Lunarys, Chapter 4
We Carry What Comes
Tarek’s obsession turned deadly, collapsing the ruins and trapping Marisol and Poole beneath the rubble. As Judah fights to save them, Captain St. John confronts Tarek, and the two came to blows. But their brutal knife fight was cut short by a swarm of no-men. With the storm closing in, time is running out…
Captain St. John Galloway, ballisong still in hand, stepped back as the no-man glared at him with eyes far too feral to be human. He had seen many no-men during his time in the VSB, but this one was by far the largest, perhaps even the one responsible for the massive claw marks he and Judah had found earlier. Its hands, if you could call them that, were indeed large enough. Most no-men still bore faint traces of ancestral humanity, echoes of what they had once been centuries ago if you believed the legends. This one was a departure from what he was used to. It looked like a completely different species. Its nose was upturned, emphasizing a severe underbite that pushed jagged teeth outward in a grotesque snarl. Like all no-men, its eyes were nearly black, with only a tiny iris, this one a faint, glowing orange that shimmered in the twilight. It prowled over Tarek's unconscious body, baring its teeth as it paced. Not feeding, but rather watching, as if guarding a kill.
St. John inched back and tapped a panel, hoping to power up his body armor. On reserve power, it could resist blades, bullets, and even the occasional bite, but he wasn't sure it was enough to protect him from this. The lights on his armor surged for a moment, only to dim quickly the next.
"Dammit!" he heard himself hiss while trying not to break eye contact with the creature. That energy weapon Tarek had fired must have shorted more systems than he'd realized. He fought the instinct to glance toward Judah's last position. So far, the no-man's attention was fixed entirely on him. Despite the danger, St. John was at least grateful for this. It meant the doctor and his patients were still unnoticed.
A low, gurgling sound between a growl and a death rattle bubbled from the creature's throat. St. John saw movement at the edge of his vision. The no-man's shoulders seemed to expand, muscles rippling under its hair like some angry radioactive brute who had just missed lunch. Suddenly, an alert started chiming from St. John's bracer. He could feel his eyes twitch with the energy of instinctively looking down, but he refused to give in; it didn't matter. The no-man leaped forward, arms stretched forward, claws out, and mouth open wider than any mouth should be, revealing a cavern of jagged teeth. St. John raised his arms to defend himself, as the no man flew towards him… before exploding.
Gore rained down in wet slaps. Chunks of flesh and bone splattered across the ground and against his armor. St. John stood motionless for a moment, arms still up, heart pounding. After a moment, he stopped and lowered his arms, his eyes wide with stunned shock. As he looked down at what was left of the no-man, the sound of a soft hum vibrating above him eased its way into his consciousness. He turned and looked up to see the sleek shape of the dory hovering above him. In the cockpit, Jacoby waved down and saluted.
"Hello, Captain Galloway," Jacoby's voice said from St. John's bracer.
"Lieutenant," St. John exhaled, the adrenaline draining as relief swept over him like a crashing wave. "Your timing is either perfect or deeply sadistic. I'll let you know when I figure it out." He looked back down at the remains as the last of the terror bled out of him. What replaced it was an urge to laugh at anything. "Going forward, maybe lead with a gentle warning before you vaporize the thing trying to kill me."
"I considered it, but there wasn't enough time," Jacoby said, speaking just a little too quickly, trying very hard not to sound too relieved. "The angle was optimal, and the shot was clean. I figured saving your life outweighed your discomfort."
St. John let out a belly laugh for the ages. "Good call, Jacoby," he said. He looked over where Judah was still working. "Land the dory over there by the doctor." He said, "I'll deal with this…"
His voice trailed off as he turned to where Tarek still lay, unmoving. He didn't hear Jacoby's reply as the dory adjusted course and drifted away. His eyes were fixed on the man's broken body while his mind churned with something ugly.
