Our Contest

by Phillip Murrell

  “Too easy,” Mag Pulse says.

  “Then the veteran Templars will exit their armor and get the power cells for the new guys. Once you’re all booted back up, you’ll help us with our armor. Knight Terror, I want you to revert to full human before Mag Pulse disables the Womb. We don’t know what his enhanced power will do to you in machine form, and I don’t want to take the chance.”

  “Aw, girl, you do care about me,” Knight Terror jokes.

  “So, I have to wait for everyone to clear and Power to revert to a broke dick before I can blast? How’s all of this going to happen inside of twenty seconds?” Mag Pulse asks.

  “Make it happen,” SOT answers.

  SOT feels a thump all around her as Knight Terror gently connects with the Womb. SOT feels her body shake from the adrenaline shooting through her.

  “Now?” Stage asks.

  “What time is it, Knight Terror?”

  “I’ve got two minutes until the top of the hour,” Knight Terror responds. “It’s so easy to remember shit as a machine with an internal timer.”

  “Alright, Stage, you may say your prayer now,” SOT says.

  “Thanks, lass. Heavenly Father, please give us the power and the courage to do what we must to save your people. You’ve already given us the tools, and we thank you. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, amen.”

  Most of the Templars echo Stage’s amen. SOT isn’t one of them. She concentrates on the door. Or at least, where she expects Knight Terror’s sliding door to be.

  “Stage, Gallery, and Roids, stand up and slowly walk to the front door. Take your time; we have invisible bags all over. We have the time to do this right,” SOT instructs.

  She listens as she hears grunts through her helmet as Templars walk to the front. She doesn’t hear too many apologies, suggesting that the Templars are taking their time.

  “Are you ready?” SOT asks.

  “I’m here with my hands on the orange dragonfly-looking marking,” Gallery says.

  “Good, lass,” Stage says. “I’m on your left with my hands hovering around the crab taking a shite mark.”

  “Do you feel my hands on your shoulders?” Roids asks the two.

  “I can,” Gallery answers.

  “Me, too,” Stage says.

  “I’m opening my doors,” Knight Terror says. “They’re open.”

  “Stage, Gallery, place your hands directly on the marks you identified,” SOT says. “Okay, now I want Mag Pulse to stand up and move behind Roids. Let me know when you get there.”

  SOT listens to more grunts and curses and finally gets the affirmative.

  “Everyone else will file out behind Mag Pulse in this order: Hide, Xibalba, Mule, Swap, Me, and finally Knight Terror will dump the bags and come in behind. I want everyone to activate their melee weapons. If we do have to fight, this will be quieter. Once inside, drop your blades, then grab your Gudz rifles from the bag with your name on it. This has to be quick because the Womb’s automatic defenses will kick in with a hull breach and seal anyone not fast enough on the outside. That’s not a good place to be if your armor loses power without a new cell to bring you back up.”

  The Templars voice their agreement and shuffle to stand and get in the order that SOT commanded.

  “How’s our time?” SOT asks.

  “Twenty seconds,” Knight Terror responds.

  SOT counts to herself and reaches zero at the same time as Knight Terror announces it.

  “Go,” SOT orders.

  Despite her helmet’s optics, SOT has to shield her eyes from the bright intensity of Gallery’s solar power this close. Stage also transforms the outer hull of the Womb into a liquid. Molten orbs that instantly freeze float away as do drops from Stage’s transformation. The process takes less than three seconds to open a door.

  “Drop invisibility and go,” SOT orders.

  Able to see each other once again, the Templars charge through their opening. Stage turns left while Gallery goes right. SOT isn’t even sure they have targets, but both continue to blast their powers in their respective directions.

  SOT is pleased that it takes less than eight seconds for everyone to leave Knight Terror. She looks down the ugly orange hallways. She sees the remnants of a pair of Malignant crew members unfortunate enough to be in Gallery’s way when she came through.

