The Midnight Sun (The Omega War Book 2)

by Tim C. Taylor

  Betty and Tatterjee hunted them down through the ground cover. Snapping jaws ripped into guts; Tortantula legs impaled soft flesh. Branco expected to hear the ziiippppp of hypervelocity rounds as Tatterjee cleared the ground for Betty to enjoy her night out, but for some reason the Flatar only fired once.

  For Branco and the other CASPers, it was a turkey shoot for about ten seconds, then Albali screamed at them to fall back.

  “We gotta make the most of this, Sarge,” insisted Cleggy, pumping rounds into the confusion.

  “If we stay, we die. Fall back!”

  Cleggy fired the last of his shoulder-mounted missiles into a stack of weapons and began low-hopping backward and away, loosing bursts of fire at anything he didn’t like the look of.

  But Gjalp did not.

  When his blood was up, the big guy’s mind could sometimes get caught in the killing zone. His world had shrunk to the weapons of destruction mounted in his CASPer arms, and the red dots in his HUD that needed dusting. Nothing else existed. He probably hadn’t even heard Albali.

  “Gjalp!” shouted Branco. “For fanden! Snap out of it!”

  He hurled Danish curses at his friend as he summoned the courage to go back in and retrieve him.

  “You’re only half-Norwegian,” he shouted, firing his dwindling reserves of MAC shells as he stepped back into the camp. “and you were raised in freaking America. I forbid you to go Viking berserker. It’s cultural appropriation!”

  Cleggy was giving covering fire too, but Branco halted because the first sergeant had already reached Gjalp. In the trooper’s mind, he was hosing the Condottieri with his railgun, but it was plain to see that his ammo drum was spinning empty.

  While Cleggy, Branco, and the Zuul gave covering fire, Albali hugged Gjalp from behind and boosted the two of them back with his jumpjets.

  They only managed a short hop before they were staggering drunkenly to keep their balance, but it was enough to snap Gjalp out of his berserker rage.

  They fled for the depths of the swamp.

  And none too soon. The enemy had rallied and rediscovered their firing discipline. They were making the raiders pay.

  Branco was taking fire. His status board was showing all the wrong colors. Jump juice: red (empty). Rear armor: red (heavily compromised). Right shoulder motor: red (critical failure – return to service center).

  He ran through the trees with his CASPer’s immobile right arm held high, as if about to ask for the bathroom.

  It didn’t seem possible any of them would make it home.

  But he learned later that Sergeant Hrrn had noted the enemy was breaking camp and was in the process of retrieving ammo stores which they normally kept buried and separated for safety. The Zuul sergeant could see the Midnighters wouldn’t get away this time unless he did something, so Hrrn worked his way above an open case of rockets and fired his laser rifle at them until they exploded.

  The huge fireball caught the other open ordnance, setting them ablaze too. The chain reaction shook the air so violently that Branco’s CASPer hummed like a tuning fork. The fireball erupted beyond the upper canopy of the trees. Hell, it was probably visible from hyperspace.

  The enemy fire slackened, and the Midnighters made their escape.

  They’d met their objective, Branco supposed, but Hrrn and Z’yggul were dead. And though Gjalp and Branco made it back, their two CASPers did not, having been abandoned to the swamp.

  The whole Midnighter camp was roused, sentries perched from every vantage point, Branco donning his Scout gear, and Gjalp taking the CASPer Osuru had abandoned when he deserted.

  But no response came. When they scouted the charred remains of the enemy base the following day, the Condottieri had gone.

  “I’ll miss Sergeant Hrrn,” said Gjalp loudly within the hearing of the Zuul survivors. “He was one helluva example for us all.”

  “We all will, son,” said First Sergeant Albali. “I never told you, but me and Hrrn went way back. I met him years before I joined the Midnighters, on one wild night at…” He sighed. “At Peepo’s Pit.”

  “Hrrn saved our hides,” said Gjalp. He turned to the first sergeant. “And so did you. Thanks, Top.”