People often got the wrong idea about Captain St. John Galloway, and he saw to it that they did. Among friends, peers, and anyone who followed his record, he was known as a principled, idealistic hero who never bent his morals. For the most Part, that was true. People needed the kind of heroes who always did the right thing, smiled warmly, saluted crisply, and helped little old ladies across cataclysmic wastelands. St. John fit the mold perfectly, except right now, where all he could feel was rage.
Here was a man who had tried to kill indiscriminately and had likely let his own soldiers be torn to pieces. By every instinct, St. John should have left him in the dirt and walked away. But he couldn't, not because of orders or consequences, but because he couldn't let this end that way. Somehow, that made it worse. He felt his leg twitch with a tight, involuntary jolt as some deeply buried part of him whispered;
"Just kick him in the face... Once... Hard.'
Fighting the instinct, he steadied himself, rolled his shoulders back, and, while he may have been a better man than Tarek would ever be, he was still a man. He inhaled sharply and spit a thick, red-flecked glob into the dirt just shy of the man's face.
"You fucking bastard," he hissed. "You don't know how badly I want to leave you right here."
"Extend landing gear. Activate evacuation protocols."
Jacoby's fingers moved across the drive panel in a smooth, practiced rhythm. The dory began its descent, stabilizers hissing as they adjusted for surface contact. He spotted Doctor Beauchamp below through the viewport, signaling with one arm. Jacoby returned the gesture in acknowledgment and then pushed himself out of the pilot station. He moved into the dory's central vestibule and crossed to the door of the aft compartment. At present, it was little more than an empty space with reinforced flooring and a few narrow windows. He unfolded a recessed panel by the doorway and tapped in a command.
"Reconfigure aft section for medical triage." He said to the dory's computer. The lights brightened as the ship responded. Wall panels hissed open, releasing a series of examination beds that extended smoothly into place. Floor tiles split and folded back, revealing support rails and compact medical hardware built for rapid deployment. Above each bed, a pair of sterile field arms unfolded like insect legs, angling with quiet precision into position. Paper-thin diagnostic screens slid from hidden alcoves, flickering to life. The empty space had transformed into a fully equipped triage bay in less than fifteen seconds.
He gave a satisfied nod and turned back into the vestibule, walking to the hatch. He squeezed the switch on his wrist, powering up his body armor, and then opened the hatch to the outside. With a hissing noise, a ramp extended below him, and he stepped out into the dusty twilight. Doctor Beauchamp was already waving him over with the kind of worn urgency used by field medics who had already used up their best swear words.
"Thank providence you're here," Judah said, the relief in his voice more functional than emotional. He motioned at the two figures on the ground. One was covered in dermal gel, while the other looked intact for the most Part. "I need you to help me get them aboard. We need to get back to the Resolute as soon as possible."
Jacoby nodded and moved toward the smaller figure. He crouched to lift her—then caught sight of the third body, still partially buried in debris. Something flickered behind his eyes: not quite grief or curiosity, but something heavy enough to slow his reach. He blinked, pulled himself back into the moment, and picked up the survivor. She was light… too light. Her gaunt face suggested she had been running on fumes for far too long. As he hoisted her up, he glanced over at Judah. The doctor had picked up dermal gel covering most of his face and arm. A shudder went down Jacoby's spine.
"His arm is missing," he observed. Judah nodded.
"Among other things," he replied, "Part of that old structure collapsed on top of them. Honestly? I'd still say they got lucky."
"What caused the collapse?" Jacoby asked.
"Some kind of energy weapon," Judah said
"Energy weapon," Jacoby repeated as they walked up the ramp. "Out here in the wasteland?"
"That's right," Judah said. "Captain Galloway went to go talk to the shooter. I heard the weapon go off, followed by a laugh." He paused at the hatch and looked over his shoulder. "If I had to guess, he's probably 'happening' to someone… or something right now."
"A no-man was about to kill him," Jacoby said as they stepped into the triage bay. Judah stopped cold. Jacoby's voice had been so flat, so calm, that it took a beat for Judah's brain to process the words.
"I'm sorry," he said slowly. "Would you please repeat that, Lieutenant?"
"He's fine," Jacoby said, setting the woman gently onto an exam bed. "I got a clean shot and vaporized the no-man before it could attack."