  SOT turns around and watches as all ten duffle bags are dumped at her feet. Power jumps through the opening as SOT counts off eighteen seconds. Two seconds later, a reinforced metal door slams down and closes off the cold vacuum of open space.

  SOT demagnetizes her boots now that the pull of the universe has ceased. She feels the weight of Power grab onto her armor and slowly lower his crippled body to the floor. She takes a few moments to observe her surroundings. Fortunately for her team, they seem to be in a secluded portion of the base.

  Somewhere in engineering, she suspects, after examining the utility uniforms of the two dead Malignant.

  It appears to SOT that they’re on the edge of a massive grid, just as Jillarni said it would be. She can see hundreds of meters down corridors in three of the four cardinal directions. The opening they created is to her back, but hallways extend before her and to each side. It also looks like there are additional corridors every hundred meters.

  “Now?” Mag Pulse asks.

  He’s anxious to contribute, SOT thinks. Good, I can use that.

  “SOT, now?” Mag Pulse repeats.

  “Do it,” SOT orders.

  Roids grips Mag Pulse’s shoulders with both hands. The Templar rookie does something. His power is imperceptible, but it works because every light and machine in the bowels of the Malignant vessel instantly ceases. SOT can feel the weight of her armor digging into her shoulders. She stays upright, but a quick test confirms that it’s impossible to take a step without her suit powered up. Exactly as she was hoping.

  SOT can’t hear any of her companions as they likely make similar protests of discomfort. All she hears are the muffled sounds of noisy neighbors in the upstairs apartment. SOT knows exactly what she must do; she also knows her team is about to hate her for it. She reaches for the mechanical latch inside her armor and pulls it. Her armor separates, and Julie steps out.

  She’s a flurry of motion. She retrieves her jian that was slung around the shoulders on her armor. It’s an old weapon that has passed down for generations in her family. She knows it will be mostly useless in the fight to come, but she likes knowing that she has a weapon once used by her ancestors in the Han Dynasty. She also pulls a bag with her name on it toward herself. The same material used in their comfort suits lines the bottom of each bag. The connection between the bags and the floor isn’t quite magnetic, nor is it fully adhesive, but the bags don’t move without physical exertion.

  “Hurry up and get out,” Julie commands, “all of you. That armor is worthless now.”

  Power transforms himself into his armored human appearance, with the small exception of making both arms into tazdeve assault cannons.

  “I thought we needed to get the bloody power cells?” Patrick asks as he exits his armor. The soles of his comfort suit keep him from floating away, unlike the blood turning into floating red spheres from the dead Malignant.

  “Change of plans,” Julie says. “Power cells won’t work, and we don’t have any even if they would.”

  “What?” Gallery asks after exiting her armor.

  Julie unzips her bag. Inside it is a light machine gun that belongs in the American military and not the Malignant Empire. Belts of 5.56 ammunition surround the weapon, along with water and protein bars. She’s careful to ensure the lack of gravity doesn’t send her carefully selected supplies into multiple directions. Julie wastes no time loading the weapon.

  “What the hell is this?” Patrick asks. “I thought you brought
pens?”

  “Because I lied to you,” Julie says as she promptly loads the twelve-gauge shotgun from Gallery’s bag. “If power cells could still work, the Malignant would be fine. Now nobody is. We have to fight with normal human weapons, but they’ll have to fight in comfort suits with swords. Which side would you want to be on? Now get out of your armor!”

  Julie thrusts the shotgun into Gallery’s hands. The woman trembles with what must be a combination of rage and fear as she accepts it.

  “I still have my bow,” Gallery says.

  “This is a backup then. Or an option to show the Malignant what an ISH can do when her back is against the wall,” Julie says.

  “If you knew this armor would be worthless, why didn’t you have us suit up in our old armor? I could have been the jolly green leprechaun again,” Patrick says.

  “The rookies didn’t have armor. Those suits are at The Lair.”

