Exo-Hunter

by Jeremy Robinson

  Whip senses the puddle-jumper gliding toward his back a moment before it hits.

  His fist squeezes twice.

  Nothing happens.

  He looks down in time to see that his armored left hand is a mess, the armor shredded, the trigger for his slew drive, decimated. “Aww, fu—”

  The puddle-jumper collides with Whip’s back like a linebacker, knocking him on his face. The impact with the ground is soft, but face down is exactly where I want him.

  When the puddle-jumper is clear, I rotate into the air above Whip and drop down on him. With one arm wrapped around his metal throat, I rotate away, leaving the wet ground, the puddle-jumpers, and the sponge world behind.

  We rotate out of the fourth dimension, appearing a mile up in the atmosphere of a different world. A wall of white gives way to blue sky as we plummet out of a cloud and descend toward the massive jungle below. The air is cold. It’s hard to breathe. But with some help from the voice in my head, I stay on task.

  “Only one of us can survive this fall,” Whip says, grasping my arm with his hand, ensuring that I can’t rotate away without him.

  “That’s the point,” I tell him. “But first, I have a friend I want you to meet. You remember this world, right? It’s where you planted Carter and sent me to find her. But it’s also home to—”

  A massive turtle head pokes out of the forest below, red eyes locked onto our tumbling bodies, mouth opening wide.

  Whip sees Beatrice rising up to greet us—and screams.

  46

  Whip stops fighting. Instead, he’s clenching his fist over and over, trying to activate his slew drive.

  “Moses,” he shouts. “Don’t! Please!”

  The terror in his voice—something I’ve never heard before—hurts my soul.

  “I don’t want to die like this!”

  “A life of killing will eventually get you killed,” I tell him. We’re twenty seconds out from being consumed. “You knew that when you signed up for the Marines. You knew that when you joined the Fourth Reich, and when you decided it was okay to commit genocide against people whose only difference from you is skin tone. I’m sorry, but this was the death you chose.”

  His face mask snaps up. He looks me in the eyes. The panic is gone, replaced by hate. “I never liked you, you god-damned n—”

  Beatrice’s jaws snap shut, clamping down on Whip’s armored body and cleaving straight through it. Whip’s scream of pain is short-lived, not because he won’t survive long enough to be swallowed, but because I’ve rotated back out.

  I appear two miles away, standing on the branch of a six-hundred-foot-tall tree. Beatrice swallows while Whip’s torso tumbles to the ground. Then I see what I’m looking for. Beatrice’s red eyes. Easy to overlook before, but now…

  The Europhids call this planet home, too.

  Beatrice roars, victorious. The sound bends trees and moves through my every cell. For a moment it feels like I’ll come apart. Then, she stops.

  She turns her massive head toward me.

  Is that a look of concern?

  Worry swirls through me.

  “What’s happening?”

  YOUR VISION OF THE FUTURE.

  I’d nearly forgotten the vision I’d had upon being whisked to the future. The details are like a dream. I remember a walkway. A spacesuit. A massive vessel of some kind. Destroyed. Bodies everywhere. And a planet.

  A black planet. Back then, I didn’t recognize it, but now…

  Union Command…

  A final detail snaps into place. A red X on the spacesuit’s chest. The Minutemen’s symbol.

  IT WAS NOT A VISION OF YOUR FUTURE.

  “Brick,” I say.

  IT HAS NOT YET COME TO PASS.

  THERE IS STILL TIME.

  “Where’s Chuy?” I ask.

  The Blue inside me doesn’t answer with words, just a feeling. I can sense that they’re in orbit around Beta Prime, on the run with ten ships in pursuit. I can also sense that the Union army on the surface is almost completely wiped out. Red took a lot of damage. Will take years to heal. But the subterranean colonies made it through untouched.

  Back to the Bitch’n. It’s moving at a ridiculous speed, taking and returning fire, and twisting with evasive maneuvers that a Lincoln Log-shaped vessel could only pull off in the vacuum of space.

  She’s not an easy target. Without the Europhids’ help, I could try a hundred times and not make it inside.

