Shadow Play

by P. R. Adams

  Jurgen advanced, moving to the major’s left, as if he weren’t even there.

  O’Bannon fired, a burst that should have struck the thing in the head.

  But it was fast. It loped toward another of the soldiers and dragged him down.

  “Get into the Night Leopards!” O’Bannon tried to kick the robot, but he was weak and clumsy. He slipped and crashed to the unforgiving stone.

  Some of the soldiers ran; some stayed behind. Those who stayed behind fired at the robot that had once been a tool used more out of a strange bond that tied them to animals dead long before the Azoren were even a people. Those animals—beasts that had once been described as a human’s best friend—had sometimes fallen to a disease: rabies.

  As Jurgen snapped through the spine of its second victim, the major wondered if some other form of virus was now behind this horrific betrayal.

  He pushed himself up and searched around for his weapon, even though the sound of bullets ricocheting off the robot said all that needed to be said: Their weapons weren’t going to stop this new Jurgen.

  Gerard had stayed behind to shoot the corrupted thing. The fat little soldier realized how pointless the act was now and ran.

  That seemed to make him the robot’s next target.

  O’Bannon used his gun to get to his feet. His strength was fading fast. “The Night Leopards—”

  But he saw now that the soldiers who had fled to the vehicles were running back, chased by a second robot-dog.

  Engel. Jurgen had gotten to Engel.

  Even an angel can be turned.

  They should never have gone into the crater. Knoel had refused to believe the orders. He had foolishly demanded someone descend. And when humans descend into the depths, when they look into the abyss, they are transformed.

  The major shook one of his soldiers. “Go! Run for the base. Stay together!”

  There were only a few of them now, certainly not enough to make it, but they ran anyway. They shrieked and howled and fled from their ruined comrades and their robotic killers.

  A grenade would certainly have been enough to stop these things. The gun atop the Night Leopards?

  Yes. It was heavy enough.

  O’Bannon staggered wide of Engel, which stood between him and the vehicles. The transformed robot seemed content to chew on the soldier it had slain. And Jurgen was somewhere off in the dark, chasing down Private Gerard.

  What madness had birthed these monstrosities? Had those who sent Knoel and his people known the risk of being so close to the ruins? They must have. Someone who had entered the ruins at some point in the past and seen what was within had to have known. Perhaps there was a threat greater than that posed to robots. Perhaps the same thing that had brought destruction to the former occupants of the ruins could bring ruin to the Azoren.

  Unless he stopped it.

  Blood flecked the inside of his mask when he coughed again. Numbness alternated with fire in his chest. Once the robots were destroyed, he would have to find where his men had fled to and pick them up. Maybe he could swoop down from the sky with mighty wings spread to take them up with him to heaven, like an angel…

  O’Bannon shook his head. How strange the thoughts could grow when distracted.

  He slammed into the Night Leopard that Andressen had repaired, groaning at the new pain awakened within.

  Andressen. He’d done such a good job. The vehicles always ran as if they’d just come from the factory. They were rugged, solid, reliable. Flashy…that was for the Commandos. What mattered was a vehicle that never let you down.

  “You’ll see that promotion package, Private Andressen.” O’Bannon blinked and shook his head. “Jan? Where have you put the promotion package, hm?”

  But it wasn’t the operations center surrounding the major. It was…

  A field of snow turned pink with the blood of soldiers who had been pulverized, disintegrated by the betrayal of their command.

  “By their shiny new toys.” O’Bannon nodded.

  He should have done what he said. He should have left Knoel and his soulless nightmare children without support and returned to the base.

  But there was still an opportunity for revenge.

  The blood of the innocent…

  Pain brought O’Bannon around again. He’d slid down the side of the Night Leopard, and when his butt had banged against the ground, it had driven off the maddening torpor.

  He made his way to the back, opened the door, and crawled inside, then clambered up to the weapon turret.

  The weapons were loaded. The systems were powered on.

