Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

Under Verdant Skies
Under Verdant Skies
Under Verdant Skies
Ebook422 pages3 hours

Under Verdant Skies

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars

()

Read preview

About this ebook

‘If captured you, as a soldier, will be infected with a harl parasite, whereupon you will cease to be human. Your involuntary contribution to the harls’ offensive capabilities must be avoided at all costs--under no circumstances should you allow yourself to be captured alive. For this reason you will be issued with a cyanide capsule. The capsule must be stored in the shoulder tab of your 390 combat armour. If capture is imminent, the capsule should be inserted into the mouth and crushed between the teeth. Death will be rapid and relatively painless.’
Captured soldiers are infected; captured civilians face rape, torture and multiple deaths.
When Jazz Slater’s wife is taken, his world is shattered. Ill-equipped to pick up the pieces, he nevertheless tries, little guessing there are agencies out there intent on thwarting his efforts.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateMar 1, 2014
Under Verdant Skies
Author

Martine Lillycrop

Martine Lillycrop lives in deepest darkest Somerset with her cats and a dotty dalmation, plus her two almost grown-up children. Her dreams of becoming a writer started as a child, living abroad on army barracks. Martine writes adult, Young Adult, sci-fi and fantasy fiction. The opening chapters of her cyberpunk noir, High Tide in the City, was awarded a professional review as a prize for achieving bestseller status on YouWriteOn.com.

Read more from Martine Lillycrop

Related to Under Verdant Skies

Related ebooks

Science Fiction For You

View More

Related articles

Reviews for Under Verdant Skies

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars
0 ratings

0 ratings0 reviews

What did you think?

Tap to rate

Review must be at least 10 words

    Book preview

    Under Verdant Skies - Martine Lillycrop

    Chapter 1

    It didn’t matter how hard Dan Slater screamed. No one would hear. His captors had seen to that.

    At first he hadn’t understood why they didn’t just gag him. But then, he’d assumed they were going to kill him. Now he knew different. He should have guessed the second they relieved him of his cyanide pill. Then again, both uses they had for Dan Slater required him to be alive–for a while, at least. They’d take the pill from him whatever purpose they had in mind.

    It had hurt. Unbelievable pain which, of course, they enjoyed. Vortazine from his own med-kit had passed from the syringe, along the needle and into his larynx, silencing him. The brass hadn’t mentioned they did that–inject nerve blocker into his voice box. Maybe they didn’t know. It’s not like the harls ever gave prisoners back again, so how would they find out?

    Remembering the hypodermic piercing his throat made him want to retch again. He pushed the thought aside. Retching was the very worst thing he could do right now.

    Focus, Dan. Focus on something else.

    The metallic crump of smart-gun feet came from somewhere nearby. Close enough to shake the ground, spill dust from the cracked ceiling onto his face. He renewed his struggles, tried again to scream. Despite its closeness, and his efforts, the patrolling weapon didn’t detect him or his captors. The entire room, captors and captive, listened while those heavy feet moved off, towards the mobile garrison only five hundred yards beyond the demilitarised zone, not far from where he was being held.

    I’m not meant to be here, he told himself. This is a mistake.

    It was easier to think that, hang onto it, than face the fact that he was doomed.

    He’d assumed he would be harvested–a fate any sane human had screaming nightmares about–he was only a reserve, after all. So he’d prepared himself for an ordeal of torture, followed by several cycles of smothering and revival. Nothing would prepare him for having his body being ripped apart by the harls when they were finally done, but he’d at least be spared witnessing them gorge on it till almost nothing remained.

    While that delusion lasted, Dan had vowed to endure it stoically, but part of him knew he wasn’t that tough. Nobody could endure harvesting for long. Dignity and honour would become useless, pointless concepts long before his first death.

    Pity he’d survived capture. Pity he’d been too stunned to grab his pill, shove it between his teeth and bite. But then, that’s what they’d planned.

    It had happened fast. An explosion–he remembered a flash and the vehicle he’d been driving crunched to a stop, tilted to one side. He’d been dragged out, still dazed, and carried to a damp, rubble-strewn cellar, where he’d been stripped naked and secured with silicon tape to someone’s abandoned hobby bench.

