Chapter 1: No More Running

They sat around a long conference table as Izel and his surviving flockmate relayed the story of how they had come to be in the situation that Xipa had found them in. They told of how the sentry had met up with them to update them on her findings concerning the influx of Bug troops, and how they had proceeded deeper into the district to investigate the insect activity there. They had been engaged, and had sought refuge inside the factory. When Cyan team had come to look for them, they had fought a running battle throughout the building and were eventually driven to the top floor by the overwhelming number of Drones. They had barricaded themselves up there until Xipa and Bluejay had found them.

Xipa showed the Ensis the footage that Bluejay had taken of the massing forces beneath the wall, concerned muttering filling the room.

“What do you make of this, Fletcher?” Xipa asked. “You have more experience fighting the Bugs than anyone in this room.”

“It’s an invasion force,” he replied, scratching his chin with a prosthetic finger as he looked at a still image of the Bugs. “They have armored support – looks like they’re setting up an anti-air blanket to protect their staging area, and they’re starting to make inroads deeper into the city. Once they find a way through, they’ll be coming for us.”

“I have to agree with Xipa’s assessment,” Miqi added. “We have no choice now but to evacuate our population. She believes that her fleet has the resources to carry out such an evacuation, but we have to start soon. We may only have days to work with here.”

“Fighting isn’t an option,” Xipa continued, her gaze wandering between the women. “It’s going to take everything we have just to get you out of here before we’re overrun.”

“We don’t stand a chance against a force that large,” the scarred Ensi muttered.

“You can give us your assurances that we will be able to return once it’s deemed safe?” another of the Ensis asked, scrutinizing Xipa from across the table.

“You have my word,” she replied. “If your wish is to remain in orbit rather than return to Valbara, then nobody will tell you otherwise. I don’t have the authority to make you do anything – you’re not part of the Consensus. It’s all voluntary.”

They convened for a few moments, whispering to one another, then seemed to come to an agreement.

“Very well,” the scarred Ensi began. “We have reached a consensus. We will consent to your evacuation on the condition that we be allowed to return as soon as it’s safe. This is our home, and we will not abandon it.”

“Agreed,” Xipa replied, allowing herself a flutter of green and a sigh of relief. “Now, we just have to formulate a plan for how we’re going to get a thousand people into orbit before that army reaches us.”

“We might not be able to fight them head-on, but we can certainly stall them,” Miqi suggested as she leaned across the table. “We can move through the city far faster than they can, and we can set traps, create blockages at strategic points that will add hours to their journey. We can buy ourselves some time.”

“I want to involve Fletcher in this process,” Xipa added, nodding to the Earth’nay. “He is a veteran of hundreds of battles on dozens of worlds, and he has skills that we lack. Fletcher,” she added, switching back to English. “Have you ever taken part in urban combat before?”

“I have some experience,” he replied with a grin.

“I want you to help formulate an evacuation plan. Your experience will be invaluable.”

“You got it,” he replied with a lazy salute. “I’ll be glad to have something to occupy myself with that doesn’t require lifting anything heavy. How are we going to communicate with the fleet, though? The second we send out a powerful enough signal, the Bugs are gonna ramp up their operation. It’ll be like firing a flare in radio form – they’ll know exactly where we are.”

“It won’t matter,” she replied. “We won’t send the signal until we’re ready to move. From there, we can coordinate with the fleet all we want. The damage will already be done.”

“So, the signal is gonna be the starting pistol,” he mused. “The fleet will need time to coordinate. We’re springing this on them out of nowhere. The first thing we need is a large, open space that we can secure as a landing area.” He leaned over the table, poring over the giant map that was laid out on it. “See, this is the problem with being a bunch of space hippies. All your park areas and open spaces are overgrown to the point we can’t get a shuttle in there. If you’d built a few giant parking lots or sterile industrial parks, you’d be spoiled for choice. I’d say find a large enough roof, but there’s no way to verify the structural integrity of any of these buildings.”

“Fletcher,” Xipa chuckled, gesturing to the far side of the map. “We have a spaceport with a runway designed to accommodate shuttles.”