  Albali hesitated before replying. “Any time, Berserker.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 86

  “I can tell you all I know,” said the wreck of a man who had betrayed his former comrades for a hot meal, “but the Midnighters don’t have obvious weaknesses. I mean, look at me. I didn’t sign up to go on some kind of jungle trek. The contractual justification for being here looked so screwy to me that I walked. Seems like common sense now, but it wasn’t easy at the time because they’re such a tight-knit bunch. They’re loyal to the sisters.”

  The Dove enjoyed a spoonful of his soup, which tasted delicious, but was too hot to do more than sip. Beside him in the tent, Assistant Pain in the Ass Boroi regarded the exchange through her goggles, observing carefully, but giving the impression that the interactions of lesser species were of no interest. Perhaps she was peeved not to have been offered the soup. Really, these Veetanho were becoming most tiresome.

  As was this deserter. The Dove was starting to suspect that the Midnighters had let Blades live so he could bamboozle anyone who interrogated him with his idiotic prattling.

  “Come now, Mr. Sharpe,” said Dove. “Blades. You’ve explained that you were under a new contract to deliver the Raknar to the Four Horsemen rebels. That’s human business, and the Midnighters employ a Tortantula, Zuul and other non-humans. Surely their commitment must be a weakness?”

  “The aliens are the most stupid of all. There’s something about Captain Blue. She weaves a glamour over them so they’ll do whatever she asks. The captain’s dead, as far as I know, but enough of her power rubs off on her sister that the idiots keep marching through the swamp, the alien mercs included. Sorry, Colonel, but I can’t give you an opening to exploit.”

  “Don’t burden yourself with solving my problems,” the Dove reassured him with a smile. “Tell me more about your former friends, and leave the rest to me.”

  Blades shrugged. “I don’t know what to say. Maybe they keep going because they never saw the CO’s body and pretend to themselves that she might still be alive. Some of them probably tell themselves that the reinforcements she promised are on their way.”

  The Dove put down his bowl of Canavase soup and dabbed his beard with his napkin. “Reinforcements, Mr. Sharpe?”

  “Imaginary reinforcements, Colonel. We were told the Scorpions were going to run for home – our home on Tau-Rietzke – and return with an army.” The man gave a bitter laugh. “What army? We’ve got three other squads out on contract and assorted base personnel.”

  “Sometimes what people believe is more important than what’s true. Did your former colleagues cast opinions on the likelihood of reinforcements?”

  “Sir, we abandoned ship during a space battle and dropped to the surface under heavy fire. We didn’t have time to discuss anything, but the only Midnighter who talked as if they believed relief was coming was Commander Venix, and the XO must have died when his dropship was shot down.”

  “Of course, I understand. You must forgive me, Mr. Sharpe, but we need to be clear on this point. In your opinion relief is not coming. Correct?”

  “No. Of course not. Who’s gonna come out here and save our necks? I mean, there are always rumors back at base about hidden alien mercenaries, but I never saw any. Only mystery alien to my knowledge was some crazy old squid I heard they’d discovered hiding on the ship.”

  The Dove kept his gaze on the prisoner, but his attention was on the Veetanho standing beside him who’d just made a noise he’d never heard from a Veetanho before. It sounded rather like a mouse squeak.

  “Tell me more about this squid,” he asked.

  Blades shook his head. “I wish I could, sir. I only heard it as scuttlebutt. You have to understand that we thought we’d just completed a contract, and the chitchat
was wild with hokum. Way I heard it, the alien was maybe the company’s mystery owner, but I didn’t believe a word.”

  Maybe not, Dove thought to himself. But someone does. He glanced across at his military advisor and noted with great interest how her white fur was standing on end.

  He looked back to the prisoner. “Did this scuttlebutt have anything to say on this alien’s appearance?”

  “All I heard was the thing was kinda squidy. With seven legs. Oh, and a huge bony crest on its head like an ancient helmet.”

  Assistant Commissar Boroi scampered out of the tent as if her rat tail were on fire.

