Osmo's hand shot to his mouth, stifling another yawn. He and the other recruits had been up most of the night, helping Avery and Byrne hide surveillance gear in the trees: dozens of small cameras and even a few compact ARGUS units.
"That's it, recruit. Step out." Avery thrust a thumb toward the magnolias bordering the northern edge of the lawn. Hidden in the mossy rocks and ferns between the trees and the river was 1/A's backup: Stisen and the rest of the 2/A recruits.
"But Staff Ser—"
"But what?"
Osmo's thick cheeks flushed. "This recruit wants to stay with his squad." Osmo tightened his grip on his MA5's shoulder strap, tugging the rifle against his back. "Wants to do his duty!"
Avery frowned. It had been less than forty-eight hours since the exercise at the reactor complex—since Captain Ponder had broken the news of the aliens' arrival. He'd laid things out, plain and simple, right in the middle of the recruits' victory dinner: Hostile aliens had found Harvest, and it was up to the militia to deal with the situation until help arrived. The garrison mess had gotten so quiet so quick, Avery thought the recruits were about to bolt—go AWOL right then and there.
But in the stunned silence that followed Ponder's announcement, no one moved. Eventually, the Captain asked if the recruits had any questions. Stisen had been the first to raise his hand.
"We the only ones who know, sir?"
"Just about."
"Can we tell our families?"
"Afraid not."
"You want us to lie." Stisen had glanced around the mess. "Like you've been lying to us."
Ponder held out an arm to keep Byrne in his seat. "If we'd told you the truth—that we were expecting aliens not Innies, would it have made a difference?" The Captain caught as many suspicious eyes as he could. "Would you have refused to serve? Your families and your neighbors aren't in any less danger. You're the only protection they've got." Then, nodding at his Staff Sergeants: "We've trained you. You're ready."
Dass was next to stand. "For what, sir? Exactly."
Ponder motioned for Healy to kill the fluorescents and power on a wall-mounted video display. "I'll tell you everything we know."
The Lt. Commander had put together a good briefing, and the recruits were a rapt audience —especially during the footage from Avery's helmet cam of his fight aboard the freighter.
Byrne remained stoic as he rewatched one of the vacuum-suited aliens stab its pink blade deep into his thigh. So did Avery as he saw himself raise his M6 pistol to another alien's chin, and blow its brains all over the inside of its helmet. As the footage showed him push toward the umbilical in hot pursuit of the retreating alien leader, Avery noticed the recruits glance in his direction and nod approvingly to one another.
Avery hadn't ascribed any particular bravery to his actions. And in retrospect, he knew charging the alien ship had been extremely dangerous. Part of him wished al-Cygni had included all the footage—shown the methane explosion and Avery's mad scramble away from the fireball—if only to prove to the recruits that sometimes caution was the better part of valor.
But instead, the final frozen frame was that of the alien ship blowing to pieces as the Lt.
Commander's sloop moved away from the freighter—a victorious finish that set the recruits to excited muttering as Healy flipped on the lights.
It was only later, when the mess cleared and the Staff Sergeants and the Captain got down to planning how best to secure the gardens, that Avery realized why the recruits had been so upbeat: The presentation proved the aliens could be killed—showed that Harvest might be kept safe with a few well-placed bullets. And if the recruits had confidence in any of their training, they knew they could at least aim a rifle and shoot.
Unfortunately, some recruits were less confident than others. And as Osmo now broke out in a nervous shudder, Avery put a hand on the recruit's shoulder and steered him toward the trees. "We need to make a good impression, understood?"
"Yes, Staff Sergeant."
Avery slapped Osmo on the backside, accelerating his retreat. "Alright then. Go on."
As the disappointed recruit jogged north, Jenkins' voice crackled in Avery's earpiece.
"Forsell's got contacts on thermal. Ten o'clock high."
Avery scanned the western sky. But he couldn't see anything with nak*d eyes. "How many?"
"Two," Jenkins replied. "Want us to mark them?"
On Avery's orders, 1st platoon's marksmen had taken up position in an ornate greenhouse on the gardens' eastern edge—a white curvilinear building that would have been right at home in a nineteenth century European park. Granted, what would have been a cast-iron frame was now a titanium lattice and thousands of panes of glass, shatterproof plastic. But straddling the gardens' uppermost tier, the greenhouse looked just as stately as those that inspired it.
