Terminal Uprising

by Jim C. Hines

  The hovercar jerked to a stop. Mops’ head struck the back of the cab. The ill-fitting helmet protected her from the worst of the impact, but she smacked her nose on the inside of the visor, leaving a spatter of blood across her display.

  “You’re bleeding.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “All that internal liquid. So messy and inconvenient.”

  A Nusuran lay on the ground up ahead, blocking their way. It was almost two meters in length, built like a thick, ten-legged worm with gray mouth tendrils wriggling from behind triangular plates of bone.

  No, not it, but zim. The size and the ten legs made this a Si.

  Nusurans were one of the toughest species out there, able to survive temperature and pressure extremes that would destroy most species. Their leathery skin covered a thick layer of fatlike cells that absorbed and dispersed impact, serving as both armor and insulation.

  Going around would take them toward the launch pads. The Glacidae was behind them, along with who knew how many Prodryans and humans. And where the hell had the Quetzalus gotten off to? “Between the hangars.”

  Greensleeves squeezed the hovercar into the gap. The Nusuran raised zir head but didn’t follow. While the other ferals appeared to be driven by hunger, hunger wasn’t much of a driving force for the average Nusuran. They were motivated by other appetites.

  Mops shivered. If anything of the Nusuran sex drive had survived whatever the Krakau had done . . . “Keep us out of zir reach!”

  They drove out from the hangars. A short distance to one side, the Quetzalus was nudging a fallen Prodryan with its beak. As Mops watched, he took a tentative nibble. He turned and spat, his tongue glowing a sickly purple. After clapping his beak in disgust, he lowered his head and took a second bite.

  “Not too bright, are they?”

  Mops reached inside her visor to wipe away the spots of blood. Doc was tracking eleven hostiles. Five more humans were climbing the fence. “Isn’t there a second Nusuran?”

  “The Krakau mentioned two, yes. No sign of it yet.”

  “We’re ready for you,” Monroe called.

  “Greensleeves, head for the shuttle!”

  The hovercar swerved toward the landing pad. Mops could see Rubin standing by the open hatch. Dirt and snow swirled past her feet as Monroe powered on the engines.

  “I found the second Nusuran!”

  Mops had never seen Nusurans move so quickly. They both sprinted across the clearing, almost as swift as the hovercar. Several other ferals, human and Prodryan, followed at a slower pace.

  “They’re chasing us,” squealed Greensleeves.

  Mops watched them run. “They’re not coming for us. They’re heading for the shuttle. Monroe, shut it down!”

  “On it.” The shuttle’s engines died. The Nusurans slowed, but continued toward the landing pad.

  “What’s happening?” asked Greensleeves.

  “They’re drawn to the vibrations. It’s like a cry for help, or maybe a mating call, I don’t know.” Mops fired at both Nusurans to get their attention. “Monroe, how long is the warm-up process on that thing?”

  “I’ll need at least a minute and a half once I restart the engines,” he said.

  It took five more shots to annoy the Nusurans enough for them to turn away from the shuttle and start toward the hovercar. “Greensleeves, where are the base’s stores and supplies kept?”

  “Perishables are in the subbasement. Everything else is in the warehouse, back near the garage.”

  She lowered her gun. “Get us over there.”

  The warehouse was a blocky building nestled up against the larger tower where Red and the other Krakau had lived and worked. It was on the side facing the launch pads, giving Mops a clear view of Monroe and Rubin helping the Krakau onto the evac shuttle.

  “The lock is electronic,” said Greensleeves. “With the power out—”

  Mops emptied her magazine at the warehouse door, targeting the latch and hinges. “Drive.”

  The hovercar shifted mass again, elongating even more as it smashed through the door, then lurched to a halt. With so many barrels and crates stacked inside, the car couldn’t get slender enough to continue. “Now what?” Greensleeves yelped.