Judah exhaled and moved to transfer the man to the second bed. "Was there anyone else with him?"
Jacoby nodded. "Yes, an unconscious male lying on the ground nearby. I didn't get a complete scan, but he was projecting a contained electromagnetic field."
"He was what?" Judah stared at him in surprise. "How?"
Jacoby shrugged. "As I said, Doctor, I wasn't able to complete the scan."
The triage system kicked in, causing straps to slide into place and scanners to whirr down from the ceiling with the enthusiasm of overworked drones. Diagnostic overlays flickered to life and began scanning their corresponding patients.
"This one's stable," Judah said, going through the diagnostic display. "Superficial abrasions, moderate dehydration, likely fatigue-induced syncope. No immediate trauma visible." He keyed in a sequence on the panel. A sterile injector descended from the scanner rig and delivered a measured sedative to the side of her neck.
"She'll stay under until we get her back to the Resolute. I'll run a deeper scan once I have access to full-spectrum diagnostics." He paused, almost as an afterthought. "But for now, unconscious is safer, for her and for us… if I had to guess, I think she'd prefer it."
"What about him?" Jacoby asked, nodding toward the man.
Judah was already scanning the display, fingers moving across the panel. "He's in significantly worse condition," he said at last. "Crushed left arm, multiple facial fractures, subdermal hemorrhaging. Vitals are unstable, but holding… somehow." He exhaled slowly, watching the readout update. "I don't know what's keeping him alive… grit, spite, or a statistical fluke. Frankly, I wouldn't have given him odds."
He leaned over to inspect the dermal gel coating the worst of the wounds. It was holding, but barely. "The gel's doing its job, but it's a stopgap at best. There's not enough viable tissue left to regenerate without surgical intervention. In a few hours, the gel will start to break down with what's left of the skin."
"Is there anything you can do on the Resolute?" Jacoby asked.
Judah shook his head. "I'll have to put him in a stasis chamber." He said, "It's not ideal, but it will keep him frozen until I can properly treat him at the Zig." Suddenly, the comms flared to life with a burst of static.
"Hey, Doc!"
The voice made them both flinch. Judah raised his bracer and tapped the comm. "Captain, are you all right?" he asked, exhaling with relief.
On the other end, St. John made a familiar grunt, equal parts annoyance and sarcasm. "I'm alive." He said. "Let's go with that."
"Did you find out who the shooter was?" Judah asked.
"Yep, I've got him right here." St. John added, "He's unconscious and very heavy." A slight strain in his voice suggested he was hefting something on his shoulders. "He's also a real asshole. He tried to shoot me… twice!"
"Why?" Jacoby asked.
"He wants the girl," St. John said. "Didn't say why, but he's ready to kill anyone in between him and her."
"I'll prepare a double sedative," Judah said. "Do you need any help getting him aboard?"
"Nah," St. John said, "I'll be fine… it will be my leg workout for the week. Galloway out."
Jacoby folded his arms and looked thoughtful. "Doctor, if this man wants to kill the Captain… or any of us for that matter, why are we even taking him with us?"
Judah didn't turn around. His voice became firmer, edged with something older. "Lieutenant," he said, "What is our constitution's first guarantee?"
Jacoby didn't need to think. "In the wasteland, no human being is intentionally left behind or forgotten."
"That's right," Judah replied. "We don't get to decide who's worthy. Everyone we've brought back from the wastelands gets the same chance. What they do with it is entirely up to them."
"I understand the intent," Jacoby said. "But principle alone doesn't shield us. How does morality outweigh our safety?"
Judah let out a chuckle. "I understand the danger, Jacoby. But if safety always wins, then principle was never real; it was just..." he shrugged, looking for the right word, "…convenience." He paused to input a few commands into the diagnostic panel. "This isn't idealism; it's a boundary we drew because we had to. The risk is the price. If we start bending the line now, then we're just pretending."