“Alright then,” he replied. “The question is, can we get a thousand people there safely? We have injured, elderly, children. One thousand, divided by twelve,” he muttered to himself as he did the math in his head. “I mean, we certainly have more than eighty-three IFVs in the fleet, but I don’t see that being feasible. That’s assuming they could even drive from point A to point B on these fucked up roads.”

“I think we would need to move them underground,” Xipa replied. “It’s the safer option but also the most time-consuming. Time wouldn’t be a factor if they’d just taken my offer from the start,” she grumbled.

“Well, they had a plan, and they wanted to stick to it,” Fletcher said with a shrug. “That’s kind of how you guys are. Getting you to change your minds is a fucking ordeal.”

“Miqi,” Xipa began, switching back to her native tongue. “You said that you can move through the city quickly. How quickly, exactly? Do you think we’d have time to get the entire population over to the old spaceport before the Bugs caught up with us?”

“It’s an ask,” she replied, leaning both hands on the table as she pored over the map. She extended a feather sheath, using the appendage like a tentacle as she traced a path through the city. “The route would be a tad circuitous, but there are intact tunnels that come out close enough to the spaceport. I’d want to send a scouting party to double-check the integrity of those tunnels before we commit, but it looks like they were in good condition the last time someone made a note.”

“There’s no time to waste,” the scarred Ensi added. “We’ll have someone check those tunnels immediately and plot out a route.”

“We’ll have to travel light, carry only what we need,” Miqi continued. “I’ll have to assure everyone that their stuff will be here when they get back. It’s not like the insects are going to steal their sleeping bags and cooking pots.”

“How long are we expecting to be away?” one of the Ensis asked. “If it’s for an extended period of time, we’ll have to shut down some systems and dispose of perishables. It’s going to be a hit to our supplies.”

“You won’t have to worry about supplies anymore,” Xipa interjected. “Valbara is one jump away. We can ship in anything you need. Your days of scavenging are over.”

“We have our own way of doing things,” the Ensi replied. “We don’t need any charity. Trade deals can be negotiated once the dust has settled.”

“We won’t actually be moving a thousand people at once,” Miqi added. “The majority of the people here can fight. We can have dozens of teams in the field running interference to make it as hard for the insects to advance as possible. They can buy us the time we need to get everyone else to safety. Even then, we’ll be cutting it close,” she added with a frustrated sigh. “I estimate maybe two days before the insects are on our doorstep. With one day to prepare and one day to make it to the port, it’ll be down to a feather’s breadth.”

“As long as they can make it to the spaceport in time,” Xipa said. “We’re not leaving anyone behind – no more heroics. I had enough of that the last time I tried to do this.”

“We have a lot of ammonium nitrate,” Miqi said, her scaly lips peeling back in an evil grin. “I’m already seeing locations where a drum of fertilizer could bring down a weakened building or collapse a road. Those bastards have no idea what they’re walking into.”

“Nothing like a little domestic terrorism to brighten your day,” Fletcher added once Xipa had translated for him. “The assault carriers have super-mobile units that can be deployed and extracted in minutes. We can bring in whatever you need – artillery, tanks, CAS. The Kodiaks are gonna have a tough time moving through some of the streets, though, and they can’t make it down those alleys. I don’t know if having seventy-ton tanks rolling around on shaky ground is a good idea.”

“Our Cozat’li tankettes could do it,” Xipa replied, turning to glance at him. “Our Commandos also know the layout of these cities – they’re all based on a very similar blueprint. We’ve trained for mobile warfare. We can do this.”

“You want to bring in the Valbarans instead of the UNN?” Fletcher asked, raising an eyebrow.

“We could use UNN support, but I think my fleet can do the majority of the heavy lifting,” she explained. “Urban combat is our specialty. Many of our best units cut their teeth during the battle of Valbara, when the drop pods were raining down on our cities. We have airborne units that can be in and out just as fast as yours.”

“Alright,” he conceded, raising his prosthetic hands in surrender. “It’s your plan. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll make sure Vos gets it. I don’t want to bring in orbital support because I’m assuming we want there to be a city when we’re done, but an artillery company could be dropped in at the space sport. They could hit anything inside the walls from there.”