  But with the Europhids…

  I give myself a moment to process—squelch really—my feelings of regret regarding Whip. Then I rotate off world, slip through the fourth dimension, and rotate back out—

  —on Bitch’n’s bridge, sitting down at my station.

  “Swing us around!” I command.

  “Yobanaya blyad!” Drago shouts in surprise.

  Despite Drago’s shock at my return, Chuy goes with the flow, following my order so that we’re facing the enemy.

  “Drago!” He snaps to attention. “Whip and Carter are done. The ground forces are KIA. These assholes are all that’s left.”

  “Okay…” Drago says.

  I motion to the windshield, through which I can see ten vessels incoming, “Kill them all.”

  “Da!” he says. We’ve been holding back. Keeping these ships occupied and distracted from what was happening below, and back home. Now…they can go to hell with the rest.

  Our eight railguns fire in unison.

  Tungsten rods rocket out faster than any ship could avoid, even with a slew drive. They move faster than human thought. The moment Drago fires, eight projectiles slip through the front and punch through the back, leaving massive exit wounds. Debris and crew are launched into space.

  The two remaining ships turn tail in a panic.

  If their slew drives functioned like ours, they’d no doubt have rotated the hell out of here. All they’ve managed to do is give Drago an easier target. He fires just two more rounds, each of them finding its target and finishing the Battle of Beta-Prime.

  “Burn,” I say, activating my comms. “Where you at?”

  “Engine room,” he replies.

  Hand to my head. “I didn’t mean physically. I meant where are you at with the slew drive? We need to go. Now.”

  “Adrik says one more minute. Also, that whatever this change is supposed to do might also kill us.”

  “Awesome,” I say, oozing sarcasm I know Burnett won’t understand. “Let me know when we’re good to go. Out.”

  I look back at Chuy. “Take any damage?”

  Hildy swivels around. “Scoring on the hull from twenty-two lazzer blasts. A small puncture in the outer hull from shrapnel, and a dent or two in the front end from where someone—” She gives Drago a stare. “—crashed into another ship.”

  “They play chicken with Spetnaz.” Drago shrugs. “They lose at chicken.”

  “That’s a fair point,” I say. Never play chicken with a man whose training involved breaking concrete with his forehead and being beaten by two-by-fours. “But we’re good for a fight?”

  “There’s no one left to fight,” Chuy says.

  “Not here,” I say. “Brick needs our help.”

  “Da,” Drago says. “We have ten less rail projectiles, but still ninety-two more. Plus rockets. And bullets. And lazzer cannons on Lil’ Bitch’n. Enough to secure victory.”

  That has yet to be determined. I have no idea what we’ll find at Union Command. But I appreciate his confidence. “Drago, if I haven’t said it before…I’m glad you’re here.”

  He smiles at me. Genuine. For just a moment. Then he says, “Stop molesting me with eyes. Fucking creep.”

  “Fuck you too, buddy,” I say with a chuckle.

  Hildy spins around, facing the rest of us. “Fuck all of you guys!”

  We just stare at her.

  “That’s like a macho way of expressing affection, right?” Hildy asks. “You fucking assholes…” She grows nervous and a little less confident. “R
ight?”

  I raise my middle finger and hold it out at her.

  Chuy does the same. And then Drago.

  Hildy glows. Gasps for joy. “You’re ‘fuck you’-ing me! Yes! I’m so in!” She spins forward, ready to work.

  “Dark Horse.” It’s Burnett on the comms. “Adrik says that we’re as ready as we’re ever going to be. To activate the new function you—”

  “I know how to do it,” I say. The information is locked in the part of my mind that isn’t my mind.

  “He also says it will only work once,” Burnett says.

  “Once is all we need,” I say. “Ask Adrik if he can pilot a starship.”

  A moment later, he replies. “Yes. Why?”

  “I need both of you…sorry, all three of you, to get to Lil’ Bitch’n, ready to fight. And I want you, Burn, at the guns.”

  “Seriously?” He’s excited, and nervous.

  “Never been more serious. You up to it?”

  “You know I am,” he says.

