It was almost a voice to Samuel’s perceptions, something just beneath the surface of his consciousness, calling out to him. Or screaming at him, thought the marine as he took note of how the moss and lesser vegetation inside the crater’s boundary had already begun to wither and die. Corruption and madness radiated from whatever was down there inside the crate, and now that he was so close, Samuel’s suspicions about what he had to do were growing.
“Bring up the shovel,” said Samuel without turning around, gesturing with the muzzle of his rifle at a patch of dying moss covered with dirt just inside the crater area, and Orion slung the solo-class device from his shoulder. “Start there,” Samuel directed pointing at the spot. “Take it slow, just like you’re digging an irrigation trench. The others took a big risk just dropping tons of dirt and rock on this thing. If they breached containment we might have to shoot something.”
The boy’s face went pale with fear for a moment, and he did not move, until Samuel turned his face towards him and spoke.
“I’m doing good to stand, son, but I can still shoot,” he assured the boy as he tapped his trigger finger against the flat metal above the firing mechanism of his combat rifle. “Dig it out carefully, and if something down there gets loose, I’ll drop it.”
“If something bad is down there can’t we just leave it alone?” asked Orion despite the fact that he moved forward and activated the force shovel as instructed.
“Slavers brought this thing to our doorstep, and instead of slagging it, Doc and the others left it up to us,” answered Samuel, “If there’s anything I’ve learned about the Gedra it’s that they don’t stay buried. Sooner or later someone will have to engage.”
Orion swallowed, and then turned towards the crater. He stood silently for a moment before pointing the force hammer at the ground and squeezing the trigger. The tool was a smaller version of the device that had created the crater, a two-meter-long telescoping shaft that had two repulsors mounted on one end on either side of the wide shovel spade. Orion thrust it into the spongy soil and then heaved it up and out. As he did the repulsors lifted large amounts of soil and even a few large stones, the pattern of the energy field following the shape of the spade from which it emitted. Orion hurled the load aside and went back for a second, and then a third. Within a few minutes, he’d already moved enough dirt and rock to equal an hour or more of standard digging.
The work was good for Orion, thought Samuel as he divided his attention from observing his son and watching the treeline, to distract his mind at least somewhat from the horror that no doubt lay in wait underneath the rock and soil. The marine wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for out there in the trees, beyond pulling basic security, though he felt it important to do none the less. It was as if he felt hunted, an intent out there beyond his perception, and he couldn’t shake the feeling. More than likely there was a feline predator somewhere in the underbrush, watching them hungrily despite the presence of Cragg as a deterrent.
As Orion continued his work, Samuel began to feel what he could conceptualize only as a kind of dark energy emanating from the ground below.
“You’re close to it now,” said Samuel as the young man dumped another mound of dirt and rock, “One more full load and then power down, we’ll dig the rest out cold, don’t want to damage the crate.”
Orion nodded and gingerly pulled up one last shovelful, and after he deposited it he thumbed off the activator, making his tool as inert as any other shovel.
It had been a rather large investment, Samuel found himself thinking, but the force shovel had paid for itself on the homestead, making the work of several people possible by an individual in a fraction of the time. Now, however, they needed to proceed with more caution, more precision. He was loath to allow Orion any closer to whatever was down there, but it had to be done.
Orion moved around the rather large hole he’d made and began using the shovel to move smaller pieces of rock and clumps of dirt. After a few minutes, the outline of the crate began to take shape, and Samuel could see that Orion felt at least a little of what was radiating from inside. Samuel slung his rifle, moving carefully down into the hole, then put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“I’ll take it from here,” said Samuel. He could tell the youngster wanted to stay and help, but the relief on Orion’s face was clear. “Take overwatch. We’re out in the open here, might as well keep a rifle at the ready.”
Cragg hissed in agitation as it continued to circle the crater, not daring to cross the perimeter to join the two humans at the center of it.
Orion climbed out and took up a position just at the edge of the crater, where the land was slightly more elevated, giving him a better vantage point over the clearing. Samuel was happy that Orion’s hunting experience gave him those kinds of instincts, to automatically seek the best firing position as he understood it. Things were different once a gunfight got started, but such lessons were hard learned through experience, and Samuel genuinely hoped his son would never know the chaos and fury of such a thing.
Samuel missed the rush of a good firefight, how time slowed to a glacial pace even as the heat of battle made a volcano in the soul of everyone involved and hated that he felt so. It seemed that no matter how far he ran, there was always a fight to be had, and some part of him was happy for it. His thoughts were a jumble as Samuel ran his armored hands across the surface of the crate, pushing away the last few inches of dirt that covered the top of it. He felt comfortable here, in this realm of danger and violence, more than he did in his garden or even in Sura’s arms and admitting that to himself came with a cost.
A caustic wind blew through his soul as the undead machine reached out for him.
Samuel had felt the psychic lash of the Gedra before, in the presence of the Alpha cyborgs, and yet this was something more. He felt the throb of the crate, a physical hum, and shiver of the metal struggling to contain an expanding force that reminded Samuel of the reinforced disposal domes used to detonate enemy ordinance.
The cryo-crate was just a casing, an outer sleeve as it were, for some kind of containment unit hidden behind the blackout plates. There was a Gedra beast behind that metal, though something more terrible and powerful than even the Alpha cyborgs, and that alone was horrifying enough. Samuel’s tongue tasted the bite of electricity, and an all too familiar wind blew through his mind, making him wonder how his body could feel it through the armor.
Grotto Command was certain that the Alpha cyborgs, despite their tremendous capabilities and influence over the lesser Gedra beings, were not at the apex of the machine race. They were too specialized as grave guardians to be anything else. Someone or something had built those dead cities and occupied the bleached, scorched, and desiccated worlds on the other side of the Ellisian Line.
As the psychic waves crashed into Samuel, he began to put the pieces together. The Tasca had operatives pillaging the battlefields of the Ellisian trade war, so were working regularly across the Line. Clearly, they had gotten their hands on this nightmare, whatever it was, either by unearthing it themselves or more likely stealing it from someone else. The direct routes back into mapped space were, even now, choked with corporate traffic, much of it military, and no criminal would dare move that way. They would take the ghost lanes through corporate space, long stretches of empty space where the hope of rescue was as slim as the chance of encountering traffic.