Reap the Whirlwind

The decoy shot up and away through the hole he’d blasted in the canopy. He flattened himself on the ground, face pressed into the mud, as the tentacle curved up away from his back and out through the smoldering cha

Tan Bao pulled his face from the muck. He gasped for breath, checked to make certain there were no more tendrils stalking them, and scrambled over to McLellan. She took his arm in a fierce grip. “It hurts, Tan,” she said through gritted teeth. Tears of agony rolled from her eyes. “God help me, it hurts! Do something.”

“You have to let go of my arm,” he said. “I need to get back to my pack. I have a field kit in there.” He pried at her fingers. “I’ll be right back, Bridy, I promise.”

It took all her strength to let go of him. She covered her face with her mud-caked hands and listened to his sprinting steps squishing across the wet ground. Fighting for breath and clarity, she focused on the sound of him coming back, getting closer. Then the hiss of a hypospray brought a warm sensation to her body, and she felt weightless. She remained half-conscious while he examined her with his medical tricorder.

“The good news,” he said, “is that whatever that thing did to your leg, it stopped the bleeding.”

Anticipating the second half of his report, she asked, “What’s the bad news?”

“Whatever that stuff is…it’s alive.”

“Come on!” Niwara shouted to Theriault, who was a few paces behind her. “We’re almost there!

The jungle teemed with scores of tentacles. Adding to Niwara and Theriault’s numerous disadvantages, they had been forced to retreat uphill for the last hundred meters.

A crystalline blade cut across Niwara’s path and embedded itself in a tree. The liquid part of the tentacle disengaged from the crystal blade, leaving it behind as it recoiled for another strike. The nimble Caitian ducked under the stuck shaft of black glass and dodged right, nearly colliding with Theriault, who had caught up to her.

Ahead the darkness of the forest gave way to light and air, a clearing open enough to release the decoy. The two officers jumped through a wall of thick blue-green fronds—and nearly plunged over the edge of a cliff into a vine-choked ravine, thirty meters above a run of white-water rapids.

Niwara regained her balance first, then she reached out and steadied Theriault. They teetered for a moment on the crumbling edge of the cliff. “Activate the dampener,” Niwara said as she readied the decoy. Seconds later, the dampener powered up with a low hum, and Niwara released the decoy into the sky. The jungle canopy echoed with the snaps of breaking limbs as the tentacles shot upward in pursuit.

Mission accomplished, Niwara congratulated herself.

A shimmering blur barreled out of the forest behind them—a straggling tentacle in belated pursuit. It slammed them aside as it passed between them and sped away toward the horizon.

The impact hurled Niwara and Theriault off the cliff.

Niwara’s left paw shot out, seeking the cliff’s edge. Her right paw reached for Theriault. Catching the edge, she arrested her own fall, but she could only watch as her shipmate tumbled down the ravine. Vines snapped as the young science officer plummeted through them, desperately grasping for handholds. Then she splashed down into a muddy froth of fast-moving current and was swept away.

The Caitian scout pulled herself back on top of the cliff and looked down at the rushing waters. Overhead, the storm began to split apart. Something deep inside it unleashed another horn-like, groaning cry.

As she listened to its unearthly howl echo off the distant hillsides, Niwara felt as if it knew of her failure to protect Theriault…and that it was mocking her.

Razka let go of the decoy into the clearing full of stumps, and it zoomed on a long arc for the horizon. Lieutenant zh’Firro huddled close to him, the dampener humming softly in her hands. Crouched down at the tree line, they watched dozens of writhing coils blaze dark trails across the sky.

Looking up, he noted that the storm cloud was begi

“We should head back to the rendezvous,” zh’Firro said.

“Yes, sir,” Razka answered. He took point and began retracing their steps through the jungle. It would be a roundabout route back, but it held the least likelihood of becoming lost.

As they walked, zh’Firro looked up at the clearing sky. Her focus seemed to be deep, as though she were looking into a great distance. “I wonder if Xiong’s okay up there,” she said. “He’s all alone on that Tholian ship. What’s he going to do when he runs out of air?”

“I’m sure he’ll think of something,” Razka said, pressing ahead to follow the trail. “He’s quite clever…for a human.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” zh’Firro asked.

Razka cocked his head in amusement. “I guess that depends on your opinion of humans,” he said.

11

The Apostate was correct, noted the Herald. The Telinaruul are elusive. Perhaps the Avenger’s slumber robbed her of skills.

His words bordered on heresy. Agitating the others—particularly the Nameless—had always been the Herald’s favored sport, and the Wanderer had long held him in contempt because of it. The Herald was a rogue, a dangerously random element; it was impossible for her to tell whether his loyalties belonged to the Maker or to the Apostate, or if he had any loyalty at all. Had the choice been hers, she would have expelled him from the Serrataal and forced him to be counted among the Nameless.

Alas, the choice was not hers, and the Maker suffered his insolence with aplomb.

Commanding the Colloquium’s attention with a brief harmonic vibration of her mind-line, the Maker reassured them, The intruders will be dealt with. They may have misdirected the Avenger, but their respite will be temporary.

Acceding to the Maker’s cautious optimism, the gathered Shedai cooled the colors flowing through their shared thought-space. The Adjudicator took advantage of the collective pause. The Telinaruul have sullied our world. We should make an example of one of theirs.

Other matters press upon us, the Wanderer interjected. First we must teach them to respect what is ours. She harnessed a sphere of violet fire from the First Conduit and illustrated her point: a remote star group, a precious world of life, a hidden Conduit…and a surface infested by Telinaruul. Even now they seek to unlock our secrets. They have come in numbers to Avainenoran and are searching for its Conduit. That world must be washed clean with their blood.

The Maker attuned herself to the First Conduit and tested its bond to the Conduit on Avainenoran. It is distant. There are many Telinaruul on the surface…and two starships in orbit. Her aura clouded with doubt. Such vessels did not exist when the foundation of our domain was laid. She went quiet, apparently considering the matter with great care. To act with sufficient force and celerity will be taxing and perilous.

Alarmed, the Wanderer responded with bitter indignation. The more they learn, she declared, the more dangerous they become. They must not capture another Conduit.

Brooding silence answered the Wanderer’s argument. Finally, the Maker’s mind-line resolved to a bright golden hue of determination, and she set the future in motion. We must gather strength to manage a great transit. When the next day-moment begins for the Telinaruul on Avainenoran, let them awaken to a battalion of the Nameless bearing our grim tidings.