Samurai Guns (Orphan Wars Book 3)

by J. N. Chaney

  I find access to the maintenance airlock on the other side, and drop down into a recessed area probably designed to make working on the outside of the ship easier. There are lots of places to grab onto and attach safety lines—if I had anything like that.

  “Hello, Murph,” Jack says. His voice sounds weird. I feel it more than I hear it. Without atmosphere, I wouldn’t be able to hear him at all.

  I grab the wall and spin around. Jack wears an environment suit even though he doesn’t need it anymore than I do. He has the advantage of magnetized boots and carabiners to hook onto safety points.

  “As soon as Slade figured out where you were, and how many of the Protheans were headed your way, I figured you’d end up here trying to save the day,” Jack says. “Predictable.”

  “Don’t you have better things to do than carry out this vendetta?” I ask.

  “Murphy, you never knew me at all. I take things personally, and you have betrayed me for the last time.” He raises a charge pistol with one hand and aims it at my chest.

  34

  “I betrayed you?” I raise my charge pistol up along my leg, hoping he doesn’t see it in the near-absolute darkness of our current environment. He’s already proven who is the faster between the two of us. I have to take him by surprise, but first I must make the decision to shoot someone I’ve always considered a friend. Deep down, not even his betrayal erased my loyalty to the man.

  And that’s why he’s already beaten me, not just because of the Orphan Gate upgrades, but because he’s ruthless, and I’m not.

  Jack lowers the charge pistol a fraction of an inch at the question. “I saved your life after the sun ship, remember? I’ve been watching your ass since you arrived in the Goliath Sector. You’ve done nothing but push back. A little gratitude would be nice.”

  I edge toward his left, slipping my grip from one handhold to another. This walkway is made for maintenance personnel, not combatants. The short walls and textured platforms might help traction, or they might trip me up. “You’re delusional, Jack. If you were ever my friend, let me talk to you. We should be on the same side. This is crazy.”

  “I’m not crazy,” he says.

  “That’s not what I said, Jack.” I expected him to snap the words, maybe scream like a lunatic, but the way he delivers the proclamation is cold and emotionless. Maybe a different approach will buy me some time. “Didn’t you tell me we’re all crazy once? Remember when we were undergrads and the future was ours to conquer?”

  “Don’t bring up our past, ever again. I’m fighting for the salvation of the Goliath Sector, the entire damn galaxy! You should’ve stayed where I put you. Out of harm’s way,” he says, adjusting his stance to minimize the advantage I was working toward. I had hoped to force him to reach across his own body to shoot me, but now we are squared up again—and at this range, that will mean we both die if this goes bad.

  “Abandoned on a sabotaged ship while being hunted by Overlords and Protheans in a desolate system with no resources? That’s what you call out of harm’s way?”

  He opens his mouth to shout his retort, and I fire my charge pistol. The bolt punches him hard in his chest armor, causing him to stagger. He fires a burst of three in retaliation. Searing pain races along the side of my face, but I can still see, so I must be alive.

  With no hesitation now, I rush him, slamming him against the wall two feet behind him. For one moment, I’m disconnected from the ship. As soon as we collide with the metal pipes behind him, I grab for one and miss. My fingers find something else—a guidewire maybe, or an antenna—and clutch it desperately.

  Jack, on the other hand, is knocked free of his magnetic connection to the surface. We twist crazily, reversing positions almost like I executed this move on purpose. If this had been a mixed martial arts fight in a cage, he would be in a dominant position, ready to crush me against the frame.

  But that’s not where we are. I kick frantically with both feet, imitating a champion bicyclist. I doubt my effort looks skillful or dignified. This is about desperation and panicked movement. I try to aim my charge pistol as I flail my legs, can’t get a shot, and consider throwing it away so I can use two hands to hold on.

  Jack swings both arms, reaching for a handhold with one and firing the charge pistol with the other. He levels the barrel toward my face, but my feet find his body first, and I thrust him out into the void.