  “Yeah,” I say, feeling proud. “I do. Out.”

  “Taking control,” I say to Chuy. “For the rotation. On the far end, she’s all yours.”

  “You going to disappear again?” she asks.

  “You know me,” I say with a shrug. “But I always come back.”

  “You better,” she says.

  I turn my attention to the ship’s controls, prepping the slew.

  “Wait!’ Hildy says, working the keys on her console. She taps a final button and a fast beat begins tapping out. I recognize it instantly.

  Bonnie Tyler. Holding Out for a Hero.

  Fuck, yes.

  Hildy flips me off with a smile. I give it back to her and then get back to work.

  Our target is distant, and full of obstacles. Union ships. Minutemen ships. Debris from both. But if I can park my ass in this chair while the ship is in combat, I should be able to…

  Rotate the ship into the fourth dimension…

  Slide through the empty white void…

  And emerge…

  Bitch’n rotates into orbit above Union Command, just as Bonnie Tyler belts out the first ‘I need a hero!’

  …into a shitshow of epic proportions.

  47

  Space is normally empty. Short of an asteroid field or a planetary ring system, we don’t think about collisions very often. But there are ships and debris everywhere.

  A body slaps against the windshield. His face is frozen in eternal surprise, his uniform Union. That’s a relief, but there are several Minutemen ships in the process of silently exploding.

  The Union sent a massive fleet to Beta-Prime, but that was just part of the whole. And they’re making short work of the Minutemen ships too big to land on the planet.

  “Chuy, take us in!” I shout. “Drago, light them up!”

  Bitch’n launches into the fray, plowing through debris like the spacefaring tank she is. Explosions fill the space in front of us as railgun projectiles, rockets, and tungsten bullets fire in every direction. Some of it is automated, the targeting computer locking on to Union ships, but Drago has control of the Phalanx chain guns, gritting his teeth as he twitches the controls back and forth. A smile slowly spreads as he unleashes Mother Russia’s dormant fury.

  “Look out!” Hildy shouts, pointing at a damaged Union ship spiraling toward us.

  It would be easy to avoid, but Chuy does the opposite. She steers Bitch’n’s hard-as-fuck front end directly into the much smaller craft. It explodes against our hull, shaking us up a bit, but nothing more. Might be a few dents to work out, but the scars will help make this turd-shaped ship look a little cooler.

  “Great,” Hildy whispers, shaking her head. “Now she’s crashing into ships.”

  “Connect me to the flagship,” I say to Hildy, watching the big Minutemen vessel as we approach. I rotated onboard the ship, but never saw it from the outside. Like Bitch’n, it’s got an old-school Navy-vessel vibe, but it’s more like a battleship. And it’s massive. The crew must be in the hundreds of thousands. And it’s currently unleashing hell on the Union, but also taking a beating. The Union ships might be individually small, and not very tough, but they’re everywhere. And fast.

  They also fly in formation.

  “Drago, adjust the railgun parameters. Target formations. I want multiple kills with each projectile.”

  He releases the Phalanx controls and stops the rail system. Takes him just a few seconds to make the change and activate the system again. The projectiles fire far less quickly, but when they do…

  A string of eight Union ships are turned inside out by a single shot, the projectile’s momentum carrying it through the vessels like they were marshmallow fluff. Problem is, they’re quickly replaced by a dozen more. We’ll put a dent in them, but a straightforward fight is unwinnable.

  This is where it happens. My vision. The bodies. The destruction. That will be Brick’s future if we don’t change it, here and now.

  “We’re on with the flagship,” Hildy says.

  “Brick, you copy?” I ask.

  “Dark Horse,” he replies, sounding cool, despite the situation. “Glad to hear your voice. How did things go with our friends?”

  I’m not sure if he’s talking about Whip and Carter or the Europhids. But the answer is the same. “Beta-Prime is clear. Justice has been served. For Benny, and for Sara.”

  “Glad to hear it. Could use some help,” he says. “If you’re not bugging out.”

  “Bugging out?” I say. “Bitch, I’m just getting warmed up.”

