PLANET HESSTLA
ONE YEAR AFTER CASE OMAHA - LOCAL
TWO MONTHS AFTER CASE OMAHA - GALACTIC
The darkness was pushed back by the light of the moons streaming down, hitting the snow, and illuminating the entire forest. The night was cold, tiny snowflakes drifting down from the heavy clouds, dancing on the cold wind that rustled trees and bushes. The lake was covered in ice, the same with the wooden dock that extended out over the frozen water.
A hole was chopped in the ice, a figure sat on the end of the dock with a fishing pole in one hand and a can of self-cooling fizzybrew in the other. The figure wore a grav-skiing mask that was undecorated pushed back from its face, was clad in heavy insulated coveralls, with a heavy leather belt around its waist where a bulky and weighty Terran magac pistol rode in a holster.
The face was furry, short soft fur, with a triangular nose and short whiskers.
Dambree took another drink off the fizzybrew as she stared at the night sky, twitching the fishing pole now and then to try to create interest in the lure.
Beside her Mister Mewmew lifted his head, looked at the lake, then curled back up.
"We're a pair, aren't we, Mister Mewmew?" Dambree asked.
Mister Mewmew looked up, a :-) appearing on the black macroplast triangle on his forehead.
"It's been a full month," she said softly.
Mister Mewmew nodded.
"Do you think it's really over?" Dambree asked, finishing off her fizzybrew and putting the empty in her tacklebox. She started winding the reel, pulling up her lure. "It's been a full month," she repeated, staring up at the larger of the two moons, which was full and shining brightly.
Mister Mewmew put up a sigil for a shrug.
"I wish I could stay here, with you, for the rest of my life," Dambree said. She pressed the button beside the reel and the fishing rod clacked as it turned into a short baton.
The memory of beating a boy her age to death with it surged up and she pushed it down, pushed away the horror of how his eyes were surrounded by blackened flesh and bloody tears had run down his cheeks, pushed away how it felt for his hands to paw at her, grabbing at her clothing.
She hung the collapsed fishing rod from her belt, tugged her grav-skiing mask down over her face, then knelt down and closed her heavy tacklebox. She grabbed the line of five fish and the tacklebox and slowly stood up.
When she had first started fishing the tacklebox had been heavy enough she had been forced to set it down several times on the trip from the cabin to the dock. Now she barely noticed the weight.
The snow crunched under her boots as she slowly walked back to the cabin. She passed a burnt out car. Wild animals had gotten at the burnt corpses, leaving nothing behind.
She could remember loading the bodies of the two men who had chased Tru into the car before setting it on fire. The third had escaped and she'd tracked him until he had reached the road before she had given up. She had grabbed a branch and dragged it behind her as she wandered back to her cabin, stopping by other cabins, making sure she erased his footprints.
Dambree was frowning under the mask as she passed by a cabin with broken windows, charred wood around the windows and smoke damage to the siding.
That had been the cabin that had taught her that nobody could be trusted. Not kids her age, not adults, not girls, not boys, not men, not women. They had seemed so sad and pathetic, their eyes hadn't been bruised, they didn't weep bloody tears.
They had still tried to take what was Dambree's.
"It's been a long six months," Dambree said softly. She pushed through the bushes she'd planted in what had been the only road leading to the little cabin off to the side. She'd planted them and made sure they were in the way, concealing the cabin.
Mister Mewmew just made a meow-ing noise.
At the cabin Dambree stomped her boots a few times, knocking the snow off of them. She ignored the fact that Elu was pointing the shotgun at her when she came in. Tru was standing with her back flat against the wall, next to the door, a long bladed knife in her hand.
Just in case someone tried coming in through the back door while Elutra was 'distracted' by someone coming in the front.
Nee was laying on the couch, covered by a blanket, sleeping with a sucky in her mouth.
Elu put up the shotgun, making sure it was out of reach of Nee and up on the wall-pegs before dropping the decorated cloth over it. Tru moved over and put the knife back on the counter.
Dambree moved over and put the fish in the water filled sink where they drifted to the bottom, only the movement of their gills betraying they were alive.
"I'll make dinner," Dambree said. "We'll have cake for dessert."
Both her siblings were overjoyed at it, even though Dambree could hardly breathe because of the anxious feeling in her chest. She boned and scaled the fish, rolled them in flour and spices, then cooked the strips, serving it up with baked tubers and fresh vegetables.