"Yes, but..." Jacoby began, only to be cut off by a sharp alarm. He flicked his wrist, activating the display on his bracer. A schematic bloomed into view, topographical data overlaid with movement tracking. A single green dot, Captain Galloway, pulsed steadily, moving toward the dory. Red dots had begun to appear and multiply along the map's outer edge.
Judah turned, reading the display. "Those are no-men," he said flatly. "You'd better get us airborne."
"Yes," Jacoby said, "but… so many?"
"We'll figure that out later," Judah replied, walking to the door and pulling Judah with him. "Right now, just get us airborne."
Jacoby straightened. It was like flipping a switch in the base of his spine. In an instant, the uncertainty evaporated, replaced by posture, precision, and purpose.
"Yes, Sir," he said, heading into the cockpit.
Outside the dory, St. John was almost to the ramp. He resisted the urge to look back. He could feel the no-men closing in. That was the thing about them: you always heard them coming. There was a comfort in that, though not much at the moment. At least you knew when to panic.
The dory had lifted off, but the ramp still hung low enough for him to jump onto. This wouldn't be a problem for St. John, even with a half-dead sociopath slung over his shoulder. Doctor Beauchamp appeared at the top of the ramp, ready to assist. St. John made the jump, landing hard and swinging Tarek's weight toward the doctor, who saw what St. John was planning and adjusted seamlessly. He was about to enter the hatch when something latched onto his ankle. He shouted in surprise as the violent tug yanked his legs out from under him, pain searing up his leg as something in his ankle tore. His hands scrambled, catching a guardrail on the side of the ramp just in time.
"Judah" he screamed. The no-man clung to his leg like a vice, snarling and trying to climb but with nowhere to go. As the dory rose, so did the weight. The urge to look overtook him, and when he did, he saw the creature's head just over the ramp. Its eyes were wide, its jaws working as if trying to chew through reality itself. Then, a blast of energy struck it in the face. With a thump, it let go and fell to the ground.
Before St. John could react, strong hands grabbed him and hauled him back onto the ramp. He crawled the rest of the way in, panting through the pain, as Judah slammed the control panel, closing the hatch. Once again, the adrenaline building up inside St. John began to drain away. He sprawled out on the floor and began to laugh… hard.
"Are you alright, Captain?" Judah asked, kneeling beside him. He activated a scanner along his leg, pausing when it reached his ankle.
"No, doc, I'm really not." He gasped in between giggles. "I've had a useless chat with a sociopath, two very physical run-ins with no-men, one of whom just tried to unscrew my leg, and now I'm in extreme pain!" He looked down at his foot. "What the hell happened?"
"Your ACL snapped," Judah said. He stood and grabbed a small, sleek regenerator from a nearby shelf just inside the triage bay. After lifting St. John's leg, he pointed the device directly at his ankle. "This might sting," he said, activating the regenerator. The relief was instantaneous. St. John relaxed even more, feeling like a deflated balloon.
"Ohhhhh providence, that feels good…" he exhaled with the voice of someone in an orgasmic stupor. "…obscenely good. Do it again if you want."
"No," Judah replied flatly, helping him to his feet. "Not unless you want me to snap the other ACL as well… which I won't do even under orders." He added, noticing the look on St. John's face. He tossed the regenerator back on the shelf and pointed towards Tarek's body. "Help me get our third guest onto the bed."
St. John approached Tarek, noting with mild surprise how little his ankle actually hurt after what had just happened. Together, they hefted the body onto the third exam bed. The triage system activated immediately, straps fastened, scanners lit up, and injectors hissed, ensuring Tarek would be out for hours. St. John watched it all from the sidelines as a smirk played around on his lips.
"Well," he muttered, "that's definitely a start." He sighed and rubbed his face. "I need a shower," he said, more to himself than to Judah. "As soon as we get back to the Resolute…"
He was cut off as the dory suddenly lurched. Both Judah and St. John stumbled but managed to stay upright. "What the hell was that?" St. John barked, already moving. He jogged out of the triage bay and into the cockpit. Jacoby was sitting at the pilots' station, frantically trying to send commands to the craft with one hand while trying to steer with the other. Jacoby sat at the pilot's station, one hand on the controls and the other frantically keying in override commands. The entire console flickered with warnings.