    By that time he’d realised what had happened, and what was going to happen next. But the harls weren’t in a rush. While the Vortazine took effect they stood back, waiting, letting him take in his surroundings.

    The owner of the bench, who had once gone to great pains to arrange his carpentry tools in neat racks around the walls, had no doubt been evacuated from the overrun city months ago.

    It was obvious why.

    The basement, and presumably the building above, had taken damage under artillery bombardment. The fusillade had disturbed some of the tools, leaving them strewn among the rubble in disarray. The shabby bench had survived, though. A film of tacky liquid was now slicked over it, which squelched against Dan’s back whenever he moved.

    The sticky stains on the bench, and the dark patterns squirted across the cracked ceiling, told Dan he was not the first victim these harls had brought here.

    He had struggled then, and they let him, savouring his distress. Feeding on it. When he’d exhausted himself, the four harls closed in. Their leader produced a small, shimmering orb, held it out like a religious offering. Dan recognised it and his fear became stark, primal terror. He struggled again. Fought. Cursed as loudly as his throat allowed. Finally, he begged. Soundlessly. Pitifully. But of course, it made no difference.

    It took the leader just seconds to infect him. Dan’s jaws were prised apart by filthy claws and the pea-sized sphere was stuffed past the fleshy wad of his tongue. Now the parasite was incubating inside him.

    As it dissolved, the egg’s protective exterior neutralised the acids in Dan’s stomach. At the same time, signature chemicals were released into his gastric fluids. The chemicals had revived the young harl from its hibernating state and the softened sac had then attached itself to his stomach wall. There it had drawn moisture directly into itself through his stomach lining, swelling it–transforming the parasite within from its desiccated condition into a vigorous, horrifying mass of writhing, thread-like fibres.

    It had been at least two hours since he’d been infected. In that time the object had grown large enough to cause pronounced distension to his abdomen. It pulsed and strained oddly. The hatchling now kept shifting inside him, ready to erupt.

    Each time it moved, powerful waves of nausea washed through him. Instinct told him to vomit, get rid of the toxic entity, but that was exactly what it wanted. Instead, he took deep breaths, swallowing saliva in an attempt to stave off the urge to retch–an urge that was growing stronger with every passing minute.

    He clung to whatever thread of hope he could muster–unable to accept his own demise, even now. There had to be something he could do! Something or someone would save him. Surely? He couldn’t believe this was really going to be the end of him.

    Hazily, he recalled some of the tales he’d heard during basic training. Hadn’t someone once used a field dagger to cut a parasite egg out of his own stomach, before it could incubate? He’d also heard of someone vomiting an egg out before it had a chance to attach itself to their stomach wall. One man had apparently managed to stop himself retching, even after the hatchling’s membrane had torn open, leaving the juvenile to cook in the acids which had by then reasserted themselves in his stomach.

    Rumours. False hope.

    At some level Dan knew he was too far gone now to cling to any hope, however wild. Even if he could summon help, if help found him, it would have done him no good. Dan’s rescuers would have no choice but to shoot him. He would have thanked them, too, before they did it.

    He gave a belch, trying to ease the internal discomfort, and almost gagged on the evil taste that came up with it. If he vomited now, it would all be over. The sac inside him would burst and the abdominal spasm would give the alien enough momentum escape his stomach and spread through the rest of his body. Whether he had a chance of survival or not, he was not ready to go–not yet.

    The harl leader, whose name Dan had learned was Col, sidled up to him. The creatures were growing impatient. Even Dan could tell the harl inside him was ready to hatch. They wanted it over. They wanted their new recruit.

    ‘You’re no longer of any consequence to anyone, Corporal Slater,’ Col said in a reasonable tone, lowering its head so its glassy, lethal fangs were hovering next to his face. He felt its breath, hot on his cheek.

    ‘It’s inevitable. Our newcomer is going to have your body, no matter how hard you resist. You can do nothing to stop it. Why prolong things? Nobody’s coming to your rescue. Nothing’s going to save you. Your existence is over. Why don’t you just accept it?’