The cake was the last canned cake they had, thick with frosting and overly sweet after months of eating home-made food.
Dambree waited until after her siblings went to sleep, till Nee was curled up with her sister, sucking her thumb, before lifting the basement hatch.
She went down into the basement with a flash, going back to the 'survival pack' that the military had dropped off a couple of months before. She opened the pack, finding what she was looking for quickly. When she left the basement she checked on her siblings again.
All three were asleep.
Dambree dressed slowly, forgoing the mask, and walked out to where the remains of the car she'd driven, half crazed, through the hellish first days of the Slorpy Invasion.
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She swept the snow off the seat where the door was missing, sitting down.
Dambree lifted up the device and turned it on. She'd read all about it on the dataslate.
"civil authorities are confirming that there have been no sightings of Precursor Autonomous War Machines for the last three weeks but urge the population not to grow lax. Report any suspicious activity via text or voice. Do not approach susp..." a female voice said.
Dambree turned the knob on the top, changing the channel. The device started making clicks and beeps with what sounded like parts of words.
"Hello?" Dambree said, pressing the button on the side. "Is there anyone listening?" She let off the button.
"Who is this? This is a restricted military channel," a voice answered. "State your emergency."
"No emergency," Dambree said. She took a deep breath and exhaled it. "I think I'm ready to come back."
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Dambree sat on the hood of the car, watching as the heavy grav-lifter, the military markings on it scuffed looking, set down slowly in the small clearing. She could see patched and repaired damage on it, see the weapon pods under the short stubby wings. The craft touched down with a whine that slowly oscillated down to silence. The side door slid open and a Terran in the weird shifting colors clothing jumped out.
"Are you Dambree?" the Terran asked, noticing that the young Hesstlan was holding a Terran magac pistol in one hand.
"Yes," the young female said.
"How many of you are here?" the Terran asked. Dambree wasn't sure, but she thought the Terran might be female.
"Five of us. Me, my younger sister, my little brother, and my youngest sister," Dambree said. She smiled. "And Mister Mewmew."
"There was a scout report that suggested you might have had it a little rough," the Terran said.
Dambree just nodded. "I kept them alive. Does anything else matter?" she asked.
The Terran noticed that the Hesstlan girl sounded much older than her features suggested.
"We found out that you have an aunt and two uncles still alive," the Terran said. "We haven't notified them yet."
"Oh," Dambree said. "I didn't know anyone else from my family had survived."
"Should we contact them?" the Terran asked.
Dambree shook her head. "Not yet."
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Dambree stared at the 'striker' as the Terran helped her little sister up into it. Nee was already in a safety seat, gnawing on a biter biscuit and glaring at everyone, Elu was already belted in. Mister Mewmew was in something called a kittykitty cradle which would help him feel better so he didn't limp and could jump better.
"Are you all right?" the Terran female asked.
"Yes," Dambree said softly. She wished she had a fizzybrew.
"It's perfectly safe. Warrant Officer Mukstet is an experienced and very skilled pilot," the Terran said. "It's safe to get in."
"I know," Dambree said, wiping her mouth again. She turned and looked at the little cabin where she'd lived for an entire year.
"It's OK if you feel like you don't want to leave," the Terran said softly. "It's all right to feel that way."
"I know," Dambree said. She dug in her jacket pocket and pulled out one of her last cans of fizzybrew, only one more in her other pocket. She cracked it open, staring at the striker, then turning to stare at the house, then at the lake in the distance.
She took a long drink, the fizzybrew soothing her throat.
"I killed a lot of people," Dambree whispered. "They didn't leave me any choice."
"It's all right," the Terran said. "Bad things happen to good people sometimes."
"I know," Dambree said. She took another drink, her hand going to the butt of her pistol. It had a trigger lock on it, the only way the Terrans would let her carry it onto the striker. She took another drink and stepped forward slowly. She stopped twice more in the five meters to the striker's door to take a drink of her fizzybrew and look back at the little cabin. Finally she got in and let the Terran soldier strap her into the seat.
"Can you leave the door open?" Elu asked, feeling excited at being able to ride in an aircraft.
The striker started up, vibrating, and lifted off.
She didn't realize she was silently crying as she watched the cabin dwindle away.