  Silence fills my head as he tumbles away. I don’t even try to think about what just happened. The image of Jack spinning into the blackness is brief. Orphan Gate upgrades improve almost everything about me now, including my vision, but there just isn’t much light out here.

  “Jack!” I shout.

  He doesn’t answer. Maybe if I had been wearing a helmet, he could’ve raised me on comms and railed at me about what a mistake I made. In my gut, I know he’s right about a lot of things. I’m not strong enough or ruthless enough to fight the Overlords and the Protheans and whoever or whatever comes after them.

  “I need you, Jack. We all needed you. What the hell went wrong? Why did you make me do that?”

  Every second feels like a year. I tuck my charge pistol into my jumpsuit, hoping it doesn’t come out of the pocket that isn’t made for the job. Then I crawl from maintenance handhold to maintenance handhold until I find the airlock. Some of the grips are farther apart than I can reach, forcing me to hop. Each crossing gives me butterflies, but I manage not to join the Dark Eye in the void.

  When I finally locate and operate the giant wheel, twisting it with all my strength to get the airlock open, I find the interior is much larger than anticipated. It looks like a shuttle or other types of heavy machinery could pass through this facility. I also realize I came much farther than I intended. Clearing my head, I construct a map of the parts of the ship I have been in and guesstimate a route leading back to the sub-deck where Garin, Wak-wak, Pats, Shaina, and the others are waiting for me to open the door from this side.

  This section definitely has power. The lights are bright enough to hurt my head. Surveillance monitors show a dozen hallways and rooms. Like many parts of this ship, these appear to be recent upgrades—probably something Jack and his Earth commandos did. I understand all of the interfaces and what they are for, which is useful. Finally, something goes my way.

  Should be easy from here on out. No problem.

  I press my hand to my face and hold it there until the bleeding stops. Fortunately the charge bolt burnt most of the wound closed. No time to worry about what it’s going to look like on picture day. I’ve got bigger problems.

  On screen six, I see Slade and several heavily armored commandos taking Zedas toward another airlock. Their intent is clear. He’s going out the door wrapped up in a cocoon of restraints.

  I check the other screens. I can’t see into the sub-deck to check on my other friends, but I know they don’t have much time. In other parts of the ship there are two forces rising to prominence. The Protheans are unstoppable wherever they go, and Slade’s commandos have ruthlessly put down the mutiny. Bodies lie scattered in the hallways. Blood stains the walls in many sections.

  The last of the escape shuttles are leaving. Anything left behind appears damaged beyond repair.

  I have mutually exclusive options; Zedas or the rest of my friends and dozens of innocent civilians.

  “Can someone please tell me this will get easier soon?” So much for catching a break. I slam my palm on a button to open a door and sprint toward Zedas. If I don’t free him, none of us stand a chance anyway. I definitely can’t fight Axu and his space knights or whatever they are by myself.

  I probably can’t take on Slade and the Dark Eye commandos alone either, but I guess I’ll just have to figure that out when I get there.

  Hallways are full of cast-off debris. Panicked flight causes people to make strange decisions. It looks like someone was trying to drag a suitcase full of formal clothing before they abandoned it. One corpse is curled around a box full of gold bars an
d poker chips.

  Where did they find this stuff?

  Another lies against the hallway with more guns than he could ever use, so I take a charge rifle and several magazines. He’s wearing pieces of armor as well, but I don’t have time to remove it, put it on, and get it to fit.

  Farther down the hallway I find a helmet, but it’s slimy with blood inside and out. I don’t even slow down. Around the next corner I locate the red crate sitting in the middle of the hallway at a weird angle.

  It won’t open.

  A screen displays a command in bold letters. Password required. Alphanumeric characters only.

  I don’t have time for this, but more weapons would be better. I try words and numbers I’ve heard my friends use, but none of them work. Muttering complaints and curses, I start running again. Shouldn’t have stopped. Waste of time.