    ‘Fuck you.’

    Dan managed a hoarse whisper, his face a grimace of hatred and revulsion. It appeared his larynx was beginning to recover but, ironically, not soon enough.

    Col gave a snort, its grotesque mouth twisting into a sneer. It leant over him and placed a claw-like hand onto Dan’s swollen abdomen. Pulling its lips further back, revealing a second row of teeth in a ludicrous smile, Col pressed down on Dan’s stomach.

    Dan gasped, the pressure on his belly intolerable. The creature inside him gave a reflexive squirm which made an audible squelch, and he realised with horror that the sac had burst–the parasite was loose, wriggling inside him. The writhing grew more pronounced as his stomach acids started attacking it. He fought renewed, more intense waves of nausea.

    Col wasn’t prepared to let its new hatchling suffer damage in Dan’s stomach. It hooked its fingers into a corner of Dan’s mouth, prising his lower jaw downwards, forcing his mouth open. With its other hand it reached a digit inside, delving until its black talon caressed the back of Dan’s throat.

    Dan’s body reacted reflexively. He retched and, having done so once, his stomach heaved again more strongly, launching the parasite from its dangerous incubation area.

    There was a little pain. Insubstantial compared to the bloating, which had thankfully subsided. But that was not good news. It meant the clotted mass of fibres had punched millions of microscopic holes through his stomach wall, worming their way past cells too coarsely-spaced to block their progress. The harl’s physical body, incredibly fragile and delicate, was almost a mile in diameter when spread into its individual threads and laid out in its star-shaped entirety. The parasite could not survive outside another living creature but, inside one, it was hideously robust.

    The one inside Dan had unravelled too fast for him to perceive it. His stomach was sore, but the nausea was gone.

    He shuddered in horrified anticipation. He imagined the thing progressing through his body, infiltrating and spreading with ruthless determination–questing. He had been taught what would happen next as he’d trained to fight these monsters. The army instructors had conveyed all available information on harl physiology, development and life-cycles. At the time, he’d been more interested in learning how to kill them, but he could still recall enough xenobiology to tell him what was coming. It would not take long for the bulk of the harl’s fibres to reach their primary objective–his spine. Then they would infiltrate his nervous system, taking control of his body. Following that, they would work their way along his spine to invade his skull. It was then just a matter of minutes before he had no more part whatsoever to play in the world.

    Dan Slater would be a harl.

    *

    Jay Slater stepped back and craned his neck to stare up at the EWSAU suit in front of him. This was a display piece but it was still impressive–monstrous and somehow alien in appearance. In Command Central bulletins, or viewed on the Public Information Broadcasts, the EWSAU carapaces looked more like robotic invaders from a 1950’s B-movie than the most advanced personal weapons system ever created. And if only a quarter of the suit’s rumoured capabilities were true, then the softly-gleaming piece of technology was even more deadly than it was intimidating. With these versatile assault systems at their disposal, it was small wonder the soldiers who wore them had been nicknamed ‘Superheroes’.

    Slater stepped back further, to take in the famous ‘Cyclops’ unit perched atop the suit’s shoulders. It was a huge orb, dominating the EWSAU like the eye which characterised its mythical namesake. The Cyclops firing system was primarily what had given the suit its fame. Or notoriety, depending on a person’s moral standpoint. Many people felt the power to kill with a thought was just a little too god-like for mere humans to possess.

    The plaque set into the wall behind the sophisticated weapon declared this to be a ‘Late Prototype of the Enhanced Weapons System and Assault Unit (EWSAU), brought into commission in September 2474 on New Corinthia’.

    New Corinthia had been one of the first planets infested by the harls. The people there had resisted the epidemic for eight years, but could never to get rid of the infection. There had been no news from New Corinthia for months. The armed forces had already withdrawn and those civilians who could be had also been evacuated. Clearly the EWSAU’s had been brought into commission too late to make a difference there.

    In recent weeks an enforced quarantine had been set up around New Corinthia’s abspace portal–its only access to interstellar space–but neighbouring systems weren’t satisfied. They felt the blockade wasn’t enough. Once the harls exhausted their supply of fresh human beings, they would want to spread. They had access to several heavily armed ships left behind by the fleeing forces. They could fight their way out, gain access to other planets.