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PAGE SIX OF FIFTEEN
additionally the patient has displayed alcohol dependent symptoms. Review of Purrboi-66231a87's records show that patient used alcoholic drinks to hold off traumatic incident stress syndromes and to self medicate for traumatic stress disorder.
Patient is withdrawn, speaking infrequently, and shows high signs of social withdrawl and attachment disorder. Patient reports difficultly sleeping, hyper-alertness, as well as high anxiety. Patient has also admitted to homicidal impulses around non-family members. Patient shows neural damage from initial Precursor attack, as well as what appears to be close proximity to hostile life form psychic attack.
Physically, the patient is in good health. Several injuries will require physical therapy but no surgical intervention is needed.
RECOMMENDED COURSE OF ACTION
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Dambree sat in the chair quietly, her hands folded in her lap. She felt naked without the pistol, without her hand axe, without even a knife in her boot. Of course, she didn't have boots on, not since she'd arrived at the Terran Medical Center. Instead she wore soft shoes that were supposed to be comfortable but felt wrong on her feet.
She was comfortable with the Terran soldier standing near her. He had a pistol on his hip, his uniform kept trying to blur in with the wall, and he was large as well as dangerous and competent looking.
He felt comfortable to Dambree.
The doctor entered. A russet Mantid by the name of Soothes the Pain of the Soul. She moved up and sat on the bench seat next to Dambree.
"They came as soon as you gave consent to have them notified," Soothes said. "They didn't think you were alive."
"I know," Dambree said softly.
Soothes noticed that those two words were often her patient's only reply.
"Are you ready?" Soothes asked.
Dambree nodded, wiping her mouth with one soft sleeve.
"She's ready. Send them in," Soothes said gently.
Dambree sat perfectly still as her two uncles and her aunt came into the room. Her aunt Fenn ran forward, gathering her up in a hug.
Soothes noticed the pause before Dambree hugged her back. Noticed how Dambree's eyes stayed open, how her right hand rubbed up and down on her aunt's back, stopping between her fifth and sixth rib. Dambree let herself be hugged by her two uncles, repeating the action.
She's finding their hearts, Soothes thought to herself.
"We thought you were dead," Matron Fenn said, sitting down and taking Dambree's hands.
"I know," Dambree said.
Soothes watched as Dambree's Aunt Fenn kept talking, saying how glad they were that Dambree and her siblings had survived. That when they'd seen the house bombed out they'd fear the worst. Soothes noticed that Dambree's demeanor didn't even change when she was informed that five of her cousins had survived.
Soothes wasn't sure about clearing the young Hesstlan woman to leave the hospital, but she had three other patients in Dambree's family to worry about.
Later, at the desk, as she signed the release forms, she watched carefully as Dambree and her three siblings, the one called Tru holding onto the damaged purrboi's crate, she felt a little bit of worry.
Not that her patient was a danger.
But that her family might not understand her any more.
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Dambree sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the street outside the window. She was rooming with her cousin Meglee. The room felt closed in, almost claustrophobic after the year spent in the cabin. Outside were ground cars, lights, neon, and flickering holograms slightly disrupted by the drifting snowflakes.
She found she missed the quiet of the woods.
Dambree got up slowly, moving over and standing in front of the window. She put her hand on the smartglass, finding it strange how the windowpane was warm instead of carrying the chill of the winter night.
"Dambree?" her cousin said, rolling over and opening her eyes. The sound of her cousin getting up had woken her up.
"Yes," Dambree said.
Meglee frowned sleepily. "You're naked in front of the window."
"I know," Dambree said softly. "It doesn't matter."
"Oh," Meglee said. She rolled over, pulling her blanket around her. She yawned. "Good night, Dambree."
"Good night, Meglee," Dambree said.
She stared at the snow drifting down for a long moment, then moved over to the bed. She reached underneath it, getting what she'd hidden there early in the morning before anyone else had woken up. She walked back in front of the window and stared out it.
The fizzybrew can snapped and then hissed when she opened it, the contents cooling almost instantly.
The sound disturbed Meglee enough that she shifted slightly under her blanket.
Dambree just stared at the snow, sipping at the fizzybrew.
They mostly come out at night, she thought to herself, remembering the early weeks of the Slorpy Attack. Mostly.