The Wild Ba’Neesh Chapter Fifty ©2019 Fay Thompson All Rights Reserved

Mick couldn’t sense any means of physical escape so he reverted to his go-to mom avoidance system, distraction. In his case, at the moment, his most frequent mental exercise involved trying to solve his ongoing and continuing Vrill weapons problems. So, he opened that door in his mind and ducked inside, intentionally forcing himself to think about the very first Vrill weapon he had been exposed to, Iiyiko, then Kiena’s, compulsion speech.

Did she have compulsion thought too? He wavered over committing to one way or the other. Sometimes he felt certain she was clairvoyant or telepathic or what the Ba’Neesh called Ba or sleep sharing, yet at other times she felt wholly external. However, since she appeared to be entirely composed of Vrill, that made all of her thoughts and language constructed out of Vrill. He confused himself and decided to move on to the next weapon. He could distantly hear the other voices yelling at him but he also noted they didn’t seem to have compulsion in this space, so, for the moment, they were relying on other pressures, like his mom did, trying to force him to do what they wanted. He resisted.

Next had to be the way then Kiena had sent Vrill into the wall of his bedroom that night. It seemed so very long ago and detached from him, like it happened to another person. He mentally shrugged. Clearly his Ba’Neesh, the Fels Ba’Neesh, had solved that weapon, at least in part by sending Vrill backward on an open electrical signal feed. He wanted to know for certain the other side damage, but he could sort of guess if it worked like with Kiena’s efforts. Distance attack of the person wielding the controls over weaponry. Very nasty. Attack the source weapons were like what Neo did in game, alter the game while playing it to adjust the rules more favorably. It felt super important, like he’d leveled up.

Next came the frozen tree trick. He didn’t see how that could be used except when around a natural tree and plant system that included that fungus. Still, if the fungus linked underground, how much of the greenery on Earth were in on that conversation already? He was suspicious it might be a lot with the Ba’Neesh being sneaky about telling him. So, he put that weapon in the maybe range.

He continued wandering through the array becoming more and more engrossed and detailed until he no longer heard the Ba’Neesh, much to their annoyance. They couldn’t help but hear him, droning on and on about this weapon or that. Aenor and five of the others set themselves on full receiving mode and ignored the others to listen to him closely. Edda moved in and out, frustrated, as she wanted to ask questions that clearly Mick was avoiding.

After what turned out to be several physical hours of detailed review he backtracked to play the turtle defense over and over, it was key, the only pure defensive tool he yet knew. How good was it? He had no way to measure its true application without full testing. It was scary. The other weapon wasn’t really a weapon at all, it was his eyeball sigil. Curved. That curve had been so helpful as it gave a one hundred and eighty-degree coverage. Lastly, he kept returning to the super cavitation of the big sub. What was it exactly?

What allowed the sub to avoid the friction of the water, the resistance of its forward movement? It wasn’t a weapon, not exactly, but it offered a glimpse into viewing the approaching battle through a different lens. He sat up stiffly, his eyes flickering and the now crusty drool that had oozed down his chin, crackling on his skin. He rubbed at his face and noticed his fingers felt stiff and thickened, hardened. He couldn’t see them in the poor light, they just felt different.

His body felt wrong. His mind, in the thrall of the weapons, couldn’t focus on his body. He swept the wrongness out of his thoughts as he looked upward, unaware that across the stream Aenor and Gisela were wakening, ten feet away, Karl swam upward from a blurry dream of many voices toward the surface of the night, trying to sense what wakened him.

Aloud, Mick said, “A curving Turtle cavitator that is like a nosecone in front, streaming back along the sides for protection, moving with us as a group. A shield.” His words activated the sleepy attendant manning the drone feed who wakened Jordy sleeping nearby who wakened Thorne and then Xasper whose arousal wakened Moira and through their hateful grumbles they each sat up and turned toward the holos, once again broadcasting at full volume.

“What?” Mael, wakening late, asked aloud.

“Shhh.” Jordy said, stretching and trying to get his brain functional. “Mick is awake.”

“What the fuck time is it?” Mael continued, oblivious to the suggestion he remain silent.

“Half past three,” Brad, to everyone’s surprise came powering out of the private area they maintained for his dedicated sleep.

“What are you doing up?” Mael turned on his friend. “You must sleep. Don’t let this rotten kid make you ill, Brad.”

“I adjusted my sensor to waken me when he wakened.” Brad said. “Like it or not, Mael, we are running inside his game, on his personal clock. Time to get back to work. Play that last bit back, Jordy.” Brad stretched and adjusted his onboard chemistries to counter the insufficient sleep. He would survive. He wouldn’t miss this. Not again.

They all listened as Mick described what he needed. A nose-cone-shaped anti-assault cavitating sigil like the Turtle. It was accurate, a precise understanding.