    Paranoia, maybe, but those fears contained an element of truth. There’d already been rumours that Emperor Kitaro might dismantle or destroy Corinthia’s portal, cutting the surviving humans off permanently and preventing the infection from spreading. Except, it was already out. New Corinthia wasn’t the only infected world.

    The rumour scared everyone here on Mercia. If the Empire did it to New Corinthia, it would set a precedent–they would do it to any planet the harls reached. They would do it here, sever the planet from the rest of the galaxy, leaving everyone here to the mercy of the harls, to become fodder, or hosts to the parasites’ progeny.

    But if the human response down on the planet couldn’t get rid of the infection, what other option was there but quarantine the entire world? In terms of the big picture, it was no more ruthless than a surgeon cutting off a limb to save someone’s life.

    Slater promised himself that scenario wasn’t going to happen here on Mercia. He wouldn’t let it. There had to be a way to stop the harls spreading. Although he was only one man–one soldier–he was going to do everything he could, anything he had to, to ensure the parasites didn’t escape Camhampton and infest the rest of the planet.

    He refused to listen to the small inner voice telling him to be realistic. Ever since the creatures had arrived, he’d been living with an insidious, creeping dread–something which grew more acute as rumour and evidence of the harls’ increasing strength gnawed at his confidence.

    Deep down, he knew the parasites would consume him one day, one way or the other. Unlike the rest of the population, though, Slater didn’t have the option of escaping, of leaving Mercia. He couldn’t–not without her. There was no way he could abandon the only thing to give his life meaning. And the worst part was–the harls would have her, too, in the end. That was the reality.

    Much of the population around the infested city had been evacuated to safer areas, but conditions in those areas were already getting serious. Fuel supplies were low, water was contaminated–disease and hunger were spreading. People were fighting each other for the means to survive. And with dozens of planets now infected, the Empire wasn't prepared to evacuate all of them.

    This was why she was still here, so close to the infected city. Even though Blaise met the qualifying criteria for evacuation to another world, but she couldn’t go. Registered as disabled, she was also entitled to a place in one of the refugee villages near Kishvar, over on the southern continent, but her physician had warned her the harsh conditions would probably kill her–she was too fragile.

    Naturally, Slater had assessed the risks, factored in everything he could think of. Of course it was dangerous–there was always the chance of a further outbreak. But she should be safe, even here, this close to Camhampton and the harls. She was far enough away that, should there be an outbreak, she could be moved to safety before the parasites got to her. He had reasoned all this out, run simulations at work, set up a bug-out plan.

    But all the modelling, the scenarios, the plans, didn’t stop the dread. It didn’t stop the dreams showing him their home overrun, his wife dragged away screaming. It didn’t stop him freezing in cold panic at unguarded moments, wondering if she was safe. Or the calls he made to her, just checking, when he should have been concentrating on his job.

    Joining the EWSAU regiment probably wouldn’t stop the dread, but it would help.

    Slater was already one of the elite–a Special Forces hunter-killer, commander of a squad calling themselves the Jackhammers. That had seemed to be a start too, once. His fears had motivated him to become the best he could be at killing the xenos, and recognition of his skills had awarded him his own team of hand-picked killers. But it still wasn’t enough.

    The Perimeter kept expanding. It was slow. Only noticeable if a person went back over the archives and had a look at where it had stood three months, six months ago. But it was clear. The harls were pushing outwards.

    Special Forces weren’t enough.

    A week ago, he’d thought the Superheroes would be, but the path had now closed itself. He was doing this to protect the thing, the woman, he loved. Joining the EWSAUs would undermine that in a way he hadn’t expected. It required a sacrifice she would never understand, and would probably never forgive him for.

    ‘You sure about this, Lieutenant?’

    Slater turned to the speaker, who had approached quietly and was standing behind him. He didn’t know how long the recruitment sergeant had been there. For that matter, he wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there himself, staring at the suit without really looking at it.