  “We still had armor!” Gallery complains.

  “I didn’t have time to explain the reason for taking antiquated gear that was hidden in extra bags and powered down. I’m not positive it would have worked, anyway. It’s too late to change that decision. Deal with the situation!” Julie yells.

  The seasoned Templars quit their pointless complaining. Julie’s pleased when Patrick begins loading the military carbine that was in his bag. He takes the ammo carrier from the duffle and fills it with thirty-round magazines after sliding it over his body.

  “What is happening?” a distant voice is heard.

  “I do not know,” another responds. “Something sub-optimal if the whole ship is down. It will be our disgrace if we do not determine the catalyst of failure.”

  The two Malignant engineers appear shocked when they see Julie standing in the center of the illumination from the chemical glow sticks she activated. The blue and green make her appear ghostlike, especially since they float in the air, rather than lay on the floor.

  “Who are you?” one demands.

  The bark of Julie’s machine gun is his answer. Both men receive a seven-round burst each and fall over dead. Julie barely registers the diminutive orange energy flashes serving as their passive augmentation defenses. The sound of the shots rings throughout the hallways. They’re soon answered by shouts. Judging by the sound, a lot of people will soon charge into battle, and Julie still has half of her team hiding inside worthless armor.

  “They’re coming!” Julie shouts. “I knew this would happen and set you all up. Many of us will die, and I apologize for that, but this is still the only way to save Earth. I know I’m going to die, so it doesn’t really matter if one of you allows emotion to take my life, but if you want to improve the chance that you’ll survive, you need to exit your armor, grab a weapon, and pick a corridor to cover. We won’t move from this spot, but they still have multiple avenues to attack from. Swords can still pierce your armor when swung by someone grounded in his comfort suit. Get out and fight or be an easy target!”

  Julie cracks more of her glow sticks of assorted colors and throws them down the halls. The enemy will have a beacon to draw them to her team, but they’ll not be able shoot at them. Jillarni assured her that Malignant don’t carry bows and arrows, nor do they prefer to use augmentations during a fight. The arrogant bastards will come with blades. The more lights she has, the easier it will be for her team to see them and shoot them. The Malignant will eventually have to resort to powers, but they’ll climb over the bodies of their fallen first.

  Finally, Julie hears the mechanical clang of the remaining Templars exiting their armor. Julie can feel their absolute acrimony for her. It was to be expected. Some grip their melee weapons. Julie assumes that if a killing blow is coming, this will be it. Thankfully, her teammates want her to stay in command.

  “What do you want us to do, Julie?” Dante asks. “I still believe in you, and I’m not going to let my family die because of resentment.”

  Julie wishes more would repeat Dante’s sentiment, but it isn’t meant to be.

  “I’m glad you asked, Dante,” Julie says. “I need you to transform into your smoke cloud, away from us, of course, and travel throughout the corridors near our location. You’ll clear out any Malignant, but don’t stray too far. You’re our best defense right now. You keep them guessing and intimidated. That’ll make the number we have to battle more manageable.”

  “No problem,” Dante says. “For what it’s worth, good luck. To all of you.”

  “Won’t need it,” Power boasts. “I’ve got this shit.”

  “Thanks,” Dale says.

  “Be careful,” Mary Lee adds.

  Dante nods and steps away. Once he’s clear of the other Templars, his body gives way to a thick, black, and acrid smoke. It seems sentient as it moves through the hallways. It doesn’t take long for the startled screams of Malignant marines to echo back to the remaining Templars.

  “You sure he’s going to be okay?” Melissa asks.

  “He’ll be fine, Mel. The simulator vouched for him,” Julie says.

  A few Templars politely chuckle. All of them now have their blades slung in belts and scabbards that Julie provided in their bags. They also have American military weapons.

  “What’s the plan for the rest of us?” James asks.

  He rests his shotgun on his shoulders as he impatiently waits for an answer.

  “We need to move a little farther in,” Julie answers.

