Abyss Of Savagery

by Toby Neighbors

  Dean guessed by the amount of information popping up on his visor screen that Loggins had updated their combat systems with information about the Kroll ship. It was an excellent idea and one he would share with the other platoons as soon as possible. Their battle armor was equipped with location data, and once the general layout of the craft was uploaded, the COs and staff sergeants would be able to locate exactly where each member of their respective platoons were on the alien ships.

  The maintenance corridor, much like the main passageway, curved around the harvester section of the Kroll ship. The maintenance corridor wasn’t as wide or as refined, but in many ways it was similar. There were holding cells at various intervals, mechanical work stations, and open shop areas in others. All the aliens save for the two fugitive Pergantees were dead. Most of the subordinate aliens had been killed fighting the Recon platoons from Rear Admiral Chancy’s armada, which had been wiped out completely. Those that were left were slain by Dean’s platoon when they boarded the alien ships while the harvester was kidnapping colonists on Cymru. The empty cells where the simian creatures had been held were large rooms lined with thick bars. They made Dean think of prisons from the twentieth century. The cage where the Pergantees had been held captive was a smaller, free-standing structure in one of the open workspaces. There was no sign of where the feline aliens were kept, and Dean guessed they probably stayed in the aviary, feeding off the bones and organs left by the Kroll.

  He was almost to the work area where Parker was waiting for Dean when Captain Grant, his Staff Sergeant Faroke, and two more of their platoon members came walking into view. Dean felt his body tense at the sight of the unmistakable platoon leader. And the small group moved immediately in Dean’s direction.

  “Tell me you’ve caught the aliens,” Grant said, more of a challenge than a simple question.

  “I’ll tell you what you need to know when you need to know it, Captain,” Dean replied, trying to move past the group.

  Furoke stepped in front of Dean, and Grant quickly joined him. The other two specialists stepped back, obviously uncomfortable at seeing their CO and staff sergeant confronting a superior.

  “Your time is almost up,” Grant said. “You’ll be sitting beside your disgraced sergeant in a holding cell if I have my way.”

  “You’re delusional, Captain,” Dean said.

  “Staff Sergeant, do you remember where the memory chip on this battle armor is?”

  “You bet your ass, Captain,” Furoke said.

  “Can you really disable it with one hit?” Grant went on.

  “Disable it and destroy it,” the staff sergeant said.

  “No one around to save your sorry ass now, Blaze. No cameras, no witnesses. If something happened to you, the entire ship would believe me when I told them the Pergantees killed you.”

  “They might,” Dean said. “But you’d have to actually do something then. I doubt it would suit you.”

  “You really going to fight all four of us?” Grant said.

  “No,” Dean said. “I’m not going to fight four of you, or even one of you. I will speak to you about your insubordination and remove you from command once I’ve dealt with the Pergantees.”

  “Big talk from a guy who’s all alone,” Grant said.

  “Well, from what I can see, your specialists aren’t stupid enough to confront a major. I think they see right through your bully tactics. And while the two of you have been bragging about what you’re going to do to me, Captain Parker and my sniper Sergeant Bradus have headed this way.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Faroke said.

  “Is it? And when I order your specialists to take your weapons and escort the two of you up to the comms center to wait for me, what will they do?”

  “My platoon is loyal to me,” Grant said, but he glanced over at the two frightened-looking specialists.

  “You go ahead and do your worst, Captain. So far, I haven’t reined you in because some men are just so full of themselves that they can’t help but talk out of their ass. But I’m curious to see just how stupid you really are.”

  Grant didn’t move and didn’t speak. Furoke’s hand was drifting toward the big bowie knife in a sheath on his chest armor, but Grant placed a hand on his staff sergeant’s arm.

  “Can’t take a joke, Major?” Grant said, chuckling. “We didn’t mean anything by it. We were just fooling around.”

  “Is that so?” Dean asked.

  “Absolutely,” Grant replied. “My apologies if we upset you.”