"Negative," Avery replied. "They'll be here soon enough."
The marksmen were hunkered on a balcony that ran around the greenhouse's central elliptical dome and continued out along the roofs of its two wings, giving them an excellent view of the gardens and the sky above. Forsell's spotting scope was equipped with a targeting laser that could paint the two contacts and generate range-finding data. But again, Lt.
Commander al-Cygni had been very clear: As much as possible, the marines and their recruits should minimize behavior the aliens might regard as hostile. Tugging at his own rifle's sling, Avery again wondered how much he and the aliens had in common—if they would show similar restraint.
"Company's on the way, Captain," Avery growled into his throat mic. "How's our perimeter?"
"Charlie squads report all clear," Ponder replied.
1/C and 2/C were deployed at the gardens' main gate and its exit from the Utgard highway, respectively. The marines didn't expect any traffic (it was a Tuesday, and the gardens were mainly a weekend destination), but all it would take was a single sedan of early-rising plant- lovers to ruin the meeting's secrecy. Or worse, spread premature panic.
"And our welcome party?" the Captain asked.
Avery scanned the remaining 1/A recruits. "Good to go, sir."
"Keep them calm, Johnson. Weapons safed and shouldered."
"Roger that."
For a few long seconds there was no chatter on the COM as all gathered in the gardens took a deep breath. Avery listened to the Mimir rush toward its plummet. The noise of the falls muted all but the most enthusiastic birds, just now beginning their morning calls deep inside the magnolias. Like the greenhouse's exotic flora, the birds were imports—starlings and other hardy species brought to Harvest to help contain the planet's essential insect population.
Slowly, the birds' cries were overwhelmed by a pulsing whine that grew in intensity until it bested even the Mimir's mighty roar.
Avery squinted at the sky from beneath the brim of his duty cap. In the brightening, deep blue haze he saw two dark shadows following one behind the other, like sharks prowling the shallows of a storm-churned sea.
"Staff Sergeant …" Jenkins began.
"I see them." Avery squared his cap on his forehead. "Squad! Stand to!"
As 1/A came to attention, a pair of alien ships emerged from the haze. Purple hullplate flashing, they dropped toward the Bifrost and then began a wide circle around the gardens.
The ships' bifurcated designs made Avery think of two hauler trailers linked to a common cab, but traveling in reverse. Unlike most human aircraft, the dropships' cabins were located in the ships' sterns. Avery could see a single, obvious weapon on each ship: a ball-turret with a single barrel suspended beneath the cabin. The ships had no engines or thrusters. But as the drop-ships completed their first circle and one of them decelerated above the promontory, Avery noticed the ship's outline ripple and guessed they must rely on some sort of anti-gravity field for lift and propulsion.
"Step back!" Avery shouted as the ship dove toward the lawn. "She's gonna need more room!"
The recruits backpedaled with more speed than decorum, and the dropship glided to a stop directly above the lighted X. The bulbs flickered and died and the grass flattened under the press of the invisible field. Skin tingling, Avery watched as water condensed against the field, defining its ovoid shape, only to fall in a single sheet of rain as the field collapsed. The ship's curvaceous cabin settled onto the turf, but its two compartments remained hovering parallel to the ground.
"Form up!" Avery growled, and the 1/A recruits moved back into position: two lines on either side of the dropship. Presently, one of the compartments swung open along its bottom edge. The interior of the ship was dim, and it took Avery a moment to distinguish the three aliens from their surroundings.
Partly this was because the creatures' armor shone with the same dull glow as the metal bands that held them secure and upright. But also because these aliens were nothing like the ones Avery had fought aboard the freighter. The latter reminded Avery of upright reptiles; the ones now shaking free of their harnesses looked like the improbable offspring of a gorilla and a grizzly bear; hirsute giants with shoulders as wide as an average human was tall and fists that could easily encompass Avery's head.
"Sir?" Despite the moisture in the air, Avery felt his mouth go dry. "This isn't what we expected."
"Explain," Ponder replied.
"They're bigger. Armored."
"Weapons?"