  In one corner of my vision, I update my map. The more sections I clear, the more I can guess about other parts of the ship. The design when seen on a schematic level is fantastically elegant—almost like an alphabet or a key code.

  The idea goes into storage for later consideration.

  Two more doors stand between me and Zedas. They probably have the airlock open by now. I grasp for a plan and only come up with bits and pieces. Surprise will be important.

  I must be as ruthless as the Dark Eye.

  A better idea occurs. I have to be the Dark Eye.

  Reaching the last door, I examine the locking mechanism. It’s a general access portal. But that doesn’t work for my on-the-fly plan.

  Slade has to come to the door—so I can be the Dark Eye.

  I hold down the intercom and do my best Jack Barris impression. To my ears, it feels cringe-worthy, but I’m betting not even Slade knows the sound of my old friend’s voice as well as I do. He’s expecting Jack, so that’s what he’ll hear.

  “Slade! Get this door open. I need to interrogate the Dogan before we get rid of him,” I say.

  “Why can’t I see you on the view screen?”

  “Not my problem. Open the damn door. Someone sabotaged it,” I say.

  “Where’s the archaeologist?”

  I hesitate. Think, Murphy! What answer would the Dark Eye’s henchmen expect? “The same place his big Dogan friend is about to be. He was a hopeless fool. Went down easy. Never saw it coming.”

  The door slides open. I see Slade’s face one second before I jam the barrel of the charge rifle into it and fire. With my left hand, I shove his body out of my way and burst into the room not feeling like myself. The sensation is like I’m on a roller coaster without a belt restraint.

  I keep the barrel up, bring my left hand back into a support position as I drive forward and aim at the next target. There is no time for hesitation. Not a single thought enters my mind. That happened before I came in. This is merely a plan being executed by an automaton. Guilt and second thoughts can come later, much later.

  Any one of these commandos is a better shot than me, but I start shooting first, and I don’t quit until they are down or have fled through other doorways.

  Zedas is right on the edge of the airlock, but it’s closed. I run to each of the doors the remaining commandos retreated through and lock them. It takes a moment to find something to cut Zedas’s restraints, but I get the job done and help him to his feet.

  “I thought you must be dead, Doctor Hank Murphy,” he says.

  “I’m alive, and we have work to do.”

  Zedas rolls his shoulders, then swings his arm to loosen up his joints. He’s been bound hand and foot for quite a while. Stepping over bodies, he picks up a charge rifle and holds it like a toy. His fingers barely fit through the trigger guard.

  “I found the lost stash of weapons. Let’s go get your gun,” I say.

  “Shaina’s red storage crate?” he asks. “Did she tell you the combination?”

  “No. You have to break it open,” I say.

  He shakes his head. “I don’t know if that will be possible, but show it to me.”

  We race back through the halls, watching for ambush and hoping we can get to the sub-deck to save the others in time.

  35

  “This is it,” I say, pointing at the huge red crate the moment we enter the correct hallway. Metal bands wrap it in three places. Ceramic plates harder than the exterior of the space shuttle cap the corners. The keypad has most of the letters and numbers worn off. This thing has seen hard use without losing integrity.

  “Yes, that is the one Shaina used. I cannot open it, Doctor Hank Murphy.”

  “You’re killing me, Zedas. Why did I bother rescuing you? You could at least try. I thought you were strong?”

  He grinds out a laugh. “At last, baby Murph makes a joke. I am almost laughing at your wit.”

  “If we can’t force it, then we better keep moving.” I recalculate the map of the gate ship in my head. Some of the layout, when viewed as a clean schematic, resembles the symbols I saw in the old ship. Not for the first time, a chill flows up my spine at the thought.

  “Try a code,” Zedas suggests.

  “Already did. Let’s go.”

  Zedas stands over the inaccessible treasure trove of deadly weapons and armor. “It would be something only the three of us would know, places we’ve been or…”

  “Or nicknames,” I say, rushing back to the crate. On impulse, I enter abomination.

