Libor: Katana Krieger #2

by Bill Robinson

"You have a choice." He holds out the syringe in one hand and the knife in the other. "Actually, on second thought, you don't. You're going to get the needle. Whether or not you get the knife too depends on how you handle the first part. My friends don't care whether you're alive or dead, you've killed a few too many of them. They'll use you if I bring you to them, they'll be just as happy if I bring them you're head and tell them I couldn't get any information from you."

  "It's a great life," he continues, "you learn fast to tell them what they want to hear, and never disagree with them, they'll keep you happier than you could possibly be back home. It's time for you to decide what life you want, or what death."

  He reaches out and runs the hand with the knife in it down my cheek, gently. Only one man is allowed to do that, and he's a couple hundred light years away.

  "Take your hands off me."

  He puts the knife on the floor, moves the syringe into the hand that held it, fingers through slots at the top of the barrel to stabilize it, tests his thumb over the plunger.

  "You're going to think differently in a minute or two. You've never been given a gift as nice as the gift I'm about to give you. Ten minutes from now, you and I will be laying across the table, you'll be begging me for more, and you won't care that your four friends are watching. And a couple hours from now, you'll do anything I ask to get a second dose."

  He shows me his arm, obvious needle punctures running much of the length. "Once you start, you can't ever stop and you won't want to."

  "A couple hours from now, we'll both be dead."

  "No, kitten, you really have no idea."

  He reaches out and touches my face again, I tilt my head to get away, which apparently was what he wanted. The needle leaps and plunges into my exposed neck, a horrible smile on his face. He pulls it out, throws the empty across the table, then reaches down for the knife and brings it to the tie holding my right arm.

  Nothing happens to me for maybe 5 seconds, then the room starts to get warm, his hands, in contact with my arm as he slips the knife under the tie, are cool, smooth, delightful. He's saying something, but I can't make it out, there's a rushing sound like the ocean as the tide comes in invading my ears. He's smiling, his lips and teeth covering 90 percent of the world's surface, as he moves away and my arm comes free.

  For a second, maybe two, my head clears slightly and I know what to do. My free arm goes into my uniform, conveniently open, grabs the hard metal hilt of the second knife. Stabler leans in, his breath warm and sweet in my face until I yank the knife from its hiding place, drive the titanium blade into his neck and pull it quickly out.

  He flies backward, blood spurting from a stricken artery, his hands trying desperately to staunch the flow and keep his life inside his disgusting body. I drop the knife into my lap, reach back into my shirt and grab the second of my three injectors.

  A wave of wonder fills my head, the world around me explodes in rainbows. Nothing I have ever done feels half this good, I never want it to stop. Yet somehow, something makes me jam the cartridge into my skin.

  I float around the room for a few more seconds, despite being tied into the chair, then my head clears, not completely, but enough. I find the knife and cut the remaining ties, then stand up. Huge mistake. The room spins, and I half fall, half sit, back down into the chair.

  It takes a minute or so for me to regain control and get to my feet, slowly and gently this time. As best I can, I make sure the traitor in front of me has gone to Hell before I survey my space.

  There are four Marines tied to their chairs behind me, I get to the first one and free a hand. He takes the knife from me and frees himself and his teammates. While he does that, I grab my last injector and drive it into my shoulder, then button up my uniform, stabilize myself against a chair, and pray.

  Ramos is by my side, holding both knives.

  "Yours?"

  I nod. He laughs.

  "What are you doing in the Navy, sir?"

  He gestures quickly to his men, who examine the room and find nothing, then we all head for the door. The Marines push me back, take positions on either side while one listens in the middle.

  "Nothing, sir." I know his name, I just can't think of it, or anything else except how hard it is to stand.

  "Go."

  The corporal in the middle opens the door, the two sergeants on the outside, each holding one of my knives, rush through.

  "Clear, sir." I know his name too, and I'll remember it someday soon.

  I follow them out, trying to look strong. There are five other doors in the hall, Ramos points to each door and each man, okay, he points to three doors and three men, and he and I head for a fourth. I'm pretty sure I could get to the fifth without moving, my head is not currently attached to my body.

  We never make it to our door before the corporal reappears and whispers "Ooh Rah" down the hall. His room is a sea of tables. Our backpacks are spread out, one per table, including two which belonged to the professors. I throw all my junk into mine, shocked that they left my weapon sitting out on a table, and my pad, and my radio, and my k-bar. They must really not have any fear that we're a threat. I also get my knives back from the Marines who borrowed them, and stuff them into their slots in my uniform.

  I rifle the professors' gear too, steal their food. I feel guilty now, but I know I won't if we're here any length of time.

  We're out in the empty hall in two minutes flat, move carefully toward the exit, four Marines now each with a loaded nine millimeter in his hand. I'm suddenly a lot more confident about everything, except my ability to keep up.