  “Perhaps you should work on your people skills, Captain,” Dean said. “Now step aside, I’ve got work to do.”

  Grant stepped back and pulled Furoke with him. Dean couldn’t see their faces, but he was sure the arrogant captain was telling his staff sergeant to stand down on their platoon channel. There was deadly intent radiating from the Egyptian CCS. Dean moved quickly past them, trying to act casual while his back tingled with anticipation of an attack. He couldn’t afford to glance back at the men, who might realize he’d been bluffing the entire time. And there was no sound reason why Dean hadn’t called on Captain Parker for backup; he just hadn’t. Perhaps it was because he really wanted to end the tension with Captain Grant. Dean would have given just about anything to vent his aggression on the cocky man who’d been making his time as commander miserable. Another part of Dean wondered if Furoke’s knife might not be just as freeing. If he was dead, he couldn’t worry anymore; the pressure to make all the right decisions would be gone. Dean didn’t want to die, but finally having the freedom to just relax sounded worth the trade-off.

  “Where have you been?” Parker said when Dean finally reached the workshop where she, Private Loggins, and Sergeant Harper were working.

  “Any changes?” Dean asked, ignoring the question.

  “They’re up to something,” Parker said. “I just can’t figure out what it is.”

  “But they haven’t moved?”

  “No, they’re just lying in the pipe.”

  “And your MSV is still functioning properly?” Dean asked.

  “It’s in great shape,” Loggins said. “Eighty percent charge on the battery—the vid feed is excellent.”

  “So what’s the plan?” Dean asked.

  “We could blow the charge in that MSV,” Parker said. “Chances are the tentacle arm would contain most of the damage and the aliens would be dealt with decisively.”

  “And we’d know where they are,” Loggins said.

  “Unless we’re wrong about where they are,” Harper said. “And blowing the MSV does irreparable harm to the ship.”

  “Or sets off a nuke,” Dean added. “Let’s call that plan the last resort.”

  “We can open the bottom of the ship up and go in hunting the little bastards,” Parker said. “Won’t be easy, but I’m sure we can find them.”

  “Unless opening the harvest section is what they’re counting on,” Harper said. “I saw the footage of you questioning Eleanor. She said she thought they had a ship somewhere, and I think it’s in the tentacles. It’s the perfect place to hide something like that, and if we open the harvester, they’ll be free to escape.”

  “You could be wrong,” Loggins argued. “It’s hard to imagine there being room in among the tentacles for anything, much less a space-worthy vessel.”

  “We know they were stealing tech from our ships. Namely the gravity drives,” Harper said. “It’s not unreasonable to think that with all that stolen gear they could have built a smaller ship and an engine that would power them across the galaxy.”

  “It’s not unreasonable if we concede that was their goal,” Parker said. “I happen to agree with Staff Sergeant Chavez and his assessment of the Pergantees. I think they were willing participants with the Kroll. They wouldn’t have a need for an escape vessel.”

  “Tactics 101,” Dean said. “Always have an egress route. You might be right about the Pergantees being willing accomplices, but I don’t think the Grays care about anyone
but themselves. Given enough time, I’m almost certain they would have at least one way off the ship in case of emergency. And I’m betting it was a secret that was just for them, not their allies.”

  “If they were willing participants, why were they locked in a cage?” Loggins asked. “That makes no sense.”

  “Doesn’t it?” Dean replied. “We know that physical confrontation is their weakness. The ships were under attack. Perhaps they locked themselves in the cage so that if we took control, they could play the part of prisoner.”

  “Why not just flee to their ship?” Loggins asked.

  “The harvester was detached when we came on board,” Dean said.

  “And if they have a ship hidden in the tentacles, it wouldn’t be large enough for all of them,” Harper said.

  “Perhaps just two or three,” Dean suggested.

  “So where does that leave us?” Parker said.

  “That depends. Can we get to where they are without opening the harvester?”

  “Not that we’ve found,” Harper said.

  “What if we changed the ordinance on the MSV?” Dean proposed. “Could we put a non-lethal charge on the drones? Say, a sleeping gas?”