    ‘You put a lot into your selection application,’ Sergeant Baker went on. ‘Passing Assessment isn’t easy–we turn away ninety-eight percent of applicants.’

    Slater tugged his lower lip and turned back to the prototype with a pang of longing. It had seemed so right, even a couple of hours ago. It had looked so much like the answer he was seeking.

    ‘There are some things I wasn’t aware of before I applied,’ he said. ‘I realise it’s classified, but if I’d known...’ he trailed off.

    Baker glanced around to see who else was nearby and took a step closer. The lobby displaying the EWSAU prototype was at the hub of the newest building in this brand new facility. Its arrow-shaped windows converged in a cone-shaped starburst overhead, the prismatic glass casting rainbow colours onto the floor in a kaleidoscopic iris–symbolic of the Cyclops that defined the EWSAU suit. The multi-hued wheel rotated with the passage of the sun–pretty, but impractical–uncharacteristic for anything military.

    They were standing in the EWSAU Division’s own building, but no regiment could operate in isolation–there were personnel from other units constantly passing through the rainbow-lit foyer. Most were understandably curious about the fabled Superheroes, and ear-wigging was a soldier’s favourite pastime.

    ‘It’s the nano-tech, isn’t it?’ Baker murmured, having checked they wouldn’t be overheard.

    Slater turned back, his face still pensive. ‘There are some personal issues...’

    The sergeant held up his hand. ‘Not here. Come back to my office, sir. Please? The tech the EWSAU Regiment uses...differs from the stuff you know about, and there are... Well, I don’t want to see you throw this opportunity away. Not after everything we’ve just put you through. You sailed through our assessments, ticked more than the required significant boxes... We’ve even offered you a fast-track entry. We’re crying out for people like you.’

    Slater realised he was being presented with a very rare opportunity. Not only the chance he’d just turned down to actually join the select Superhero Regiment, but here they were, coming after him, begging.

    With a small wince of indecision, he allowed Baker to lead him back to the office where he’d just undergone a two-hour interview which had felt more like an interrogation. He was tired, thirsty and his stomach was growling, and the last thing he wanted to do was go back in there for more talk.

    Actually, the last thing he wanted to do was walk away from this. He was too hungry for it. It was unlikely Baker had any insights about nano-tech Slater didn’t already know about, but on the off-chance he did...

    At least this interview looked like being more informal. Baker cracked the seal on a bottle of fizzy water and poured each of them a plastic tumbler full before regarding Slater unhappily.

    ‘It’s never happened to me before,’ he said. ‘I’ve turned down thousands of men since the programme started, but no-one’s ever turned me down.’ He swallowed most of the water in his cup and promptly refilled it, hiding a small belch as he did so.

    ‘Sure, most people baulk at the idea of being injected with billions of nanoscopic machines, programmed to alter the body from the inside out...’ The man sat back in his chair and gave a wry smile. ‘...but the procedure’s not exactly new. And here’s the thing... The type of nano-tech we’re using is different. State-of-the-art. Like nothing you’ve seen or even heard of before. Believe me, nothing else comes close.’

    Slater eyed him anew as it occurred to him that, beneath his perfectly ordinary-looking skin, Sergeant Baker was swarming with the machines himself. Aside from the strange-looking jack-points Slater had noticed in the man’s wrists and neck, Baker didn’t look different to any other soldier. But there, he realised, the similarity must end.

    ‘Listen to this,’ the sergeant continued. ‘As well as being an essential element in controlling the EWSAU suit, our nano-tech gives us a great deal of protection against death in the field. I’m not allowed to say more, but believe me, I’m talking about a great deal of protection. Minimal risk, high gains.’

    Slater reached over and took his cup, swirling it so the bubbles inside broke the surface in protest.

    ‘I didn’t know the Superheroes were using nano-tech. That hasn’t been made public–or at least not public enough for the likes of me to know about it.’

    ‘Yes, the info’s restricted,’ Baker agreed. ‘The stuff we use is very advanced, even for nano-tech.’ The man leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘The tritars had a hand in its development. We don’t want it getting out to the general public, so I’m invoking that Official Secrecy Act you signed at the start of Assessment.