“That might be doable.” Xasper was the first to speak. “It’s just a Turtle, like Mael’s embroidered cap. It moved passively with him and while it physically was shaped around his brain area, the properties were close to what Mick is describing.”

“What is the cavitation part about?” Mael turned on Xasper, clearly he was now up, they were all now up, willing or not.

“He is suggesting attack weaponry and even thought might be viewed as resistance, like water to a sub. A super-cavitator creates an internal environment that allows a large submarine to deflect and displace the friction around itself, in a way, passing it behind, almost like the way we bend light. He wants us to bend munitions and possibly the intent to kill as a unique identifiable source around a discrete package, the area covered by the defensive sigil.” Brad worked it out live. It was elegant and simple. Could it work?

“We’ve never tried to deflect active assault as a counter-measure, only as a passive aide.” Mael reminded Brad.

The night vision lenses on the six drones now watching the sleeping Battle Group began to display the rapid rising of the group. The only one not to get up was Steffi, still unconscious.

“They like to attack me after dark.” Mick said, looked up although he was speaking openly. “I think we should try now, before they have a chance to deploy on their timing.”

“Mick, we don’t know what a Turtle will defend against.” Xasper said. “The idea of adjusting it to a cavitator through the likely attack is intriguing, but you can’t risk everyone’s life on such an idea. There will be other times to test it out.”

“We don’t have the time to waste, Xasper.” Mick answered, “We never did. It’s a go and die or go and penetrate past their perimeter.”

“What do you mean, no time?” Mael demanded.

“No time.” Mick repeated, shaking his head. “We must get to the youngers, tonight. Without them, our chances of survival dwindle too far. They knew that. That’s why they shaped Tule Soc and tried to shape Directorate to remove the threat.” Mick turned toward approaching Aenor. “Can you draw a Ba’Neesh sigil in blood on one of the remaining shock blankets carried by the field Ba’Neesh?”

“They?” Mael asked aloud, “Who are they?” He received no answer, to his growing frustration.

“They come with it now.” She said, her tone a bit sour. “Very sneaky, Mick. I learn your tricks, won’t be so easy to fool the next time.”

“What?” Anya leaned in. “What did he do? Oh, to have been inside that circle last night. I so need to know what she knows that Mick knows who is refusing to say fully. Youngers!” She spat to the side, exactly like Kiena was wont to do around Mick. She now fully empathized with the Neesatari. Mael stared at her, the footage of the Neeshatari welling to the front of his mind, spitting on Mick’s carpet the day this erupted. What the hell was really going on here? Why the time pressure?

The bloody sigil was ready quickly and Mick had Karl telling the Soek they were going to run across the killing zone with four of them in the center of the group, the tallest four, holding the sigil overhead like their lives depended on it.

“I think he’s right about that.” Xasper said, nodding. “Mael’s turtles were all fixed. He’s going to power it with the Ba’Neesh, the Channels and the links out. All we have to do Moira, is cast the cavitator part, the active intention within the stability of the Turtle to protect against directed Tule Soc assault.”

“It means we keep the nationals from attacking too.” Brad said, wishing Serla were here. Two thirds of the Ba’Neesh and attending Soek were gone, outbound to Oxine and Kuriwa, flying with nationals to evacuate those two lesser facilities. Serla, Aristeen, Iiyiko and the Gardener Norris, were with Evgeny prepping to blow the Fels electrics all to hell at the first sensor of a Tule Soc communication toward the facility. They had to leave it to the last bitter second as the shut down would be complete, leaving the facilities air handlers off line. He didn’t want to imagine twenty-five-hundred-wakening-from-their-drugged-state-Ba’Neesh, unable to escape the underground death trap of their mechanical confinement. Once the electrics blew, local Dire’Sec efforts and their unwilling national aides were on a terrifying clock. How to get the youngers out before they died from simple bad air?

Everyone believed the nationals were now fully on their side, after Thorne finally told them the monsters in the woods were coming for their children, being forcibly drugged and held in prison-like conditions inside of the lab facility. But, the nationals were facing almost nightmarish echos out of their deep past, an unholy alliance with fabled creatures. Everyone knew that individually, the military men and women could go rogue and try to kill the Ba’Neesh. There were historical examples.

Between the Battle Group and the lab entry were the massed Tule Soc with illegal vehicles now openly displaying illegal weapons and men chasing residents out of the massive wedge of lethal intent facing the injured Ba’Neesh and a few rogue former Tule Soc operatives across the kill zone. A last stand.

“We go to fight now.” The Citadel Ba’Neesh, all wearing Beloved backpacks, were readying themselves. The Soek knew that the time for argument was over.

“We cast the sigil first.” Xasper said and Moira nodded. “We go once Mick’s group move out. Brad, you will organize the counter-assault on our end? Everyone stay with a Ba’Neesh, channel to maintain communication and added power both with the Vrill and through DireSec com.”