  Half way to the door, my legs give way and Ramos catches me before I can damage anything. I half walk, am half carried to the exit. It's dark outside, one of the sergeants manages to find the switch which turns off most, but not all, of the lights in the hallway. Then we exit, stage left.

  We pause outside, pressed against the building, trying to look like concrete.

  "Captain, suggestions on direction?"

  "There are woods in every direction, but I would suggest north." I think for a second, recalling the aerial photo swimming in my head. "Cross the runways, going away from the control tower."

  Ramos looks around, then points. We run (I stumble actually) across 20 yards or so to the next building north. Then another 10, another 50, slight turn to the right for 20, then 50 more north. We cross the two runways, not lighted fortunately, keep moving. A couple more dashes, then a few more.

  And suddenly we're kneeling on warm dirt outside a hangar, 150 yards or so from a fence, with nothing but night on the other side. My brain thinks that's the forest. I ditch my velcro moccasins, let my bare feet revel in the bare earth until Ramos signals. I stand up, then pitch forward as blackness takes me once again.

  Chapter 11 - In orbit around Libor Prime

  Commander Shelby Perez watched on her left screen as eight Marines in full battle armor boarded their assault ship through the hatch connecting it to Yorktown on deck one. On her right screen, nine Marines in battle armor, including her Marine, filled the airlock leading into the boat dock on deck six. Outside that airlock, Yorktown's two man Marine detail and the four Marine aviators not needed on this mission readied themselves, checked their armor and double checked their rifles.

  Satisfied, she turned the left screen to the external view and isolated the large football class ship, identical including markings to the ship they knew as L2, approaching from below. If she wanted proof that there was a connection between the ships in human space and these aliens, proof that the aliens in Gamma Upsilon were not a splinter group, a Libor ship with a human docking port was good enough in her mind. Some folks would never accept the truth, but there were far too many coincidences.

  Perez watched as Garcia communicated with the pilot of the enemy ship, text only which she assumed was being translated on board the Libor ship. The giant thruster pods of the ship, capable of 360 degree rotation, allowed it to effortlessly slide alongside the human ves
sel, making Shelby slightly jealous. The next class of human ships needed that technology.

  Shelby felt the jolt as the ships joined on Yorktown's keel, and the almost simultaneous opposite jolt as the Marine assault boat detached from above. Her hands flitted across the video controls, putting Tony's camera on the left screen, and Sergeant McGregor's on the right, inside the corvette sized boat.

  The hatch on the Libor ship opened first, followed by Yorktown's hatch sliding away, a slight hiss as the air merged in the now open compartment. Instantly, a red light flashed inside Tony's helmet, and on Yorktown's bridge, sirens and recorded messages burned into everyone's ears. Gas alarm. All hands don breathing apparatus. Gas Alarm. Meaningless to men in battle armor and a crew sealed behind air locks, but not a friendly act if they hadn't been prepared.

  Tony Palmer looked into the enemy ship, the space empty, dark, a horror movie in real life. He saw nothing with his mark one eyeballs, nothing with the infrared turned on. He raised a hand toward Sergeant Flanagan, squad leader. Flanagan barked an order.

  "Gradishar, Jackson, go. Upchurch, Dobson, on their six."

  Four Marines edged closer to the hatch, two on the left and two on the right, pressed close to the bulkheads. A step at a time, the two leads moved toward the enemy ship, their wingmen inches behind. Four steps until they were at the docking collar, one boot on their ship, one boot in Libor territory.

  Shelby listened, hearing only the breathing of men and women on maximum adrenaline. McGregor's ship was 100 feet from the enemy, closing slowly as well.

  Flanagan moved a gloved hand, he and his three remaining Marines stepped toward their comrades, weapons up, ready to provide covering fire. When they were set, Flanagan spoke again.

  "Go."

  Staying close to the bulkheads, the four lead Marines disappeared into the alien vessel. Tony glanced at the two inch monitor inside his helmet, watched Corporal Upchurch's infrared show more of the nothing they had seen so far. By now, the Libor certainly knew their trick had failed, and that the Marines were coming. What would they choose to do, he wondered?

  Gradishar and Jackson reached the hatch on the far end, tested the manual handle and found it would not move. Jackson unhooked a small sphere from one of his weapons racks, attached it magnetically to the locking mechanism on the hatch, then signaled by hand. All four Marines backed away, eyes locked on their prize.

  "Clear, sir." Corporal Upchurch, his voice raising the anxiety level another notch.

  Tony checked that the assault ship was in position, hovering a couple feet above the ship, then moved his gloved hand to the buttons on his left arm, entered a code and hit the button labeled Affirm. "Three." He didn't count down.

  At zero, the two joined ships rocked not once, but twice. On one screen, Shelby watched a hatch burst into the enemy vessel, on the other, she saw the assault craft lock magnetically onto the surface of that same vessel, it's laser cutters clawing into the hull.

  "McAdams, fire." Courtney McAdams had waited a long time for that order, and with a quick flick of the wrist Yorktown's laser cannons blasted six thruster pods into molten slag. They couldn't reach the farthest two, on the wrong side of the ship, but her simulations told her that Yorktown's own engines could counter anything those last two were capable of.