  Nothing happens.

  Zedas types in pup.

  Still nothing.

  I add sun ship.

  And it opens.

  “This is fortunate,” Zedas says. He reaches inside and pulls out the massive crew-served charge weapon with extra battery packs and ammunition feeds. “There is armor for squishy humans like you who can’t grow their own.”

  “Who are you calling squishy? I’ve seen you without your armor.”

  He groans. “Don’t remind me.”

  “Help me put on this vest,” I say.

  He rests his weapon on the deck, drops armor over my head, and hands me a helmet. “You look ready to fight. Very respectable.”

  I select a second charge rifle, sling it over my back, and put on a belt for two charge pistols, one on each hip. That leaves another set of gear for Shaina still in the bottom.

  “Can you carry her weapons and armor?” I ask, not thinking she’ll be up to use them when we get to the sub-deck but wanting to be prepared for anything.

  “Without difficulty,” Zedas says, then slings the bundle over his back.

  “Fantastic. Let’s skedaddle.” He hurries down the hallway with renewed purpose.

  “Sked-what?” Zedas asks, then waves away his own question as not important. “Humans say strange things. I should remember this.”

  We reach the blast door to the sub-deck and open it easily. Robert and several of his engineers stare out in amazement.

  “Come on,” I shout, waving them outward of the confined space. “Let’s get you someplace safe.”

  “You actually survived,” Shaina says. “Teach me to bet with wounded soldiers and mechanics.”

  Garin rushes forward and hugs my legs. “Mr. Murphy!”

  “Let’s go. We aren’t safe yet.” I lead the rag-tag group away from the hiding place they must have all believed would be their tomb. Men and women chatter excitedly, laughing and crying at the same time.

  Something huge impacts the ship. Soon afterward, I hear cutting torches and realize more Protheans are boarding the gate ship. Then an even larger impact rattles the floor and ceiling, announcing the arrival of more enemies. Then another, and another, until we hear the boarding parties forcing their way into the ship at regular intervals.

  We steal a pair of motorized carts to transport the wounded. This frees some of the stronger men and women to take up weapons. Shaina slips on the top half of her armor even though she can’t stand.

  “I can still shoot,” she says.

  “Let’s move out.” I chop a knife-hand toward the direction we need to go. No one compla
ins. Laughter and crying gives way to grim determination as we navigate through the complex hallway system.

  Sparks shower ahead of us. We turn away from the boarders, rushing deeper into the ship with no plan but to escape the new enemies. One after another, hallways are closed to us as Protheans fill them.

  “We must get to the command deck or the engine room,” Robert says. “Those are the best areas to defend. We might escape from the launch bay if there are shuttles left, and that seems the best choice if it’s available.”

  “I saw a surveillance camera of the bay. The last of the ships were being prepped for launch. Probably gone by now,” I say. “Everything left behind was in pieces or on fire.”

  “Then we go to the command deck,” Shaina says from the cart she’s driving.

  Zedas and I lead the way.

  A pair of Protheans turn the corner ahead of us.

  Zedas opens fire, directing all his fury on the quicker of the two. The heavy charge-gun hammers the Prothean in the chest as he aims a lance-like rifle. He marches the rounds upward, blowing out the Prothean’s neck, and then punching holes in his faceplate.

  I see this in my peripheral vision as I take careful head shots on the other one. Charge bolts flash past from behind me, peppering our attackers. I flinch, hoping no one shoots me in the back. Shaina, I trust to take dangerous shots. The mixture of soldiers and civilians have not earned the same trust.

  The Prothean aims, shoots, and knocks Zedas off balance.

  Of course he would go for the greater threat.

  Realizing that I’ve been advancing as I fire, I spring the rest of the distance and fling myself toward the Prothean shock trooper. Halfway through the air, I let my charge rifle swing on its sling. The magnetic surface of my armor pulls it down and locks it in place