“Can you plot some likely routes that the Bugs might take?” Fletcher asked, directing his question at Miqi. After Xipa had translated, Miqi began to point to the map again.

“From their staging area beneath the wall, there are only a few places where they could get those walkers through,” she replied. “They’re organized, so I expect them to find a route pretty quickly, but we have time to set traps before they arrive.”

“Okay, here’s how I see this going down,” Fletcher said as he scrutinized the map. “Miqi and her saboteurs plant explosives along these routes and cause as much trouble as possible. They do some guerrilla shit, hit and fade to keep the Bugs bogged down while the rest of the survivors move through the underground tunnels. We can support them with airborne units and artillery if they need to hold any choke points. Meanwhile, we secure the spaceport and get as many shuttles on the tarmac as possible.”

“There are some injured people we won’t be able to move,” Xipa added. “We can bring down a medivac shuttle right on top of the nearest exit to the surface, but we’re gonna have to hit those AA platforms first.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what the range on those things is,” Fletcher muttered. “We should probably take care of them before we do anything else. The last thing we need is our landers and shuttles getting pasted.”

“We have our own light attack craft, and I’ve been itching to try them out,” Xipa replied. “If we can get a laser designator on those platforms, they’ll be able to hit them with precision-guided bombs. They can probably loiter and pick off targets of opportunity, too.”

“I could mark them if I had line of sight,” Bluejay volunteered. “I can move through the city faster than anyone here.”

“Maybe,” Fletcher replied, crossing his arms with an electrical whir. “I don’t want you overextending yourself, Jay. You’ve sacrificed enough for these people already,” he added with a pointed glance at the Jarilan’s missing arm.

“Consensus must be reached before we go much further,” the scarred Ensi added. “The plan seems sound, but there are many moving parts that must all work together if it is to be a success. I will tell the people to start gathering their essentials and to prepare for the journey ahead. I suggest you prepare a report for your fleet,” she added, looking at Xipa. “The more concise, the better.”

When their plan had been carefully formulated, and their proposal to the fleet was ready to send, everyone left the operations room for a little downtime. It had been a long few days, and the ceaseless fighting had exhausted them. To Xipa’s surprise, Miqi and her flock stuck with them, despite the fact that she was no longer required to be their escort. It seemed that she had warmed to them somewhat during their shared ordeal. She was especially interested in Bluejay, perhaps only now recognizing him for what he was, although her flock were less enthusiastic. Sure, he might have saved their lives, but this was all very new to them. Miqi explained what had happened during their absence as they walked, giving them a quick rundown on what she had learned of the Coalition and its species. Xipa and Bluejay relayed what had happened during the mission to Fletcher in the meantime. He did a good job of hiding his disappointment at not being able to join them, but Xipa had learned enough about Earth’nay body language and expressions to sense it in him all the same. At least planning for the mission was something that he could do to feel useful, and it seemed to have perked him up a little compared to when they had last spoken.

Their first destination was the infirmary, where they would meet up with Ruza and check on Nocha’s progress. They descended down through the base’s twisting corridors, soon arriving at the converted water storage tank. Gustave was too large to get through the door, so he waited outside as the rest of the group stepped into the makeshift hospital.

In the hours that they had been poring over the map in the operations room, Ruza had carried out his surgery, and Nocha was recovering in one of the beds. She was covered up by a sheet, hooked up to monitoring equipment, but she seemed to be breathing more easily now. Nurses were still coming in and out of the walled-off operating room at the far end of the tank, carrying out piles of gauze bandages and surgical tools for cleaning.

“Fletcher,” Ruza remarked as he peeled off a pair of bloody latex gloves. He was wearing his combat helmet and pressure suit in lieu of a clean suit and a mask, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It would do just as good a job of keeping his hair inside as it would keeping chemical agents and deadly vacuum out. “I am glad to see you again. How are your arms?”

“Nothing to complain about,” he replied. “Glad to see you too, hairball. When you didn’t show up at the operations room with the rest of the team, I was worried for a moment.”

“I am glad to hear that you worried for me,” Ruza replied, tossing the sullied gloves into a garbage receptacle by one of the walls. “But I am not glad that you were worried.”

“How is Nocha?” Xipa asked.

