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Authors: Linnea Sinclair
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situation disconcerted her so much. “He’s not quite accepted relocation, sir.”
“Fighting you on it, is he?” He shook his head. “Nils and their love of their planets.”
“I think it’s his career as well, sir. He holds high rank in his locale’s security forces. He feels a duty to continue to protect his people.”
“A worthy attribute. We can recommend he be placed in a similar function on Paroo.” That closed the matter. She could hear it in his voice. Relocation had been an effective Guardian policy for over two hundred years. Her job was not to question but to implement. Surely Petrakos would see that eventually.
“Now tell me about this unusual—and unexpected—herd.” Pietr motioned to a chair in front of his desk. “And please sit down, Commander. I’ve reviewed your logs and Agent Wain’s. This is not going to be a short conversation.”
She rather suspected that. Then the captain ordered food and ice water brought in, and Jorie logged the meeting as one of the occasions where she liked him.
The bad news in Danjay’s data—aside from the fact that the Guardians still had no idea why the zombies had targeted the planet—was in the size of the herd: three hundred eleven drones. The good news was that there was still only one C-Prime and none of the drones showed signs of mutating into a second. But the larger the herd grew, the more chance one would mutate. They had to strike now, before that happened, while the C-Prime was still overburdened and increasingly distracted with its herd duties.
One of the many questions Danjay’s data didn’t answer, however, was why the herd—which he’d dubbed a megaherd—had grown to such large proportions. The average zombie herd was fifty to seventy drones with one C-Prime. Up until now, the largest herd that had been recorded was one hundred seventy. Usually by that point, a second C-Prime mutated and the herd split, becoming adversaries and killing off the weaker drones, thereby reducing the herd.
Termination of a fifty-zombie herd was just another day’s work for a Guardian team. Three hundred would take a little bit longer.
“Before we terminate them, we do need to know how they managed to populate so quickly and not split,” Pietr said. “If this is a new mutation or resistance factor developing, it’s imperative we be able to adjust for that, as it may hold the key to why they’ve chosen this locale—and why they will choose others.”
“You think the C-Prime may have learned how to expand its capabilities?”
“I fear that, Commander. Our advantage has always been that, for all the zombie’s offensive and defensive factors, it is innately a stupid creature, unable to learn. The code—regulating its mental and physical growth—guaranteed that. A C-Prime with over three hundred drones should be incapacitated. This one’s not. It’s slowed down, but it’s functioning.”
“I mentioned in my report on the Port Lraknal terminations that I observed what I thought to be intuitive behavior on the part of several zombies.” But intuitive enough to consciously choose a location that showed none of the requisite tech frequency emissions? The question puzzled her, as she knew it puzzled Pietr. Her job, however, was strictly zombie termination, not psychology. She was a soldier, not a scientist.
Pietr was nodding. “That’s why I’m giving you command of this mission. I believe we’re at a critical juncture here.”
He was giving her command? Jorie was one of the more experienced trackers on board, but still, Pietr’s words surprised her. “Thank you, sir.”
“You may well damn me before this is over, Mikkalah. This is not the ideal setup. It’s a nil-tech world. We must operate completely covertly. Our agent, who could have provided us with not only a functional knowledge of the locale but a secure transport point for key personnel and tech, is dead. And we don’t have another three months to waste infiltrating the
“Fighting you on it, is he?” He shook his head. “Nils and their love of their planets.”
“I think it’s his career as well, sir. He holds high rank in his locale’s security forces. He feels a duty to continue to protect his people.”
“A worthy attribute. We can recommend he be placed in a similar function on Paroo.” That closed the matter. She could hear it in his voice. Relocation had been an effective Guardian policy for over two hundred years. Her job was not to question but to implement. Surely Petrakos would see that eventually.
“Now tell me about this unusual—and unexpected—herd.” Pietr motioned to a chair in front of his desk. “And please sit down, Commander. I’ve reviewed your logs and Agent Wain’s. This is not going to be a short conversation.”
She rather suspected that. Then the captain ordered food and ice water brought in, and Jorie logged the meeting as one of the occasions where she liked him.
The bad news in Danjay’s data—aside from the fact that the Guardians still had no idea why the zombies had targeted the planet—was in the size of the herd: three hundred eleven drones. The good news was that there was still only one C-Prime and none of the drones showed signs of mutating into a second. But the larger the herd grew, the more chance one would mutate. They had to strike now, before that happened, while the C-Prime was still overburdened and increasingly distracted with its herd duties.
One of the many questions Danjay’s data didn’t answer, however, was why the herd—which he’d dubbed a megaherd—had grown to such large proportions. The average zombie herd was fifty to seventy drones with one C-Prime. Up until now, the largest herd that had been recorded was one hundred seventy. Usually by that point, a second C-Prime mutated and the herd split, becoming adversaries and killing off the weaker drones, thereby reducing the herd.
Termination of a fifty-zombie herd was just another day’s work for a Guardian team. Three hundred would take a little bit longer.
“Before we terminate them, we do need to know how they managed to populate so quickly and not split,” Pietr said. “If this is a new mutation or resistance factor developing, it’s imperative we be able to adjust for that, as it may hold the key to why they’ve chosen this locale—and why they will choose others.”
“You think the C-Prime may have learned how to expand its capabilities?”
“I fear that, Commander. Our advantage has always been that, for all the zombie’s offensive and defensive factors, it is innately a stupid creature, unable to learn. The code—regulating its mental and physical growth—guaranteed that. A C-Prime with over three hundred drones should be incapacitated. This one’s not. It’s slowed down, but it’s functioning.”
“I mentioned in my report on the Port Lraknal terminations that I observed what I thought to be intuitive behavior on the part of several zombies.” But intuitive enough to consciously choose a location that showed none of the requisite tech frequency emissions? The question puzzled her, as she knew it puzzled Pietr. Her job, however, was strictly zombie termination, not psychology. She was a soldier, not a scientist.
Pietr was nodding. “That’s why I’m giving you command of this mission. I believe we’re at a critical juncture here.”
He was giving her command? Jorie was one of the more experienced trackers on board, but still, Pietr’s words surprised her. “Thank you, sir.”
“You may well damn me before this is over, Mikkalah. This is not the ideal setup. It’s a nil-tech world. We must operate completely covertly. Our agent, who could have provided us with not only a functional knowledge of the locale but a secure transport point for key personnel and tech, is dead. And we don’t have another three months to waste infiltrating the
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