  He chuckles. “Good. And as long as you’re here…”

  Shit.

  I forgot about this part.

  “…you’re in charge.”

  Being in charge of millions of people takes a toll. Probably why most U.S. presidents with an ounce of empathy go gray in their first term. Every decision, especially in war, costs lives. Even if the battle is won. It’s a horrible responsibility, but if what the Europhids showed me is true, this is just the beginning. “Gimme a sitrep.”

  “Assault on the surface is underway, but there is heavy resistance. We might not be able to breach the central data core.”

  Hildy perks up. “If they don’t destroy the core, all of this will just slow them down.”

  “For how long?” I ask.

  “A week. Maybe.”

  “As for the fight up here, you can see it for yourself. Their planetary defenses are…impressive. Best guess, we’ve got five minutes until our in-orbit fleet is FUBAR. Less, if word gets out before the data is destroyed and reinforcements arrive.”

  “I just need you to keep on keeping on,” I tell him. “Bitch’n is going to back you up. If things go sideways, rotate out.”

  “Not leaving until the job is done,” he says.

  I expected nothing less, but I had to try.

  “Pull your people back from the core. Focus on the data centers. I’ll handle the core.”

  “Copy that,” he says. “Godspeed.”

  “See you on the other side. Out.”

  “Burn,” I say, activating my personal comms, “did Porter have prototypes for the PSD?”

  He responds a moment later. “I think he had more than just prototypes.”

  “There are other working models?” I ask, surprised.

  “He thought it wise, given your proclivity to…break things.”

  I smile. Sounds like Porter. Also explains how Whip was able to get one from him so quickly. No idea if Porter gave him more than one, but right now, that doesn’t matter.

  “Just sitting down in Lil’ Bitch’n. One second.” There’s a five second pause as Burnett accesses the system. “Storage unit, P-0115. Should be one in there.”

  “Copy that,” I say, and I rotate from the bridge to Porter’s personal storage room. It’s a massive space that looks more like a futuristic bank vault full of safe deposit boxes. I scan the numbers, quickly find 0115, and pull it open. Inside are…holy shit…a dozen PSDs, just
like mine. Burn wasn’t kidding.

  I’m tempted to take one for everyone, but they need to be trained first. Rotating between dimensions outside of a ship is dangerous. For now, they’re stuck being ferried by me.

  With one PSD in hand, I rotate to the armory, grab a rifle and a handgun, and then rotate back to the bridge.

  To Chuy I say, “Stay mobile. Give the railguns good angles.”

  She nods. Stays focused on her job. I don’t need to tell Drago what to do. He’s already doing it.

  “Burn, you boys ready to launch?” I ask.

  “Opening bay door now,” he says.

  “Bitch’n is going to be hopping around, fucking shit up. You boys might be on your own for a bit. Don’t hold back. Push the weapons system to the limit, and if the guns burn out, call Chuy for a pick-up.”

  I glance back at Chuy. She nods, letting me know she heard.

  “Hildy,” I say.

  She spins around, eager to help.

  I toss the handgun to her. She catches it, eyes slowly widening as she looks it over. “You’re with me.”

  She leaps to her feet. “You need me to find the core?”

  “Actually,” I say, “I just need you to shoot some people.”

  Thanks to Minutemen sympathizers and spies, the Europhid knowledge of the Union Command is extensive. I already know where we’re going.

  Hildy’s enthusiasm falters.

  “You okay with that?”

  She chambers a round, gives me a squinty glare, and says, “Yippee ki yay, motherfucker.”

  Drago bursts out laughing. “Is Die Hard, yes?”

  “Da,” Hildy says.

  “Okay, Bruce Willis.” I hold out my arm to Hildy. “Time to go.”

  She steps into my grasp. I take one last look at Chuy, who is too focused to notice. Then I rotate into the fourth dimension and…

  …into the data core.

  The space is a vast orb, hundreds of feet high. At the center is a black sphere, attached to the curved ceiling and the floor. The space is toasty and smells like warm electronics.

  I twist toward the sound of shouting voices. Overseers guard a doorway, weapons aimed out.