  Even Blades noticed. “What’s up with the alien? Did I say something to upset her?”

  The Dove picked up his soup and was delighted to discover that it was now the perfect temperature to enjoy.

  You assuredly did, Mr. Blades, he thought to himself. And I intend to find out why.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 87

  “Did Hyuuo and Shalzak’s power bypass succeed?” asked Lieutenant Flkk’Sss of the Jeha engineer, though the answer was already clear.

  If the attempt to bring the reactor back to health had succeeded, Tk’ch’kl’l would be dancing across CIC on his many legs and snapping at his elSha colleagues, who’d claim all the credit.

  Instead the engineer, whom the captain had named Jenkins, held himself still and sullen, dripping lightly radioactive water in the menacing green glow of the emergency lighting.

  “As before,” Jenkins reported, “we bled a little power from Reactor Three into the capacitors of the emergency reserve power. And as before, each time we activate the reactor, it dies a little. Whatever the missiles did to shut down our other two reactors has leaked through, and the power bypass idea made no difference. The symptoms of irreversible damage are plain to see, but the causes remain a mystery. We can drain the last dregs of the reactor maybe once more, possibly twice, and then it’ll be lost forever. The only solution is to completely cut out the reactors and replace them with new ones. Midnight Sun needs to be in a shipyard, not at the bottom of an ocean controlled by an enemy.”

  None of this was a surprise to Flkk’Sss, who’d authorized the power bypass idea as a last throw of the dice, as the captain might say. The MinSha officer took in a last look at Midnight Sun’s CIC through her compound eyes before making the fateful decision she’d been resisting.

  Half the battlecruiser’s decks still contained air, but it was oxygen depleted. To conserve power, only the CIC and surrounding areas had retained life support, and now that too was failing. Already the air tasted stale. Soon it would be unbreathable.

  Flkk’Sss glanced at the command station where the captain lay in deep sedation, oblivious to the crisis.

  What would you do, Captain?

  The MinSha wasn’t the only one paying Blue attention. Gloriana peered into the station, clicking her beak. It looked like a coffin.

  “Thank you, Tk’ch’kl’l.” Flkk’Sss stood and fluttered her wings for attention.

  Any crew who weren’t already in CIC moved in from the passageways outside. There was no need to make a shipwide announcement. The remnants of her crew were all here.

  “We abandon ship in one hour. You know what to do. The equipment is ready. You are ready. We will endure. Ensign Konchill, your team is responsible for the captain. She’ll be kept safe and sedated at all times.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” replied the Bakulu officer. “We all owe the captain our lives. She’ll rest in safety.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” said the Rietzken, Gloriana.

  Flkk’Sss rose to her full height, almost seven feet of iridescent blue chitin and huge ruby eyes gleaming with anger. “Explain yourself!”

  The Rietzken squeezed her body into a new shape and strode over. The strange alien’s eyes were level with the lieutenant’s, but her bony head crest rose high above Flkk’Sss.

  “The sisters come as a package,” Gloriana insisted. “They call to one another, even this one here who may now be mad. I need her to sing for her sister.”

  “The captain needs specialist care, not to be thrust gasping into a combat environment. We owe her that. While she sleeps, I’m capable of leading the evacuation and rendezvousing with our marines.”

  Cries of alarm spread through CIC.

  Flkk’Sss reached for her side arm.

  “Don’t be foolish!” Gloriana admonished her.

  Her people had arrived at last. The Rietzkens. Twenty of them had swum up from the flooded levels to crowd into the CIC. All were armed.

  “Is this a mutiny?” hissed Flkk’Sss.

  “That’s hardly possible when I own this company,” said Gloriana. “These are fellow mercenaries in my employ, your brothers and sisters, here to make sure we get all of you off this planet in safety. They are, Lieutenant, yours to command.”

  “And the captain?” queried the MinSha.

  “Will be revived before you evacuate. She has a role yet to play. Is that a problem, Lieutenant?”