  O’Bannon activated the targeting system and scanned the ground for Engel.

  “Fallen Engel.”

  The robotic monstrosity was suddenly in the weapon’s sights. It stared at him, a strangely white image against a black background. The diamond eyes sparkled, as if searching inside the major for any sign of the soul he kept telling himself was a real thing, a concept long abandoned by everyone except the savages of the Khanate.

  “Can you see my soul, monster?” O’Bannon waited for the hum of target acquisition, and when it came, he smiled. “I may not have the purity to escape your judgment, but you certainly have not survived mine.”

  Something banged against the vehicle behind him, and O’Bannon brought the turret around.

  Jurgen stood on the top of the Night Leopard. Steam rose from his gory maw, a maw that looked less canine and more demonic. And the eyes. They weren’t robotic in the least. They held an awareness that felt far greater than O’Bannon had ever seen.

  He sighted on the robot and received the same targeting confirmation signal. “What monsters man creates, man must also destroy.”

  O’Bannon tapped the trigger, but the weapon did nothing.

  Blood spattered against his mask as a heavy cough shook his body. He wheezed, then tried the trigger again.

  Nothing.

  Something banged against the vehicle behind him.

  The major twisted and struggled for breath.

  Engel stood centimeters back, head tilted, blood drizzling from its demonic snout, steam rising from the liquid, black armor.

  And then something padded closer from the other side of the Night Leopard, and a sharp sting shot through O’Bannon’s throat. His body was lifted out of the turret. He couldn’t breathe, and the weakness that had been threatening him became full-on lethargy that quickly transformed into an overwhelming drowsiness.

  Cold slipped in through the tear in his environment suit. It was a chill that reminded him of the Moskav fortification and the soldiers wasted to claim it.

  “Mia, forgive me.”

  But his voice was silent. There would be no forgiveness.

  27

  Colonel McLeod needed a drink. He wasn’t even a drinker, but at that exact moment, he was ready to make an exception. His stomach twisted—stress and the g-forces from acceleration. Acid burned the back of his throat and left a sour taste in his mouth. Things had taken on a bit of a blur as the lights from the helm bay consoles and giant display screen grew brighter while the overhead lighting grew dimmer. With the Clarion’s acceleration came a throbbing hum as the energy systems strained to meet demands.

  Standing at her station, hands locked on the railing around her, Lieutenant Commander Scalise seemed impossibly calm. “Status, Ensign Chao?”

  The young officer’s voice cracked when he started to speak. He swallowed. “Azoren cruiser closing. Still at full deceleration burn, but at extreme range for our weapons. We’ve engaged every electronic countermeasure available, but it’s all coming down to the Pandora right now.”

  “Lock-on?”

  “Nothing, ma’am. They must have some advanced countermeasures of their own.”

  “And still no lock-on to us?”

  “It looks like the Pandora’s giving them problems.”

  “Thank you, Ensign. Lieutenant Ferrara, status.”

  “All ships maneuvering. We’re at maximum combat
acceleration.” The helmsman coughed and bowed his head. Sweat beaded on his forehead, which looked paler than normal.

  The stress was worsening his condition.

  McLeod had to put it all together on the fly: The Kedraalian ships couldn’t outrun the Azoren ship without going to a more intense burn themselves, and that would require acceleration couches, which would mean almost complete reliance on the computer systems. So now both sides were maneuvering, hitting each other with false signals, trying to attain lock-on.

  At some point, someone would get a lock-on, and a weapon would fire, then things would come down to shields and armor.

  That’s when it would get ugly.

  With only the Pandora capable of significant countermeasures, the task force was limited in their maneuvering. And the Marie Belle and Pulsar were already up against limits of their own; the Istanbul wasn’t much better.

  Scalise cocked an eyebrow at McLeod. “We can’t fire at them; they can’t fire at us.”

  The colonel tried to straighten his back. “A stalemate’s not bad.”

