Hostile Genus: An Epic Military Sci-Fi Series (Invasive Species Book 2) by Ben Stevens (historical books to read TXT) 📕

ground, and then began to go about eating the remains of Private Nguyen’s body with an unseen mouth orifice.

“I told you that we would need to work with Drop-trash for this to work. You agreed that was sound. I need to see if it’s possible. I need to see your mettle. Sacrifices must be made.”

“And that means sacrificing my men?” Martin spun, hating to turn his back on the Simian-Equidae alien, but more strongly wanting to menace the Provocateur with his weapon again.

“Do you have what it takes to see this through, Major? Or do I need to find another confidant? The boy had to go; his blood is on your hands, not mine. I told you to come alone. I told you that secrecy must be maintained at all cost.”

Martin wavered back and forth between lowering the gun and pulling the trigger. Finally, cautious wisdom, or perhaps simply self-preservation, won out. He lowered the pistol with a shaky hand and bored into the sinister agent’s eye with his stare.

“Fine. I will go along with you. You can count on me to keep our operation a secret. I can handle it. Forget the boy.”

“That’s the spirit.” The Provocateur grinned and waved his hand. The Neal-Laen snatched up Private Nguyen’s body and climbed up into the trees, disappearing without so much as the sound of one single twig snapping.

Unable to shake the feeling that he had made a deal with the devil, Martin saw no other option that ended well for him. Then and there, he made a promise to himself and to his fallen soldier that, when the dust had settled, when this was all done and dusted, he would kill the Provocateur. But for now, he would bend the knee.

He holstered his weapon, looked directly into the man’s eyes and said, “You had better be right about all this, Matiaba.”

5

Morning came without event, though to Jon and Lucy it was just a brighter version of night, neither of them having slept a wink.

Maya appeared no worse for wear. Her headache, if that was what it could be called, was as fully and completely gone as the night’s stars above.

“I’d like to try again,” she stated to the group matter-of-factly, arms crossed. She had apparently come to them expecting a fight and looked to be in no mood to back down or compromise.

“But, my lady!” Lucy blurted out, beating Jon to the first counter-assault.

“Let me speak!” Maya commanded, causing Lucy’s jaw to snap shut instantly. “I know and have reluctantly accepted that I can’t open a full-sized door for now, perhaps forever. But I did manage to get that small one formed.”

Jon cocked his head and squinted slightly, wondering where she was going with this.

“So I’m going to see if I can easily, and without pain or problem, open a small one.”

Jon frowned, crossing his own arms, and judged by the countenances of his companions that they shared his confusion. Naturally, it was Carbine that voiced the obvious question.

“Umm, what good is that going to do?”

Maya’s eyes flashed as she spoke. “Find me something to write with.”

Before the sun had reached its zenith in the winter sky, they had scoured every bit of debris that lay atop the sand. Having been unsuccessful in their quest to find a proper writing implement, they resorted to a jagged piece of steel, which they could use as an awl to scratch a message into a piece of soft aluminum.

“I guess this will have to do,” Maya said, unable to hide her disappointment. “But it should do the trick. Miller will be worried when we don’t radio back.”

“Or return,” Carbine added dourly.

Jon shot him a “Dude!” glance and reassured Maya. “It’ll work great. What should we say?”

“Send food,” Carbine offered, smiling.

“There isn’t much room.” Maya regarded the flat square of aircraft aluminum, squinting in an attempt to compare its dimensions with her hazy memory of the last night’s small window through space. “How about: Ship crashed. All okay. Continuing on foot. Don’t worry.” Maya looked at her guardians with a hopeful expression.

Jon tried to hide a grimace, while Lucy imitated a statue. Once again, it was Carbine who stated the obvious.

“Isn’t that a little misleading? I mean, shouldn’t we mention that we’re lost? That Ratt is FUBAR. That we have virtually no supplies, and that they should send help?”

Jon hated his buddy’s lack of bedside manner, but secretly agreed with him and couldn’t bring himself to protest, even if it meant winning points with Maya.

“What good would that do?” Maya asked Carbine specifically. “Sure, it’d be the truth, but what good would it do? We are lost, that’s true. But that fact is precisely why they can’t send help. We can’t tell them where to go! All we can do is press on with our quest and give them hope. Let them know we are okay, and to not worry. To hold down the fort until we get back.”

“What about Ratt? He’s not okay?” Carbine persisted.

“I think leaving that out would fall under giving them hope,” Jon interjected, evoking a slight nod of affirmation from Maya. “She’s right, bud. We don’t want them to panic. Let them know we are okay, establish communication. Keep checking in with them. Maybe, once we know where we are, we can tell them and see about getting some help.”

“I guess,” Carbine said with a shrug. “Just seems like we might regret leaving out those details.”

“It’s settled,” Lucy announced, then took the square from Maya and plopped down into a cross-legged position to go about the scribing.

A moment later, she had finished and offered it back to Maya.

“Hang on to it for a second,” Maya said, then stood up, brushed herself off, and nodded to Jon. “Here goes nothing!”

Maya began a repeat of the previous night’s performance, although Jon noticed slight variations in both her pitch and volume. Maybe a hand or finger gesture here and there was different, but he couldn’t say with any certainty.

Jon