“The operation was carried out successfully,” he replied with his usual propriety, though Xipa suspected that he was being modest. “She will make a full recovery.” He turned to give them his full attention, sliding off his helmet with a hermetic hiss. “Were you able to formulate a plan with the Ensis?”

They explained what had been discussed during the meeting, Ruza’s brow growing heavier as they went on.

“What of the patients?” he finally said, glancing over at the nearby beds. “There are some who will not survive being moved through those tunnels. Nocha will need time to recover from her surgery.”

“We’re going to call in a medivac team to get them out,” Fletcher explained. “I want the UNN to handle that – we have more advanced medical facilities on our carriers than the Valbarans do.”

“Allow me to coordinate the transfer,” Ruza suggested, Fletcher giving him a nod. “I will ensure that they make it to the shuttle safely. We need only one, as there are few who are so severely injured.”

“You should join us for a meal,” Fletcher suggested. “You’ve been doing combat and surgeries back to back – you need a break before the evacuation begins.”

“You are correct,” Ruza sighed, reaching up to run his claws through his mane of sandy hair. “Allow me time to wash first.”

While Ruza went to wash his hands in a nearby sink, Xipa noticed that Izel and his flockmate with the injured arm were also in the infirmary. The male was standing at her bedside, and her once bandaged limb was now being corrected with a medical splint. He met Xipa’s gaze and gave her a flutter of acknowledgment. Maybe he’d had a little more time to process his anger.

When Ruza was ready, they made their way to the mess hall, heading up through the winding tunnels. They soon arrived in the communal area – the spacious tunnel that linked all of the civilian quarters – where there were hundreds of people going about their daily business. A crowd of them formed around Miqi and her flock, slowing their progress to a crawl. Word had spread quickly about what had happened during their rescue mission, and people were already starting to panic at the prospect of the invading Bug war host.

Miqi reassured them, and with the help of her flock, relayed the story of what had happened. Once again, Xipa was reminded how tightly-knit this community was. There was no control over the flow of information between civilian, military, or government – they were one and the same here. There was no need for secrecy, no need to dull the sting of bad news with carefully selected words. As an Ensi – a politician – Xipa had rarely found herself speaking to the public without being fawned over by aides and script-writers. It was refreshing...

After being regaled with stories of their heroism, the people seemed more inclined to approach the aliens, and even Bluejay was starting to see fewer angry stares. The survivors seemed to respect Miqi a great deal, and her endorsement went a long way. Bluejay still seemed flustered and uncomfortable due to the extra attention, but that was probably because he couldn’t follow their conversations. Xipa couldn’t blame him for assuming the worst.

She realized that Bluejay was starting to get overwhelmed, so she took his hand and led him away from the gaggle of gawking Valbara’nay. She steered him over to a bench by the far wall, and the two sat down between a pair of planters that were filled with colorful flowers. The presence of the plants didn’t really make Xipa feel like she was in a city park, but these people had to take whatever they could get.

“Don’t worry,” she began with a flutter of soothing green. “They’re not saying bad things about you – quite the opposite. People are finally starting to warm up to you, thanks in part to Miqi’s exaltations. I think you impressed her. She’s really trying to sell you to the other Valbara’nay.”

“I appreciate it,” he replied, shifting his weight on the bench uncomfortably. “I just don’t like the crowds.”

“Eventually, your reputation will precede you, and you won’t have to go through this process every time,” Xipa continued. She leaned back, watching a group of children play with a little red ball nearby. They were rolling it along the polished floor, then chasing after it, their shrill laughter filling the air. Bluejay followed her gaze, the sight seeming to relax him a little. She remembered what he had told her back in the ruined dwelling, about how his favorite job back on his colony had been minding the Earth’nay children.

“Earning their respect shouldn’t have to cost me an arm,” he added as he lifted his stump. “I shouldn’t complain – I’m getting what I wanted – I just wish it wasn’t such an ordeal. I know that one day, people will come to associate the Jarilan name with loyalty and courage. I know because I know the people I trained with, and I know what they’re capable of. Laying the groundwork is just ... hard.”

