tragedy. He last reported in a little over a year ago, before all travel into the hinterlands was stopped by order of the governor because of the c’thlooq attacks. We even had to abandon the outpost near Okefenokee. Father Peter O’Malley passed away from heart complications a few weeks after that.

Conrad clenched his jaw. And you took over the Jesuit Order here and brought in your own people. How sure are you that Brother Moises is dead?

Arnaud’s thick eyebrows shot up in surprise. Well he must be. The air outside the domed cities is toxic to humans. All he had on was an E-suit and he was out on foot. We received no further communiqués from him after the last one. We even sent out a message on all channels across the entire planet, asking anyone for his whereabouts, but nobody knew. His own guide had been sent away so Brother Moises was alone out there in the swamps. There was no way he could have survived. Surely you must have read the report I sent to the Vatican about this?

I did, Conrad said. The Holy See officially declared him dead after your report was submitted. But just a little over six months ago, we received an anonymous com-link message sent directly to the pope via private encryption through the interstellar courier channels.

Arnaud was taken aback. What? But that’s impossible!

Conrad held up his palm sized smartcom unit and activated the external speakers. It was a short audio message, and only Brother Moises and the Holy Father knew the passcode. Have a listen.

There was a lot of static in the audio, but the voice unmistakably belonged to Moises. The young Jesuit’s tone was raspy, and there was a hint of exhaustion in his inflections. "The real world … is a lie. The T’thok … is reality."

For a long time neither of them spoke. Conrad wondered what had been going through Arnaud’s mind. The head Dominican priest seemed shocked at first when he heard Moises’s voice recording. Now it looked like he was deep in thought, as if trying to strategize a proper answer to cover himself from any liability.

Arnaud looked into his eyes. Are you saying this was received by the pope six months ago?

Just about, Conrad said. That’s why he sent me here.

To do what?

To investigate what really happened and to find out if Brother Moises is truly dead.

And if he’s somehow still alive?

Bring him back here, Conrad said.

Arnaud looked away and was silent for a time. When he spoke again his calculating voice had a hint of fear in it. I sensed there was something wrong with Brother Moises when I spoke to him last.

Conrad’s eyes narrowed. This wasn’t in the report he’d read. What do you mean?

The last time I spoke with him I begged him to give me his location so I could arrange a hovercraft charter to pick him up, Arnaud said softly. But I believe he deliberately cut me off. He had become obsessed with the aliens.

You keep referring to the c’thlooq as aliens, but aren’t we the aliens since this is their homeworld?

Arnaud adjusted his glasses. They are intelligent animals, nothing more.

The first reports Brother Moises sent to the Holy See indicates he didn’t agree with your assessment, Conrad said.

And he paid for it, possibly with his life, Arnaud said. I’m sure you’ve seen the news. Nobody is allowed to travel into the marshlands anymore. The hover transports all go as big, heavily armed convoys, and even they get attacked from time to time. To venture out there is to die. I fear Brother Moises may be kept as a prisoner by those things- even if he somehow survived all this time.

Conrad crossed his arms. If he’s a prisoner, then how was he able to get a message out via satellite com-link and into the courier network?

I do not know, Arnaud said. What matters is the c’thlooq are dangerous beasts, and they must be dealt with by the proper authorities.

Brother Moises came to New Bali to see if he could find a way for the c’thlooq to become part of the Church.

Those … things could never know God’s grace, Arnaud said. They are but spawns of the Devil.

What makes you say they are beyond salvation?

Look at them, Arnaud said. God created man in his image. The c’thlooq have horns and breathe poison. They do not care for others, and they kill and eat people. It is proof enough of their damnation.

Conrad clenched his jaw. This man’s mind is made up. There’s no way to convince him otherwise. I respect your opinion, but I was sent here to get to the bottom of this.

I will extend whatever help I can, Arnaud said. But you must realize the city is in a very worried state now, and I cannot spare the lives of my fellow priests and brothers to venture out there to look for him. If Brother Moises is still alive, then all we can do is pray he finds a way to return to us.

All I would need is lodging for a few days and to see Brother Moises’s possessions, Conrad said. I would also like to speak to Brother Guido De Luca. I understand he was Moises’s contact while they were stationed out in the wilds.

I will have Santos prepare a room for you, Arnaud said. But Brother Guido is very busy with the charity programs we have here for the refugees who arrive daily.

Refugees?

Arnaud nodded. Yes. Ever since the c’thlooq began to ravage the surrounding wetlands, the city has had to take in many people who seek safety from the outside. Brother Guido is helping to run a soup kitchen by the Docks district. Our own budget has fallen due to the drop in donations, and we’ve had to make do.

I was in transit for the last six months. I hadn’t expected the situation to deteriorate this quickly.

Things are getting more desperate by the day, Arnaud said. Those who could afford to leave New Bali and start a new life on another world have either left or are in the process of leaving. It may not be apparent, but Virac is under siege. The city’s life support systems can barely handle the daily influx of people.

I will not be in your way, Conrad said. But it is imperative I speak with Brother Guido.

Arnaud sighed. Very well. I believe he is preparing to go to the Docks soon. The Dominican priest pointed towards a door at the upper level. His room is up there.

After excusing himself, Conrad made his way up to the second floor, and knocked at the wooden door. He had a feeling Arnaud didn’t want him speaking with the young Jesuit.

Guido opened the door. He had been in the process of putting on his black cassock when he heard the rapping. Yes?

Brother Guido, I’m Father Conrad Gorski. I just came from Earth. Could I speak to you for a few minutes?

Guido stepped back and gestured at him to come inside. Yes, of course.

Conrad stepped inside. Guido’s room was sparsely furnished. A large antique crucifix hung over the narrow bed. He turned and shook the Jesuit brother’s hand. I was sent here by our Holy Father. I know you’re busy, and I would just like to take a moment of your time.