  Screams cut her off. She has to repeat her next sentence because all the Templars jerk their heads in the direction of Dante’s latest victims.

  “Dante can’t keep them away forever. We move in and take control of a block. The lights and armor here will draw in attackers. We’ll go one corridor over and watch. This means they’ll have more avenues to attack us from, but I don’t trust our breach point. That door may not be as sturdy without power, and I would prefer not fighting next to it. It’s one more worry that I don’t need.”

  “You heard the lady, let’s go,” Patrick says as he drags his duffle bag behind him.

  Without augmented-armor strength, the weight of the bags is now known by all of them. The Templars quickly reposition themselves. The dark once again surrounds the team, but Julie’s eyes have adjusted. She now prefers to keep the glow sticks at a distance in front of her. She has her people throw more down the halls as the occasional scream rings from off in the distance. The Malignant must think Dante is the only threat. Soon they’ll investigate the breach and surrounding area. The sounds of screaming men and women are closer with each ambush.

  Julie’s team sits in the center of a corridor. To her left is the breach, just a mere one hundred meters, but it does offer an attack option for the Malignant. Their discarded armor and glow sticks make the area difficult to navigate and should slow the Malignant down. On the other side of the corridor, it goes on for what seems like forever. The Templars have glow sticks positioned, so they should be able to see the Malignant warriors as they charge with primitive weapons.

  Julie’s bigger concerns are the bisecting corridors. Her team is positioned to look down all four avenues as they intersect their position. Power and Julie cover the northwest approach from both sides of the hallway. Melissa is close to Julie. She has a specific purpose for her and needs to keep her away from most of the fighting. Next come Greg and Mary Lee, who cover the southwest approach. On the other end of their portion of hallway are Patrick and Gallery, who overwatch the northeast avenue. Finally, James and Dale have their shotgun and carbine respectively trained on the southeast approach.

  Satisfied that they’re as prepared as they can be, Julie offers some encouragement.

  “Good job, Templars. I’m proud to die alongside people like you. I swear I’ll do my best to keep you alive. Some of us will make it, but more important, Earth will make it.”

  “I plan on making it,” Power says, “but since you plan o
n going down, is there anything you want to be remembered for?”

  “Ah, Mr. Wiener, you do care.”

  “I’m starting not to,” Power counters.

  Julie considers the simple banter for a moment. “There is one thing I’d like. If we win, people will want to honor us.”

  “Let me guess. You want a giant golden statue in your own park,” Power says.

  “No, only narcissists name things after themselves. I don’t need a building or a statue. I want my birthday to be the first global holiday. Come October twenty-first every year, I want it to be a massive party. Nobody works except the people who provide the entertainment. They can have October twenty-second.”

  “How very noble of you; clearly not a narcissist,” Mary Lee says with a nervous snicker.

  Before Julie can respond, she hears gunfire as Power lets both of his tazdeves roar. One is aimed down his sector of fire, but his left arm is faced back at the forms sneaking up with swords drawn from the discarded armor near the breach. The needle-like bullets perforate the squad of marines and explode inside their flesh. The squad perishes. One suit of armor, Greg’s armor judging by the cape, floats farther away.

  “They’re coming!” Power screams as he continues to blast at his attackers.

  Shots now begin to ring from Patrick and Gallery’s end of the hallway. Soon the Templars will be enveloped. Julie looks at the mechanical pocket watch she brought in her bag. The gold antique quietly ticks. Julie thinks it’s ten past the hour. It’s hard to tell in the mostly dark corridor.

  “What do you want me to do?” Melissa shouts over the gunfire.

  “For now, nothing. Eventually these bastards are going to come at us with powers. When they do, I need you to swap them out among them. It should disorient their attacks because they may not know how to use the other guy’s ability,” Julie answers.

  “That’s why you insisted we train like that before?” Melissa asks.

  Julie smiles. “Always plan for contingencies.”