“You should spend some time with Miqi and her flock while you have the opportunity,” Xipa added. “I’m sure she feels bad about the way she treated you when you first met. I can’t stress enough how central the concept of the flock is to our kind. You saved her family and her best friends all in one. I know how I would feel if you’d done the same for me.”

“It’s not like I can talk to them,” he chuckled dryly.

“Maybe you don’t need to,” Xipa replied with a shrug. “Sometimes, just being with someone is enough.”

“Kinda surreal, isn’t it?” he continued as he watched the juveniles toss their toy around. “Here we are, two totally different species on an alien moon, and we’re communicating in English – a language developed thousands of years ago on a tiny island on a planet neither of us has even visited. It’s not their only language, you know,” he added. “There are dozens. Russian, French, German, Hindi, Arabic, Spanish, Bengali, Japanese. I must have heard all of them spoken in the settlement at one time or another. Yet, they all collectively chose to speak one – a lingua franca. Hell, even the term itself refers to another language entirely,” he chuckled. “My father once told me that language isn’t just a means of communicating – it helps shape how we perceive the world. The tools that we use to describe our surroundings and share our feelings can help shape them in ways we don’t even realize. Maybe it helps bring us together in more ways than one.”

“My people also have more than one language,” Xipa added. “Due to the way our memory works, we never really developed one dominant language for global trade and politics, we just learned those of the regions we visited. There are even flocks with members who speak different languages natively. They don’t switch from one to another abruptly as the Earth’nay do, they just let them flow and blend.”

“Interesting,” he mused. “How many languages do you speak?”

“Only six,” she replied. “My job as an Ensi didn’t allow me to travel all that much.”

“Only,” he scoffed. “I guess I speak two – English and pheromone. If you can even call that a language.”

The thought was interrupted as the ball that the children had been playing with rolled in their direction. It bounced off Bluejay’s three-toed foot, and he looked down at it in surprise. He began to reach for it with his lower arm, then seemed to remember that it was missing at the elbow, switching to the opposite limb as he plucked it off the ground.

The cackling children came running, but they slowed when they caught sight of him, their demeanor changing from one of carefree fun to wariness. Xipa watched Bluejay sag and knew immediately that their reaction had hurt him. She remembered with perfect clarity how he had told her that he enjoyed interacting with children back on his colony because they hadn’t yet been taught to fear him. That wasn’t the case here, clearly. These children would have been told frightening stories of the monsters that roamed the city above their heads, the fear that was instilled in them necessary to help keep them alive.

He tossed the ball back in their direction, and one of the children pounced on it, the group retreating back to safety as they resumed their play. All save for one. A little male who couldn’t have been more than a couple of rotations out of the incubator was frozen in place, staring back at Bluejay. There was no fear in his feathers, no yellows or purples, only cautious curiosity.

“It’s okay,” Xipa cooed, the child cocking his head at her. “He won’t hurt you. He’s friendly.”

Bluejay straightened suddenly, then reached for one of the pouches on his chest rig. He peeled back the zipper, Xipa’s feathers flashing in surprise as he produced the ragdoll that he had picked up in the residential band. The doll was handmade, sewn together from strips of cloth, a traditional toy made by fathers for their children. It was hard for her to reconcile the way that she had treated him back then, how she had interpreted his sentimental gesture as one of disrespect.

Bluejay extended an uncertain hand, the child cocking his head again. He bobbed closer, glancing to Xipa for reassurance, then reached out to take it. After examining the doll for a few moments, he hopped up onto the bench, settling in between Xipa and Bluejay as he tugged at the colorful strips of fabric that served as its feathers. He was so small, barely tall enough to reach Xipa’s shoulder, his wide eyes almost too large for his head.

“I think he wants you to have it,” Xipa whispered, the boy glancing between her and Bluejay.

“He’s brave, this one,” Bluejay chuckled as he watched the child play with his new toy. His antennae were no longer drooping, and his face plates had shifted into a tentative smile. All of the weight that had settled on his shoulders seemed to have been momentarily lifted.

“I suppose there’s no reason for them to fear strangers in such a small community,” Xipa replied. “There’s something ... poetic about you carrying that thing all this way, only to give it to another child. I expect the scouts rarely make excursions looking for toys.”

“It should be played with,” he replied. “What better way to honor the memory of its original owner?”