    ‘The Cyclops causes us enough bad press. The powers-that-be don’t want people to find out we’re using alien nanotech inside humans, in case it creates open animosity.

    ‘The role of a superhero, Lieutenant Slater, is to kill xenos, and kill ‘em good. We can’t afford to have the programme revoked just because some civilians on an uninfected world get squeamish. As a serving soldier, you must have felt the impact we’re having.’

    Slater nodded. ‘That’s precisely why I wanted to join. I wanted to be part of it, make a difference.’

    ‘And we’d be happy to have you–I’ve already made that clear. But the nano-tech scares you...’ Baker held Slater’s gaze. ‘You still haven’t told me why.’

    Slater snorted at the attempt to taunt him. ‘It’s not that I’m scared of nano-tech. It’s that my wife and I are trying for a baby. She’d kill me!’

    Baker’s expression flickered. After a moment, he reached forward and snatched up Slater’s profile from where it still sat on his desk. The man flicked through the screens thoughtfully until he found what he was looking for.

    ‘Your wife’s still on Mercia?’ he said in astonishment. ‘Local? She probably qualifies for extraction, given your occupation. My own wife’s already on Haloe.’

    Slater licked his lips uneasily. Finding them paper-dry, he took a sip of water.

    ‘She’s stuck here,’ he said, trying to keep the bitterness from his tone. ‘She was bitten by a slake when she was ten. Her parents got her to hospital in time to save her life, but not in time to prevent the venom damaging her system. The surgeons sorted most of it out, but there were some blood vessels they couldn’t repair–some intracranial veins.

    ‘The G-forces involved in getting her into orbit would likely rupture those blood vessels. She wouldn’t survive. Same story for cryo-storage–when they wake her, the pressure needed to push the slush out of her system would rip the weakened veins apart.’

    Sergeant Baker frowned in concern.

    ‘I’m sorry to hear about your wife’s situation, Lieutenant. It must be very worrying. Out of interest, what are you going to do if the harls break through the Perimeter?’

    Slater looked at Baker bleakly. ‘We’ve contingencies for whe...if that happens.’ Not that it helps in the long run. There would come a point when there were no contingencies left.

    Baker didn’t press. He returned to the profile in front of him.

    ‘Going back to the nano-tech, and forgive me for being insensitive... The reduction in sperm-count might not make any difference to your wife’s ability to conceive. You’re aware of that, I take it?’

    ‘Her fallopian tubes were affected by the slake venom,’ Slater admitted. ‘Her chances of conceiving are low, but not astronomically. The problem is... Blaise knows if the harls take over on this planet, she’s done for. She can’t run and there’ll be nowhere she can hide. Not from them.

    ‘She wants to have a child before that happens. So she can leave something behind that can escape from Mercia–something that can carry evidence of her existence into the future. Her chances of getting pregnant are a hell of a lot lower if the nano-tech makes my sperm-count drop.’

    Slater saw the look appear on Baker’s face. The slightly incredulous look people got when they realised someone was considering having children on this world. How many times had he seen it now? He’d got to expect it, but seeing it still annoyed him.

    Baker was nodding. ‘I understand, Lieutenant. And I sympathise. But there’s nothing to stop you placing sufficient quantities of your sperm in the DNA bank before we carry out the procedures. As an active soldier, you must have already considered doing this, as insurance against your death?’

    ‘Yes,’ Slater said, curbing his resentment. ‘And I’ve taken care of it. But presumably you know the success rate of insemination from the DNA bank? The place is located over in Stantonhay, for god’s sake! The amount of brown-outs they get, I’m surprised any DNA survives at all. And there’s no way I’m letting my wife endure some chicken-factory insemination procedure! Not for a two percent chance of success, and especially not when I can do the job better myself!’

    Baker grunted in acknowledgement.

    ‘Fertility treatments?’ he suggested hopefully.

    Slater shook his head. ‘The facilities have all been shut down–medical resources have to be geared towards the war effort these days.’

    The sergeant sighed, realising he was holding a losing hand.

    ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ he said. ‘I’m going to keep the offer of a place open to you for six more weeks. It gives you time to think about it, discuss it with your wife. If anything changes and you decide take up the offer, just get in touch.’