  “Let me know if the ferals catch up.” Mops swapped out her magazine, unclipped her safety lines and crawled over the cab. Doc translated the labels on the various containers: building supplies, replacement components for water circulation and other systems, plenty of the marble-sized gravel that served as Krakau bedding . . .

  She jumped down and moved toward the back. Smaller cans here held freeze-dried synthetic protein fillets, powdered slug pudding, carapace oil, and more.

  “There you are.” She grabbed two purple cans the size of her head and hurled them into the back of the car, then climbed after them. Her arm gave way at the end, and she tumbled hard, landing on her back. “Drive!”

  Greensleeves accelerated so fast Mops bounced against the back of the cab. One of the cans struck her helmet hard enough to make her ears ring. The hovercar smashed into one of the Nusurans, spun in a tight one-eighty, and tore away.

  “Take us back to the hangars!” A green medical alert had begun to flash on her visor. “When did I break my foot?”

  “Forty-three seconds ago. I’m picking up two compound fractures to the metatarsals. There may be additional damage I can’t detect.”

  They swerved past the Quetzalus. Mops shot at a Prodryan who was in their path. She couldn’t tell if she hit it or not, but Greensleeves was getting pretty good at running over ferals, and that worked just as well.

  “Take us between hangars one and two, then park it!”

  Greensleeves obeyed, squeezing the hovercar into the entrance of the narrow alley between the two hangars.

  Mops stood up. Her left leg immediately gave out. “Shit.”

  “What’s wrong?” asked Monroe.

  “Busted my damned foot.”

  “I’m coming back for you,” said Monroe.

  “The hell you are. Take one step out of that shuttle and I’ll shoot you myself, is that clear?” Another thought occurred to her, and she added, “That goes for you, too, Rubin!”

  She set her pistol down and grabbed her combat baton and sealing tape. Holding the baton against her leg and ankle, she looped the tape around in a crude splint. She tore off another strip and secured one end through her harness, the other to the first can. She did the same on the other side with the second can, picked up her gun, and pulled herself up again, carefully this time. The cans banged against her thighs, but didn’t fall away. “Greensleeves, I need you to get out here and help me climb.”

  “Is your translator broken?” the Krakau shouted. “Did you just ask me to leave the safety of the hovercar?”

  “I didn’t ask,” Mops snapped.

  A hole appeared in the top of the cab, expanding until there was room for Greensleeves to squeeze through. She glared at Mops. “‘Other duties as assigned’?”

  “Exactly.” The hovercar rocked as the first Nusuran threw zimself against it.

  Greensleeves jumped onto the curved roof of the hangar. Two tentacles reached higher, while the third stretched back to coil around Mops’ forearm.

  With the Krakau’s help, Mops managed to drag herself to the top. The two Nusurans were both attacking the hovercar now, and more ferals were closing in, attracted to the commotion.

  Mops crawled to the edge.

  “Will that Quetzalus be able to reach us up here?” asked Greensleeves.

  “Possibly.” Mops used her pocket torch to burn through the lid of the first can. Once it was open, she leaned out and upended it. Purple goop stretched and fell onto the Nusurans. One reared up, mouth tendrils flicking in all directions. Mops shook another glob free, directly onto zir face and eyes.

  �
�Can’t you just shoot it?” asked Greensleeves. “Aim for the brain, right? That’s how you kill ferals?”

  Mops tossed the can aside and opened the next. “Nusuran brain fibers extend through their entire body. They don’t keep their brains in one convenient target area.”

  The Quetzalus let out a roar as it hobbled closer. Greensleeves flattened herself against the roof behind Mops.

  “Hold my harness. Don’t let me fall.” Mops stretched as far as she could to dump the second can’s contents.

  Neither of the Nusurans paid any attention to the ferals closing in around them. Not until one of the Prodryans stepped in and bit the Nusuran’s flank.

  The Nusuran jerked in surprise, knocking the Prodryan to the ground. Two humans moved in from either side. The Glacidae crawled between the Nusurans. All of them pawed and bit, but none of the ferals appeared to do much damage to the thick Nusuran hides.