  “Getting the hell out of here would be better.”

  “Were we able to re-establish communications to Agent Patel’s gunship?”

  “I thought this was your task force, Colonel.” The commander smirked.

  “I’d feel better with Commander Benson here, actually.”

  It was an unintentional slight, but Scalise colored. “We’ll do what we can until she can save us, Colonel.”

  He sighed, a sound thankfully drowned out by the Clarion. It was difficult dealing with fractured personalities. He’d hoped to avoid this exact situation, to get in and grab what they needed, and to flee before anyone knew they were in Azoren space. But now that they were facing an enemy and were clearly outmatched, he didn’t think it was asking too much for a little professionalism.

  But people like Scalise…

  The Republic had made its bed with its military cutbacks and drawdowns. McLeod could only hope it didn’t prove fatal.

  The lanky comms officer—Bales—turned. His dark, youthful features were strained. “Commander Scalise?

  “What is it, Lieutenant?”

  “The Marie Belle. They’re reporting maneuvering problems. Engines—”

  Scalise slapped the rail. “Pass the status to helm and to the rest of the task force. Lieutenant Ferrara, adjust maneuvering to compensate.”

  The officers both said, “Aye!”

  McLeod spread his legs a little wider to compensate for the maneuvering. It was millimeters at a time, but it was a definite force.

  It was Chao’s turn to perk up. “Commander, lock-on.”

  Scalise leaned forward. “To us?”

  “Marie Belle, ma’am.”

  Lines flickered on the giant display as the Clarion’s weapons system tracked enemy fire. One of the lines showed a clear miss, but another indicated a hit.

  Data scrolled on the screen below the wounded ship. A section had been depressurized. They’d lost life support.

  Very few casualties.

  It wasn’t the sort of hit that would have come with a true weapons lock.

  McLeod cleared his throat. “Could we maneuver closer to Jotun to try and get a message through to Patel’s gunship?”

  Scalise frowned. “A gunship wouldn’t make a difference against a cruiser.”

  “I was thinking we could order a mission abort.”

  “It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think?”

  “The Azoren know we’re in their space now, Commander. Discovery of our listening post won’t change much.”

  She twisted around to stare at him. “What about the intelligence they were going to retrieve? Is that suddenly worthless?”

  “Do you really think we can stand up to that ship?”

  Scalise tugged on her sideburns. “For a little while. If the Pandora holds up.”

  “Please do what you can to get us closer to Jotun. I want to get a message to Agent Patel.”

  The commander grunted. “We’ll do what we can.”

  “Do it now, Commander. Please.”

  She scowled. “Lieutenant Ferrara, please adjust maneuvering to get the Clarion closer to Jotun so that Lieutenant Bales can try to establish contact with the gunship.”

  Once again, the officers confirmed the orders with a loud “Aye!”

  And after several seconds, the ship maneuvers became a little more dramatic. On the display screen, ships shifted relative to each other and to the giant moon.

  Bales spoke in soft, even tones that McLeod couldn’t quite make out, then the young officer looked up at the display. “We’ve contacted Agent Patel.”

  McLeod’s stomach unraveled for a second. “Forward the connection to me, please.”

  He hurried off the bridge, dug out his communicator, braced himself against a bulkhead, and waited for the tone that would indicate he had the connection.

  The tone sounded, and Bales said, “Connection is yours, Colonel.”

  “Thank you.” McLeod winced at a squeal that was quickly replaced by something akin to several looping chirps.

  Then Patel was there. “Colonel McLeod?”

  “Yes. Samir, I don’t know if you’ve been able to catch any of the communications—”

  “You’ve got a cruiser coming at you. I heard.”

  “Good. We need to abort.”

  “We can’t do that.”

  “Samir, we have to. This task force was never meant to engage Azoren ships in a straight-up battle. Not like a cruiser. We don’t have the firepower—”

  “This mission isn’t about the task force surviving. It’s about the data.”