  “It’s possible,” Loggins said. “Although we can’t be certain a non-lethal payload would even have any effect on them.”

  “If we can’t get to them with anything other than an MSV,” Harper said, “how would we get them out of the tentacle if we managed to render them unconscious? Our drones aren’t powerful enough to drag them out.”

  “That is a problem,” Dean conceded.

  “Unless…” Parker spoke up. “We’ll have to double check the drones on the Hannibal, but they might have a maintenance bot that could pull them out.”

  “I think it’s worth a try,” Dean said. “Parker, you check on the drones. Recruit Sergeant Fennes, she knows her stuff. Loggins, you and I will keep an eye on the Pergantees.”

  “What about me?” Harper asked.

  “You’re going to rest,” Dean said. “That’s an order. I want your eyes closed and body prone until further notice.”

  “Well, if I have to,” Harper said with a yawn.

  “I hope this works,” Parker said, moving toward the maintenance corridor.

  “Me too,” Dean said. “By the way, if you see Captain Grant, give him a wide berth.”

  “Why? What’s the cocky bastard up to now?”

  “Don’t worry—he’s so blinded by his hatred of me that he doesn’t realize he’s tying his own noose,” Dean said.

  He watched Parker go and felt a spark of hope for the first time since he’d seen Staff Sergeant Chavez gunned down by Sergeant Tallgrass. If they could capture the Pergantees, perhaps they could get answers that would exonerate his platoon. It was a big if, but it was enough to make Dean’s heart beat a little faster. He felt a conclusion to his problem with the Pergantees drawing nearer, and one way or another, the devious aliens would pay for their crimes.

  Chapter 28

  “This is a Princeton Mark Seven General Maintenance Droid,” Sergeant Fennes said. “We call them “little princes.” They do all the exterior hull work.”

  “Can it drag the Pergantees back out of that pipe?”

  “Absolutely,” Fennes said. “It’s got electromagnets and all-terrain treads, as well as multi-directional pressurized air tanks for zero-gravity flight. It’s used to pull or carry replacement parts over the ship and settle them into place.”

  It was obvious that Sergeant Fennes loved her job. She knew everything about the drones in the Hannibal’s hangar bay. Her enthusiasm was contagious, but Dean still wasn’t convinced.

  “That’s in zero gravity,” Dean said. “I could lift an elephant in hard vacuum.”

  She spent nearly two minutes explaining the drone’s motor capabilities, torque, towing capacity, and specs, but Dean’s mind drifted to other things. With Sergeant Tallgrass detained, Dean was forced to pull Corporal Robb Landin from the med bay to rearm a trio of MSVs. The detonation charges had been reduced by nearly three quarters. All that remained was enough to shred the housing on the small container of Bemtex, a powerful sleeping agent. The blast would vaporize the liquid chemical, and the narrow confines of the pipe would hold it in place. The Grays would be trapped and hopefully rendered unconscious.

  The only problem that remained was the fact that no one knew for certain how the Pergantees would react to the drug. Perhaps they would be rendered unconscious, but it was just as likely that it would do nothing at all to the strange aliens. And it was also possible that it might kill the Pergantees—not likely, but still possible.

  “Alright, so the equipment is ready,” Dean said. “Do we know how we’re going to get to them?”

  “We can go in through this access panel right here,” Loggins said. “Shouldn’t take more than ten minutes to reach them.”

  “Alright, get the modified MSVs moving. Send in two of them just in case the first one doesn’t get the job done,” Dean ordered. “And let’s pull the observer back.”

  “Should we wake up Sergeant Harper?” Captain Parker asked.

  “No, let her rest,” Dean said. “Loggins can operate the MSVs and Sergeant Fennes will control the drone. I want those rotten creatures out of that pipe, either unconscious or dead.”

  “You heard the major,” Parker said. “Get those drones moving.”