  Flkk’Sss walked over to the captain’s station and looked down at the small human figure inside. What would you do, Captain?

  Blue’s eyes were closed, her face locked in a frozen scream, but Flkk’Sss knew the answer. The captain would do the unexpected.

  Maybe she still would.

  Flkk’Sss holstered her gun. “What are you waiting for, people? We’re evacuating Midnight Sun. Move it!”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 88

  He stole into the CASPer suit and waited for anyone to ask him what the hell he was doing.

  “Just keeping out the rain,” was what he’d say.

  But no one noticed, and he couldn’t decide whether he was more relieved or disappointed that he’d have to go ahead with this.

  The suit canopy was open to ventilate some of the toxic waste gases that weren’t venting properly from the fuel cells, a problem beginning to afflict many of the humans’ metal suits. But with his small frame, he could hunker down inside the arm of the suit out of sight of suspicious eyes, but close enough to the main cockpit to reach in and connect to whatever he needed.

  He bit his lip and immediately cursed himself. That hurt! Stupid humans for teaching him such a ridiculous habit.

  But the humans couldn’t help being what they were. It was himself he was annoyed at. He should have hacked these Midnighter CASPers months ago. Stupid. Trusting. Idiot that he was. Look where such weakness had gotten him.

  And, yes! Damn it! That churning ball of ice in my gut is entropy-sucking guilt. All right?

  Tatterjee yipped at his qualms, cursing them to the Nightmare Hells where they rightly belonged. They made him feel like crap, but they weren’t going to kill him. Not on this planet. Not today.

  The task he’d been set was difficult and highly-skilled work, but the little data thief was up to it.

  When he was done, he made use of the knowledge he’d looted from a Condottieri suit in a ruined warehouse. Not that he’d needed that info in the end. They’d secretly sent bloodhound bots to him with instructions on what to do. Like little trashcan replicas of Tortantulas they were, and someone had programmed them to go straight to Tatterjee as the weakest link in the company.

  “It’s done,” he said into the pickup. “Transmitting codes now…”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 89

  When the sensor team leader reported contact thirty klicks out to sea and headed inshore, there was no mistaking the thrill of excitement in her voice.

  Captain Fiorentino understood it. He shared it.

  The ring of forts named after the hills of Rome were a heavy expense that had so far achieved absolutely nothing. Granted, he’d rather sit in this comfortable chair in the Fort Palatine control room and sip his cappuccino than sweat in his suit like those poor bastards out there in the swamps and jungles. But now it seemed the base he commanded was actually about to do something useful.

  He relayed the feed from the sensor t
eam to the control center’s main screen so the entire watch crew could see themselves being justified.

  Ensign Rosso’s sensor team added their critical analysis, but the credit really went to the nodes in the self-replicating sensor net.

  It wasn’t just a physical, albeit nebulous, mat coating the waves, but a neural net. For ten days now, it had been constantly fed simulated tests and learned what its human masters wanted it to find.

  Anything that wasn’t natural.

  The sensor net told him it had sighted something whose movement was unnatural, as was its construction and its intent.

  How it knew that, not even the sensor net could tell him. It used instinct, not algorithms.

  “Passive readings are good enough for me,” declared Captain Fiorentino. “Switch to active sensors.”

  * * *

  “We’ve been detected,” said the co-pilot.

  “Evading,” responded the pilot, sending the transporter shell into a steep dive. “Mission aborted,” he informed the infiltration squad in the main compartment. “Brace for impact.”

  The nav console reported their height above the seabed. It was a number dangerously large. He disabled first-level safety thresholds and squeezed a little extra thrust from the engines.

  “We won’t make it,” said the co-pilot.

  “Perhaps. Our fate now rests in the hands of our human opponents, but let’s play what part we can in our survival.”

  The co-pilot ran through calculations, telling him the chances of surviving a seabed impact at such high velocity. The pilot wasn’t listening to her. His attention was on the words spoken by the humans in Fort Palatine.