  “Without this task force, that data won’t mean anything.”

  “This gunship can outrun a cruiser, Avis.”

  So there it was. Patel only cared about his own situation. It wasn’t shocking, but it was irritating. At least the SAID agent had finally admitted the truth. McLeod hadn’t even been sure if that was possible.

  He pressed his fingers against the bulkhead, appreciating the feel of solidity. “What’s the situation on Jotun?”

  “Silent.”

  “No updates at all?”

  “The last I heard, there were Azoren forces down in the crater.”

  “How many?”

  Patel didn’t reply for a bit. “Too many.”

  “No sign of more defense ships?”

  “And I don’t intend to give them a target. If they find the data, we’ll go in for extraction. We won’t risk the gunship otherwise.”

  McLeod doubted those were the actual parameters the SAID agent was operating from. Rescuing the data, rescuing his sister…those would be the only things that would get him to risk the ship. Extracting any of the rescue team? Something told McLeod that wasn’t part of the agenda.

  With the SAID and especially Patel, there couldn’t be any other expectation.

  “Give them another try, Samir. If they’re ready to go, you could be saving hundreds of lives. These ships are going to be valuable military assets.”

  The connection went dead. McLeod snorted. It didn’t matter whether it was the result of interference or just Patel closing the channel off, the message had gotten through: The GSA and SAID were allied in this endeavor only loosely.

  When McLeod returned to the bridge, the display hadn’t changed much. There were a few more flashing lines of data below the Marie Belle, and one below the Pulsar.

  He sidled up to Scalise. “More hits?”

  Her face twisted into a humorless smile. “More system failures. They’re pushing those old buckets too hard.”

  The Clarion wasn’t much better off, but he didn’t need to remind her of that, not with the power system humming as loud as it was. “They’re engaging the Azoren on Jotun. The Marines.”

  “I hope they’re doing better than us.”

  McLeod hadn’t gotten that sense.

  Bright lines flashed on the display as the Azoren cruiser fired again,
and this time it was the Pulsar that was struck.

  Data scrolled beneath the ship, and Lieutenant Bales stiffened, then bowed his head.

  “Direct hit on the Pulsar. Shield generation has failed. Numerous casualties.” The comms officer maintained his calm.

  Scalise pounded the rail of her station. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Ensign Chao, please tell me we can get a lock-on?”

  The weapons officer turned around, eyes averted. “I’ve set weapons to fire automatically should any ship manage lock-on, even for a nanosecond.”

  “Good work.”

  McLeod didn’t care for the almost sarcastic tone in the commander’s voice. A captain—anyone in a command position—should be positive and encouraging in situations like the one they were facing. Scalise seemed more interested in battering her people than supporting them. It was as if she felt they were failing her rather than the situation being an outrageous disaster.

  Something on the giant display flashed from the Pandora, then from the Clarion.

  Chao smiled and nodded toward the display. “Two hits, Captain.”

  Scalise seemed to perk up. “Any idea if they did anything?”

  “No, ma’am. But even getting a moment of lock-on seems an accomplishment.”

  “Hardly worth celebration, Ensign. We need to damage that cruiser.”

  “Aye, ma’am.”

  The weapons officer’s brow creased, as if he might be trying to push the systems to effectiveness through concentration. Like the others on the bridge crew, he was internalizing all the problems.

  Bales spun around. “Colonel? We have a connection from Agent Patel again.”

  McLeod pointed to the door and dug out his communicator. The connection was made almost instantly and sounded a little stronger.

  “Avis?” Patel sounded almost happy.

  “You have an update?”

  “I’m going to connect Commander Benson in.”

  The connection suddenly degraded, the quality indicator dropping from a pale green to something nearing yellow. Strange choppiness and squeals almost drowned everything out.

  But Benson’s voice was loud enough. “Colonel?”

  “Go ahead, Commander Benson. Your communicator’s getting through fine.”