“For someone with such a hard exoskeleton, you’re very soft on the inside,” Xipa said with a smirk. “You’re making the rest of us look cynical.”

“You’ve all been through a lot,” he replied. “You, Fletcher, Ruza. Maybe Gustave, but who knows with that guy. I’m kind of the odd one out.”

“It’s refreshing,” she added. “I think your boundless optimism is what has kept the rest of us from driving each other crazy. You’re good at killing,” she added, remembering his outstanding performance in the factory. “But, you remember why you’re killing. I think even I forget that sometimes,” she continued as she watched the little boy chirp at his doll contentedly. “When you have the enemy in your sights, it can be hard to remember the people standing behind you.”

The boy was old enough to speak but was perhaps too shy, the mellow green of his feathers letting Xipa know that he was happy all the same. He shuffled a little further up the bench, enjoying the texture of the toy as he turned it over in his tiny hands. After a few minutes, his playmates called to him, and he slunk down off the bench. As he made his way over to them, he turned to look back at Bluejay, waving goodbye with a feather sheath. Bluejay returned the wave, and the boy hurried off, his friends crowding around to admire his prize.

“Feeling better?” Xipa asked, giving Bluejay a nudge.

“Yeah,” he replied, puffing out his chest. “Feeling hungry, too. I have some honey in my pouch, but I’ll wait until we get to the mess hall.”

“I think Miqi is done proselytizing,” she chuckled as she rose to her feet. “Let’s go.”

They escaped the crowds and made their way to the mess hall, Miqi pulling two of the tables together so that they could all sit around them. Gustave was the exception, as usual, while Ruza simply sat cross-legged on the floor.

Word spread quickly in their small community, and Tika and her flock were already preparing a celebratory feast to welcome the weary warriors home. She brought them a procession of dishes piled high with steaming cuts of meat, roasted vegetables, and some of the few delicacies that the survivors had access to. Even she seemed less apprehensive now, not even batting an eye at Gustave’s massive frame as she stepped nimbly over his paddle-like tail with a pair of dishes balanced in her hands.

“Damn, I haven’t eaten this good since I left the last colony I was stationed on,” Fletcher said. He rubbed his mechanical hands together, eyeing the spread of food that had been laid out before them.

“Are you sure you can spare all this?” Xipa asked, Tika giving her the Valbara’nay equivalent of a shrug as she fluttered her feathers.

“The Ensis have ordered us to evacuate the base, so most of this stuff would have gone bad anyway. Might as well enjoy it rather than toss it into the composters.”

“I dunno what this is, but it smells great,” Fletcher said as he reached for a slice of meat. It glistened under the light as he shoveled it onto his plate with a fork, glazed with some kind of sauce, flecks of red from the seasoning glued to its marbled surface. “Wild game has a totally different taste from the synthetic stuff. I can’t stand that protein paste bullshit they serve us on long voyages when the fresh meat has run out. So you formed it into the shape of a patty – good for you. Doesn’t make it taste any better.”

Xipa went straight for the roasted root vegetables. They had been sliced into neat little disks, covered in a golden-brown crust that cracked beneath her fork when she speared one. She drizzled them in the white sauce that she had so enjoyed the first time they had eaten here. This time, she went for the fish instead of the red meat, selecting a white fillet that had dark indents burned into it by the grill. It still had the silvery scales on one side, the skin rendered crispy, peeling away from the flesh with only a little coaxing.

Ruza was going all-in on the meat, piling the different cuts high on his plate. It was the size of a saucer to him, so one of Tika’s flockmates fetched him a large cooking tray that would serve him better, and he soon filled it. He picked up a steak with his claws – probably sourced from the large animals they had seen the Bugs herding – taking wet bites. His carnivore teeth tore through fat and muscle with alarming ease, the red juices and oils leaking down to stain his furry hands. Far from being irritated, he seemed to enjoy it, pausing to use a tongue that was as long as Xipa’s forearm to rake his fur clean. It was prehensile, covered in tiny barbs that slid through his coat like the teeth of a comb. He produced a small vial from one of the pockets of his suit, uncorking it and sprinkling the next cut with some kind of condiment.