Avery noted sharp spurs jutting from metal plates girding the aliens' chests, shoulders, and thighs. These would be deadly in a close-up fight. But each alien also had a stout, short- barreled weapon clipped to its belt. At first A very thought they carried knives as well, but then he realized the half-moon blades were affixed to the weapons like bayonets; pointed for stabbing and curved for slashing. The alien Avery decided was the leader—the one with golden armor and helmet with a V-shaped crest that swept back from its head like two jagged saw- blades—carried an additional item: a long-handled hammer with a stone head that must have weighed at least as much as Byrne.
"Heavy pistols," Avery replied. "And a hammer."
"Say again?"
"A giant hammer, sir. On their leader."
Ponder let that sink in a moment, then: "Anything else?"
As the gold-armored alien stepped toward the edge of the compartment its nostrils flared. It jerked its chin toward the trees—directly at 2/A's hiding spot—and its blue-armored escorts bared their oversized canine teeth, acknowledging the humans' scent with wary growls.
"Should have gone with barbecue …" Avery muttered.
"Say again?"
"They aren't vegetarians, sir. Might want to reset the table."
There was a pause as Ponder relayed the information to Lt. Commander al-Cygni and Governor Thune. "No time for that, Johnson. Bring them up."
Avery wasn't privy to all of al-Cygni and Thune's protocol discussions—everything they'd decided to do to put their alien visitors at ease. But Jilan had told him that the first freighter the aliens had attacked was carrying fruit, and that she and Thune had agreed that more produce would make a good welcome gift. Symbolically, an offering of fruits and vegetables highlighted Harvest's peaceful, agrarian purpose. And this offer, to share the planet's bounty, had served as the basis for Mack's etchings.
But now—looking at the aliens' carnivore physiques and vicious weapons—it was clear to Avery that they hadn't dropped to the surface hoping to find a nice fruit salad. They wanted something else. And they looked ready to take it should anyone refuse.
Avery stepped toward the dropship and stopped a few meters in front of the gold-armored alien. The towering beast narrowed its yellow eyes.
"Dass. Come to me," Avery said. "Nice and slow."
The 1/A squad leader stepped out of formation and paced to Avery's side. Moving slowly and deliberately, Avery un-shouldered his BR55, released the magazine, pulled its action to eject a lone bullet from the chamber, and presented both the weapon and its ammunition to Dass. The alien's eyes flashed as it watched each step of the unloading process. Avery extended his empty hands, punctuating his performance: OK, he thought. Now you.
With a gruff exhale the gold-armored alien grasped its hammer below the head. It slid the weapon up and over his shoulder and then held it out to the shorter of its blue-armored escorts.
The other alien seemed reluctant to take the weapon, and only did so after the leader loosed an emphatic bark. Then, mimicking Avery, it uncurled its hairy paws, revealing black and pointed nails.
Avery nodded. "Dass. Step back."
As the squad leader returned to formation, Avery placed a hand on his chest, then pointed at the greenhouse. Al-Cygni had encouraged him to keep hand gestures (and their unintended insults) to a minimum. But Avery had needed no convincing. He was pretty sure the aliens were already offended by what he and Byrne had done to their first ship and its crew, and he knew waving his arms and mistakenly signing the equivalent of "go screw yourself" wouldn't exactly lessen their resentment.
So he kept gently placing and pointing his hand until the gold-armored alien leapt down from the compartment, shuddering the grass and sinking a good six inches into the turf. The militiamen standing on the other side of the ship, who had yet to see the aliens, took a nervous step back. A few looked set to bolt for the trees.
"Steady," Avery growled into his throat mic as the blue-armored escorts thundered to the ground.
Now that all three were out in the light, Avery noticed they each had different-colored fur tufting through breaks in their armor. The leader's coat was light gray, almost silver. One of the escorts had dark brown fur and the other, tan. This second escort was actually a bit taller than the leader and more muscular, though Avery knew this was a bit like comparing two models of main battle tanks: one might weigh more than the other, but both would have no trouble flattening the 1/A recruits.
But for now, the creatures seemed eager to please. The leader placed a shaggy palm across its chest plate and pointed at Avery then the greenhouse. Avery nodded and soon the unlikely foursome was trooping across the lawn to a granite staircase that led up to the gardens' middle tier—Avery in the lead, then the gold-armored alien, then its two escorts.