    Slater drained his cup and rose to his feet. He couldn’t see any way things were going to change that much in the foreseeable future and leaving such a tempting offer open to him for so long was going to feel like torture.

    ‘Get in touch,’ Baker said again as Slater left the office.

    Chapter 2

    "Military personnel must disengage from and seek safety if close-quarters combat with the enemy is imminent. Harls are superior to humans in strength and agility, and there is no defence against their psychic attacks. In hand-to-hand combat, a soldier would be overwhelmed and captured.

    Due to the low success rate for rescuing prisoners, and the high risk of rescuers being taken captive themselves, as from 14.30 hrs 21/3/2475, standing orders are that no rescue attempt is to be made for any soldier taken alive. Henceforth, captured personnel will be logged as fatalities.

    We currently estimate that 98% of captured soldiers are used as hosts. If captured you, as a soldier, will be forcibly infected. As a host, you will involuntarily contribute to the harls’ offensive capabilities. It is your duty, therefore, to prevent yourself being captured alive. For this reason you will be issued with a cyanide capsule.

    The capsule must be stored in the shoulder tab of your 390 combat armour. If capture is imminent, the capsule should be inserted into the mouth and crushed between the teeth. Death will be rapid and relatively painless.

    Current statistics show only a 30% success rate in deploying the pill in time–due mainly to pragmatics; i.e., retrieving and placing the pill inside the mouth before capture. You should be aware of this fact, and use the pill without hesitation should your situation become untenable.

    (Addendum to foregoing paragraph) A safety button has been designed into the 400 Series combat armour. In the event you have been provided with this new equipment, the button is located inside the collar, behind the left ear. Tests have proven this button to be three times as effective in preventing live capture. It can be quickly depressed if you are compromised, causing the toxin to be delivered hypodermically, directly into your bloodstream. A further benefit is that the button can be triggered remotely by your Commanding Officer, should you be incapacitated."

    Section 9.3.3, Basic Training Manual,

    H.I.M.F (2473)(Updated 7/5/2475 GMT)

    Blaise had not only overslept, she’d stayed in bed at least half an hour longer than was decent, luxuriating in the comfortable softness surrounding her. As she lay there, feeling the warmth of Mercia’s sun shining onto her legs through a small gap in the curtains, she just felt nice. She would have felt nicer if Jay had been lying next to her, but it was still nice. Hopefully he’d be back soon, and they could spend some quality time together. In bed, if she had her way.

    He was scheduled for two days R&R following his assessment for the EWSAU Regiment. She wasn’t sure how she felt about her husband wearing one of those suits, though, and guiltily hoped he’d be rejected. The idea of a human inside a EWSAU frightened her more than if the hulking objects were just machines.

    Whenever she saw a superhero on the Public Information Broadcast, she was always reminded of those high-output auto-packers. The lumbering worker robots weren’t sentient–they had to be controlled remotely by a central AI–and with four upper limbs they couldn’t even be called androids. But they still looked vaguely human, and somehow evil. Just like the EWSAUs.

    Finally deciding she daren’t waste any more time, she slid her legs over the side of the bed and padded barefoot to the bathroom, where she set the shower going.

    Helena would be here in a couple of hours, and she usually had to wait for Blaise. Better not make her wait any longer than necessary.

    Helena Grist was on Jay’s team–his data-punk–his information specialist. That was how Blaise had met her. She couldn’t believe she’d actually been jealous when Helena first joined Jay’s squad. She’d been worried the pretty corporal would be too much temptation for him, although she should have known better. As she’d got to know her, they’d become friends. Now, with everyone leaving, she was her only friend.

    They were heading to Pembury for the afternoon. Going shopping–real shopping. And since everyone was leaving Mercia in droves before the harl infestation grew worse, there were dozens of closing down sales in Pembury. It was a good time to pick up a bargain.

    Blaise wanted a present for Jay, to congratulate or commiserate him on his application, and had already decided what it was going to be. She was hoping there were still some sexy dresses and lingerie on sale, which, of course, was going to be

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1