  Then the Quetzalus stretched out his neck and took a bite out of the closer Nusuran’s neck.

  Now the Nusurans began to fight back in earnest.

  Mops had never seen ferals fight one another. There was no attempt at defense. Injuries were ignored. They simply bit, kicked, and struck at each other again and again.

  Greensleeves picked up one of the empty cans. “This is sautilk sauce.”

  “Yep.” Mops turned away from the carnage. “And the primary ingredient is sea salt. Salt’s a pretty common nutritional need for most species.”

  “Sautilk sauce,” Greensleeves repeated, the whistling undertone of her words suggesting the early stages of a mental breakdown. “You seasoned the Nusurans?”

  “I did.” Mops started down the roof as quietly as she could. They’d have to leave the hovercar, but the ferals should be too preoccupied to chase them. Or to go after the shuttle. “Monroe, this is Mops. We’re on our way.”

  Krakau Alliance Judicial Council, Regulatory Branch

  Dept. of Occupational Safety

  Safety Hazard Report Form

  Worksite: Medlab Five, Earth

  Report Submitted by:

  × Employee

  ☐ Supervisor

  ☐ Other _____________________

  Hazard Description—Briefly describe the alleged hazard in the space below. Include the number of employees affected.

  Water intake/outflow line not buried deep enough. Improper materials used for the environmental conditions, resulting in total failure for all employees and test subjects.

  Power generator and wiring were improperly installed, and had not been inspected, leading to a catastrophic failure.

  When power failed, the [redacted] being kept in the hangars escaped and tried to [redacted]! This whole facility was a death-trap waiting to happen.

  Suggested Remedy:

  Indefinite paid stress leave while I try to recover from this reckless endangerment and the resulting workplace trauma.

  Whoever authorized this project should be fired and then fed to those [redacted].

  For Office Use Only

  Complaint Number: 1068375

  Follow-up: None, per Military Council

  * * *

  WOLF STEPPED INTO THE sunlight, raised her hands, and hoped she wouldn’t be immediately shot.

  When several seconds passed without a barrage of A-gun fire transforming her to shredded human meat, she allowed herself to exhale and look around. The surface level of LockLand was mostly unchanged: domed buildings, colorful paths and roads, half-frozen water flowing around that rotting castle in the center.

  “Get out here.” She reached back to drag Cate through the doorway.

  Cate huddled behind Wolf, gasping for breath. “I hate . . . stairs.”

  The Krakau troop transport was parked on the rainbow road near the outer wall. The ship was the shape of a squashed teardrop, colored the dingy gray of a storm cloud. The front section—the point—was transparent.

  Magnification showed a single Krakau resting in the cockpit. Wolf waited, but the pilot didn’t react. “I don’t think she’s noticed us.”

  “That means there’s time to go back inside and think up a better plan,” whispered Cate.

  Wolf stepped cautiously away from the stairwell door. When nothing happened, she started toward the transport. Without turning around, she said, “If you try to run away, I’ll eat you.”

  Wings rustled as Cate hurried to keep up. “Eating sentient beings is illegal.”

  “So is pretty much everything else I’ve done for the past four months.” Wolf was growing annoyed. What was the pilot doing that was so interesting? Or had she gotten bored and fallen asleep while waiting for her passengers to return?

  “Maybe we can just walk to the ship and kill her,” suggested Cate.

  “The cockpit will be locked, and we don’t know what kind of security the ship has. We need her alive.” They’d both given up whispering, since it appeared to make no difference. Wolf bent to grab a chunk of orange brick from the road.

  Left-handed, Wolf’s first throw was so awkward she missed the ship entirely. She snarled and snatched up another brick. She walked even closer, until she could see the Krakau’s torso expanding and contracting with each slow breath.

  This time, the brick smacked into the side of the cockpit. The pilot’s long, boneless limbs flailed like hyperactive pasta. Wolf raised her hands and kicked Cate to do the same.