Mael found it strange that it was Xasper so ready to take Mick’s hair-brained idea to heart. His Xasper. Emotion welled. Dark Gods knew they would have some deaths tonight. How many, he couldn’t say. He stared at his embroidered cap on Anya’s head, her horns protruding through its surface these many long years. Would it be enough to save her? It was an intolerable thought and he knew she would resent it. Dying in battle was the ultimate in choices when becoming a Beloved. He knew that. He hated its simple truth and hated Mick for putting them, him, in this position tonight.

He shared a glance with Brad who was being actively attended by Perisee and Lemista who fully intended to ride their Battle Soek into the fight. He could read their uncertain odds in Brad’s eyes. What could Mick do once he reached the town? Wade through a thousand armed men? The Vrill weapons they had seemed woefully inadequate. Scorched Earth. That’s what Serla had repeated.

He now fully understood the reference, everyone did. Brad had detailed the definition the night before. “A scorched-earth policy is a specific military strategy focused on the destruction of anything that might be useful to the opponent while it is advancing through or withdrawing from a location.” It was apparently a famous quote, although Brad didn’t mention the author of it.

Mael also understood how he was profoundly different from Mick. He would only risk the lives of those he cared about as the absolute last resort and then he became out of control, not really strategic, more instinctively active. Mick, the kid was leading a group. Right or wrong the kid had a grip on the stick of control. That grip was pulling all of them along with him.

Mael knew, as Neo so pointedly told him, he was just an assent. A collection of abilities Mick could and would use without request or apology. It was a shocking understanding of their roles.

Brad grinned and turned away. Mael knew his dear friend was glorying in this opportunity. He was running toward the destiny that waited for all of them once the cast was thrown.

“How will we know?” Everyone heard Mick yell. The Battle Group was assembled. The Ba’Neesh, Akaitapi included, were riding shotgun in an outer ring, each paired up with the Beloved packs spaced evenly and the Soek on the inside, protected. Everyone had access to a Beloved, a horn and a partner. The trembling inner Soek, the tallest, were holding the bloody shock blanket overhead. They hadn’t witnessed the last one. They weren’t under compulsion. They were running with this horrifying group into certain death and yet each of them felt a new linkage, one to the next, the hovering voices of the night lingered in their minds. Karl hadn’t answered that question, he shared it. It would have to wait. He yelled out in German, “On my mark.”

Mick found he understood the German. When had that happened and how? He mentally shrugged, it felt like English inside his head, he doubted he could speak it, but understand it, yes. A good thing.

“You will know!” Brad yelled back as Xasper and Moira were once again busy. It seemed inappropriate to yell while they were casting but, everyone was ready to bolt.

“It feels, strong.” Elias said, noting his own improving health. He eyed Mick from the side, something was off about Mick’s face and the kid kept rubbing his fingers as if they hurt. “You okay?” He asked. The waiting felt the worst.

“I dunno, Elias.” Mick answered distractedly. He and Elias were behind Karl who was carrying Freya and next to Hans with Steffi. The run would be timed by Elias, considered the slowest person in the group. “My hands are stiff, like the Vrill yesterday leathered them. I can’t straighten out my fingers. My whole body aches, I guess it’s like battle flu or something maybe.” He shrugged, uncomfortable talking about it.

He felt flushed, his throat was a bit sore, his eyes hurt and he kept thinking there was a fluttering in his eyes, a mucus he had to keep blinking out of the way. But, he thought he could see better too and faster. He kept noticing his eyes flickering toward barely seen things in the woods, in the dark woods. Aenor turned to look at him. He noticed her horns were much larger. Overnight growth? Did all of that Vrill accelerate their mutations? Elias had told him Ba’Neesh looked so strange because of ongoing mutations that continued their entire life. He wondered what she would look like in five years, or a hundred. It was an odd thought. He felt Edda heating up as his spine spiraled to life. When had it started to spiral, another new observation?

“They are casting.” He said aloud, pleased that his tone remained even, showing no sight of his inner panic.

The Ba’Neesh began their hum and suddenly, it was as if the shock blanket became alive, everyone could feel the presence of something or someone else, looking down from the blanket.

“Shit.” Elias said.

“We run!” Yelled Karl. He too had felt the unmistakable presence and the impetus to run was half to run away from that presence. He decided not to think of that. Take charge. His job. He was Team Leader of this Battle Group. He raised his right fist. “We are coming for you Tule Soc.”

“Vengeance!” Yelled out Freya, her fist lifted too. Karl liked that. He hoped Mick was right and with this blanket defense they would survive the kill zone. If not, he would die in glory fighting next to Freya. There were much worse ways to die. He grinned and again wished he had fangs and that hammer, he would insist on that hammer.

(Here we go my lovely fans! Do you think Mick has a plan or is he a pantster, doing everything by the seat of his pants? I wonder what’s happening to him now. )