  Shelby flipped her screen to double check the lasers' success, then went back to watching McGregor's. She never took Tony from her other active monitor.

  "Nice shooting, Lieutenant. Stay sharp for any incoming. Open outer doors on all missile tubes."

  "Affirmative. Scans still show negative."

  Gradishar, Jackson, Dobson, and Upchurch penetrated the missing hatch, as the four Marines behind took positions that allowed them to fire into the passageway. Through the darkness, something moved, registering only peripherally on their night vision.

  "Grenade!" One of the four Marines had made the call, Tony couldn't be sure which, but he saw them hit the bulkheads in unison. In zero gee, there is no "deck" to hit in the usual sense, Tony could see his people move to four different sections of the six walled passageway.

  "Open fire, lay down a pattern." Flanagan's covering group sprayed the area with lethal fire, making sure to stay away from their comrades as an explosion rocked them all. Despite the shrapnel, dust, gasses, and light, Tony knew his team was uninjured, their bio indicators in his helmet all still green. The grenade had too much delta vee, and had passed them all by before detonating. He needed to move before they tried again.

  "Advance. All weapons free." He was about to remind them of their comrades at the far end of the ship, but he didn't need to, Sergeant McGregor was suddenly in their ears.

  "No resistance, locating engineering."

  "Affirmative."

  McGregor's job was to find the engineering decks and disable the ship's systems, especially its weapons, then join in the hunt for any humans on board. Tony turned his primary focus back to the squad with him.

  Once again on their feet, the nine Marines moved quickly into the compartment, activating their lights on orders from Flanagan. It was another of the exceptionally large air locks, whoever had tossed the grenade had used the explosion to be somewhere else.

  The ship itself was "upside down," that is, they had entered into the keel, Yorktown and the Libor vessel linked underside to underside. There was one hatch exiting the space that would keep them on the same deck, and another that would move them "up."

  Tony chose the hatch leading to the next deck, the assumption being that the ship had two main decks in the fat part of the football. They had limited intelligence, mostly from the video Ramos' team had provided, but everything they had told the same story. The deck on L2 where the Senator had met the Libor was about 30 feet straight up from their current position.

  The Marines took positions against the bulkheads, deployed in a near circle around the hatch, no one closer than 10 feet.

  "Open it." Flanagan said it, Jackson understood the order was meant for him. He pulled another explosive charge from his rack, placed it, and backed away. Tony detonated it as Jackson reached the far bulkhead.

  The shaped charge sent most of its energy, and most of the debris, into the next deck. Without waiting for the smoke to clear, Flanagan launched a self-propelled grenade from his weapons rack through the ragged hole. Another flash of light, and a cloud of smoke, announced the detonation.

  Gradishar and Jackson used their weightless advantage to move along the "ceiling," then push themselves onto the upper deck, weapons drawn.

  "Clear. Three dead." Gradishar relayed verbally what Tony saw on his screen, and Shelby on hers, some distance away.

  Within 30 seconds all nine Marines had advanced to the next deck. Tony paused everyone.

  "McGregor, report."

  "Scattered resistance, small arms only. We're about to open the hatch into engineering."

  "Affirmative. Stay alert for IEDs. Keep me updated."

  "Yes, sir. Moving in one."

  Tony kept his small screen on McGregor's view, then talked to Flanagan.

  "Sergeant, sit rep."

  "Corridor is clear, four hatches on this deck, one leading up."

  "Roger, let's clear this deck."

  Flanagan positioned his team around one of the four local hatches, the furthest from the hatch to the next deck. Gradishar reached out, yanked on the locking handle, and pulled it open. Jackson and Dobson pushed off from the passageway wall, flying through the hatch, weapons out. Nothing for 10 seconds, though Tony had a clear view on his screen, before Jackson reported.

  "Clear. Appears to be the crew mess."

  "Copy, re-form on us."

  "Roger."

  Three more hatches, three more empties, the enemy had cleared this deck. Tony wished it hadn't been so. Likely they were massing whatever firepower they had in one spot, and there were more than a few chokepoints ahead of them.

  He was about to issue an order when he caught something on his screen.

 
"McGregor, deactivate, your discretion."

  "Roger, sir, moving now."

  There were two dead Libor floating in the engineering space, Tony had just ordered McGregor, who was already in position, to cut power to the ship. He followed that with an order to his other team leader.

  "Flanagan, let's make our own hatch. Far end of the passageway."

  "Yes, sir. Jackson, you're on."

  This time, Jackson placed three charges in a triangle on the bulkhead that was the ceiling here, the floor one deck up. The Marines pulled back the required distance and prepared. Tony detonated the charges, this time creating a white flash coupled with a fast spreading cloud of white and grey dust. Flanagan immediately sent another grenade flying through the mangled opening, another flash, more dust.