"What's going on?" St. John asked.
Jacoby nodded at the viewport. "That." A swarm of no-men rushed the vessel. Some were on foot, while others already climbing onto the hull. St. John leaned closer to get a better look, just in time for a shrieking, contorted face to slam against the windshield from above. He flinched, then glowered at it.
"We're already in the air," St. John said. "Can you shake them?"
"That is what I'm trying to do," Jacoby said. "The extra weight is throwing off our balance."
"Maybe I can," St. John said, sliding into the co-pilots' seat and activating the station. "What do you need?"
Jacoby's fingers didn't stop moving. "The Faraday system's still charging. I have partial lift, but we don't have the altitude to trigger a shock burst."
"How many are on the hull?" St. John asked. Jacoby looked over at one of the sensor logs. "Three," he said. He nodded at the one at the window. "One is right there; the other two are hanging off the landing gear." Jacoby looked out the window. Despite the extra weight, they were
"Do you trust me?" St. John asked, an idea coming to him. Jacoby froze.
"Only when you tell me what you have planned," he said, unease creeping into his voice. St. John narrowed his eyes to make a calculation and then nodded to himself. "Send me the flight controllers." He said. Jacoby paused but, after a moment, waved his hand, sending the pilot HUD layout to St. John's station.
"Focus on the Faraday system," St. John said, "and hold on. I'm going to do this manually."
He pressed a sequence on the console. The co-pilot station reconfigured, and a classic flight column rose from the deck. Gripping it with both hands, St. John shoved it forward. The dory roared ahead toward the looming stadium ruin. A series of loud thunks echoed as the landing gear scraped no-men off the underside. He pulled the stick back, lifting the nose, but the vessel rolled slightly to the right.
"Hey!" Judah's voice barked through the comm. What's going on up there? Can we avoid the bumps, please?"
"Not really an option, Doc!" St. John called back. "We've got hitchhikers!" He yanked the control tighter. The dory pitched sharply, just missing an ancient column. A crack and a thud confirmed that something… or someone… had fallen off. That left only one.
"How's that Faraday system coming?" St. John asked, the urgency rising in his voice.
"It's currently at ninety," Jacoby said. "But I should point out, if it discharges at full strength before we reach optimal altitude, it could cause…" A bang on the windshield interrupted him. A deep crack spidered across the glass.
"Just do it!" St. John shouted. "Or we're going down with a guest on the roof!"
Jacoby grimaced, then hit the switch. The ship began to hum, soft at first, then growing into a high-pitched vibration that flooded the cockpit. Warning lights flared red across every screen. St. John watched as the no-man's screams turned to shrieks of pain. Its skin blistered and cracked, steam rising from open wounds. Then, with one final, spasmodic slap against the hull, it peeled away and vanished.
"Kill the system!" St. John yelled, but Jacoby was already powering the system down. The Faraday system quickly began to die down as all levels returned to normal. St. John exhaled and slumped back in his seat, pressing his palm to his forehead. Jacoby glanced at him as his fingers returned to the controls, reentering flight vectors like nothing had happened.
"Are you all right, Captain?" he asked, his voice returning to his normal flat tone. St. John looked up at him and grinned.
"Jacoby," he said, "I think I have reached my quota for near-death experiences today. If I see one more no-man, I'm just going to invite it aboard for drinks and see what happens.
"I assume that is a joke," Jacoby said.
St. John grinned, then stood and powered down his station, returning full control to Jacoby. "You did a phenomenal job out here, Lieutenant," he said, clapping Jacoby's shoulder. "How long to the Resolute?"
"Eighteen minutes, thirty-seven seconds," Jacoby said. He glanced over at St. John and gave him a tiny grin, which, for him, was the emotional equivalent of throwing his arms around him and sobbing with joy. "I'm very happy you made it on board, Captain."
St. John flashed a dazzling smile at Jacoby and nodded. "Thank you," he said, "Now I should probably go check on the doc."