  The miniature surveillance vehicles could travel up to twenty miles an hour, but the maintenance drone was much slower. It followed the smaller MSVs as they made their way through the maze of ducts, vents, pipes, and finally into the telescoping tentacle arms. The wait seemed to last forever to Dean. He was so anxious to have a secure vessel once again—and hopefully proof to back up Tallgrass’s claims of mind control—that the fifteen minutes it took the trio of machines to reach the Pergantees felt like hours.

  “Alright, we’re about thirty feet from the aliens,” Loggins said. “I’m pulling back the observer.”

  “Is that far enough to ensure the blast doesn’t harm the other drones?” Parker asked.

  “Thirty feet should be more than enough distance,” Loggins said. “Landin told me the blast should effect anything within ten feet in either direction of the pipe.”

  “Alright, let’s not lose the bastards now,” Dean said.

  The Pergantees were moving, that much was obvious, but exactly what they were up to was anyone’s guess. The MSVs didn’t have built-in lights, and the pipe or tentacle arm was pitch-black, forcing the drones to utilize the infrared spectrum of light that picked up the body heat of the aliens. They were moving, but it was impossible to tell what they were doing.

  “Get that drone in there, Private,” Dean said. “They could be escaping for all we know.”

  Loggins didn’t argue. He sent the drone forward with a simple hand motion, and the MSV loaded with Bemtex raced ahead. The blobs of color grew larger and larger.

  “I’m in position,” Loggins said.

  “Blow it,” Dean said.

  The vid feed from the modified MSV went blank, and Dean closed it out. The other feeds had washed out from the sudden blast of heat. And then things seemed to settle down. The blobs of color that were the Pergantees were still in the pipe, and moving, but Dean was relatively sure they were slower than before.

  “Send the second MSV,” Dean said. “Get us a closer look.”

  “Roger that,” Loggins said.

  “Is the chemical having an effect?” Parker asked.

  “I think so—it’s hard to tell in infrared.”

  “The little prince has floodlights,” Fennes said. “Would that help?”

  “Absolutely,” Dean said. “Light it up.”

  The tunnel was suddenly filled with glaring, white light from powerful LEDs on the maintenance drone. Loggins switched the cameras on the MSV back to normal, and the interior of the small space became clear. The Pergantees seemed like a tangle of gray in the stark shadows, but Dean saw bright green liquid
in the pipe.

  “We’ve wounded one,” he said.

  “Serves the little bastards right,” Parker said.

  “They’re still conscious,” Loggins said.

  “For now,” Dean agreed. “But the Bemtex is working. Give it a minute.”

  The Pergantees were trying to escape, but it was obvious they couldn’t move forward. Their thin arms and legs shifted and pressed on the smooth interior of the pipe but found no traction. The closest alien had wounds on the bottom of its small feet. Florescent green blood oozed from the bare soles, and Dean couldn’t help but wince at the thought of how much pain the creature must be in.

  “It’s working,” Parker said. “Hot damn, we’ve got them.”

  “Good work, Captain,” Dean said. “You too, Private Loggins. Let’s move our MSVs back and let Sergeant Fennes do the heavy lifting.”

  “Yes sir,” Loggins said.

  They watched as the maintenance drone moved toward the aliens. A long, articulated robotic arm reached for the closest Pergantee and fastened its three-prong pincer hand onto the creature’s ankle. The alien didn’t move or resist.

  “Beginning extraction,” Fennes said.

  The maintenance drone began rolling back toward the MSVs. The weight of the Pergantee didn’t seem to affect it at all. The electromagnets in the tank-like treads gave the drone all the traction it needed, and the unconscious alien couldn’t resist. The removal of the wounded Pergantee was almost anti-climactic.

  It took the drone fifteen minutes to make the trip back to the workspace where Dean and Captain Parker were waiting. As soon as the drone rolled out of the vent opening, they quickly bound the Pergantee. Parker used plastic restraints to bind the creature’s arms behind its back, while Dean wrapped bandages around its feet that worked to stop the bleeding and bind the creature’s legs together.