  Gun turrets spun to target the two of them.

  “Here we go.” Wolf flashed her biggest smile and stepped forward. “Hi, there!”

  “Stop that,” Cate hissed.

  “What?”

  “Displaying your mouth bones. Civilized species find it threatening and repulsive.”

  Wolf kept her attention on the Krakau. She did cover her teeth with her lips when she spoke, though. “Is this where we’re supposed to come to surrender?”

  “What do you want?” The response, translated and amplified through external speakers, made Wolf flinch.

  “To get off this hellhole of a planet,” said Wolf. “My name is Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. I’m part of the Pufferfish crew. This is Advocate of Violence, a Prodryan spy we picked up in the Tixateq system. The humans of LockLand don’t have the guns or the numbers to fight off Alliance troops. We figured the sooner we turned ourselves in, the safer we’d be.”

  “Drop your weapons.”

  Wolf plucked her combat baton from her hip and tossed it away. “I left my gun behind. Figured you might get spooked and shoot me if I was packing.”

  “What about the Prodryan?”

  Wolf laughed. “You think I’d let him have a weapon?”

  The pilot glanced away, probably checking her instruments. “Approach the port hatch. All guns and sensors are tracking you, and I’ll be armed as well.”

  Wolf took a step, then hesitated. “Port is left, right?”

  “Not right,” said the pilot. “Left.”

  “Got it.” Wolf watched the pilot crawl back from the cockpit, heading into the ship to meet them at the hatch. She double-checked the communications bracelet Nancy had provided, making sure it was transmitting. “I hope you all heard that. All weapons and scanners are locked on us.”

  Seven figures sprinted from the stairwell. They raced past Wolf and Cate to take up positions to either side of the port hatch.

  Wolf waited until they were ready, then strolled toward the ship. A rectangular panel folded outward into a ramp. The Krakau pilot stood at the top, one tentacle pointing a weapons cuff at Wolf’s head.

  Wolf gestured to either side of the ramp. Seven librarians stepped into view, guns aimed at the Krakau.

  “The one with the stripe of red fur on her head is Nancy,” said Wolf. “I gave her my rifle. It’s on burst mode, so it’ll punch several holes through your body before yo
u can twitch. The rest are using old weapons powered by gunpowder. I know it sounds primitive, but they spray a cone of metal that’ll take your limb right off.”

  Wolf walked up the ramp and tugged the weapons cuff off the unresisting Krakau’s tentacle. “You got a Human name?”

  “Blackbird.”

  “I assume you’re the pilot. Are you alone out here?”

  “Yes.”

  Wolf stepped past her to peer inside the ship, then beckoned the others to follow. “Blackbird, I’m told standard procedure for an operation like this would be for you to maintain an active communications link to every Krakau soldier in LockLand, yes?”

  She glanced toward the cockpit. “That’s correct.”

  “That’s good.” Wolf put an arm around Blackbird’s body, just above her primary tentacles. “You and I are going to get this ship’s communications and weapon systems working together. Every one of those comm signals should give us a clean target lock.”

  Blackbird twisted free. Seven guns jerked to follow her, and she froze. “I won’t help traitors murder Krakau troops.”

  “We shouldn’t have to kill any of them,” said Wolf. “Once they realize the ship can shoot them all in less than a second, I’m hoping they’ll see reason.”

  “She doesn’t appear convinced,” said Cate. “I don’t believe she will help us.”

  “That’s too bad.” Wolf peeked into the cockpit. “I know enough about communications. I can probably link everything up myself.”

  “What about Blackbird?” asked Cate.

  Wolf smiled. “Guess I’ll just eat her.”

  Blackbird whistled a shrill, “What?”

  “You know how us cured ferals are. Barely civilized, little more than animals.” Wolf licked her lips.

  “If I help you, you promise not to murder them?” Blackbird whispered. “Or to eat me?”

  “Not unless I have to.” Wolf pointed to the front of the ship. “Shall we?”