He walked out of the cockpit and into the aft section of the dory, entering the triage bay. "Sorry about the ride," St. John said. "We had a few uninvited guests."
"Mmm-hmm," Judah said, not looking up from the diagnostic display at the foot of Tarek's exam bed. St. John wrinkled his forehead. "Are you okay, Doc? You look a little lost."
Judah blinked and turned. "Well, yes," he said, sounding uncertain. "I suppose I am. A little lost, I mean."
St. John walked over and looked at the screen, which was busy blinking red in multiple places. He didn't know what most of it meant, but none of it looked good. "You'll have to help me out, Doc," he said, putting his head to one side. "I'm a soldier, not a doctor. What am I looking at."
"To tell you the truth," Judah said slowly, "I'm not entirely sure." He motioned at an area around Tarek's chest. "Jacoby mentioned that he was emitting a limited electromagnetic field… and I just found the source. There is a tiny implant directly on his sternum."
"Why?" St. John asked. Judah shrugged.
"I haven't the faintest idea," he said. "I can't imagine what its purpose would be. If it's active, or if it ever became active, it could potentially trigger cardiac arrest. I'd remove it, but I'm not sure that would be appropriate without knowing what it's for."
"What's all these other readings," St. John said, this time pointing at Tarek's legs, which were blinking red on the display. "That can't be normal." Judah shook his head.
"No, it's not." He said, "According to this… his entire skeletal structure from the pelvis down is metal."
"Metal," St. John repeated. "You mean grafted on, like surgical reinforcement?"
"No," Judah said, turning to St. John, the confusion even more pronounced. "I mean replaced. His legs—pelvis, femurs, tibias, everything—are fully synthetic. Solid metal."
"No way," St. John scoffed. "That can't be possible unless one of his parents was some kind of appliance."
"I agree it sounds absurd," Judah said. He tapped a few more controls, pulling up a neural integration map on the display. "It's not just the bones. The surrounding systems… muscles, nerves, and connective tissues are seamlessly integrated. There are no rejection markers, no inflammation. It's like his body thinks the metal belongs there."
St. John looked over his shoulder. "You're saying it works?"
"I'm saying it works too well." Judah said. He stepped back from the display and crossed his arms. "Long before I was born, the medical community used a similar technique. These days, we use full skeletal cloning. We grow the bone from the patient's own cells and rebuild the structure naturally."
"What about before cloning?" St. John asked.
"They used adaptive polymers back then," Judah said. "High-strength, low-conductivity. They didn't interfere with neural or vascular systems. Metal, on the other hand, causes all kinds of disruptions. Things like nerve latency, conductivity spikes, or thermal rejection. It's a nightmare to stabilize."
St. John looked down at Tarek's body. "But this guy's stabilized."
Judah nodded, still staring at the display. "Completely. Whatever technique was used here... I'm not sure we could replicate it." He glanced at the unconscious figure strapped to the table. "This isn't just rare, it's wrong. And yet…" he gestured at the scan, "… it's almost perfect."
St. John stared at Tarek briefly, then turned back to Judah. "You know," he said, his voice lower and more thoughtful, "I didn't talk to him for long, but I definitely got the impression he knew more than most people we find out here in the wastes."
Judah looked up from the diagnostic feed. "What do you mean?"
"He seemed… smart." St. John replied, "And not in the usual, patch-things-together-and-don't-die kind of way. He spoke like someone educated. Broader vocabulary than you'd expect. Clear diction. His grasp of English was…" St. John let out a whistle "Honestly? Another time, another place, I'd want to get a tour of his home."
"You think he could be from some kind of advanced micro-civilization?" Judah asked. "These readings would suggest it's possible."
St. John nodded. "Maybe. That would explain a lot. These bones, that implant in his chest… someone put real resources into him. If he came from the other side of the hyper-current…" He trailed off. Tarek wasn't just engineered to endure; he was made to matter. Whoever did this wasn't thinking small.
Judah finished the thought for him. "It could change everything."