Through her earbuds, Kira heard Nielsen say, *Captain, the Jellies are firing their thrusters.*
A moment, and then Falconi said, *Automatic spin-stabilization? Repair systems kicking in?*
Hwa-jung answered: *Unknown.*
*Thermal scan. Any living creatures show up?*
*Indeterminate,* said Gregorovich. On Kira’s overlay, the view of the Jelly ship swapped to an impressionistic blotch of infrared. *Too many heat signatures to identify.*
Falconi swore. *Okay. We play this real safe, then. Trig, you follow Sparrow’s lead. Like Hwa-jung said, let the computer do the hard work. Wait for the repair drones to give the all-clear before you move into a room.*
*Yessir.*
*We’ll be right behind you, so don’t worry.*
As the gleaming mass of the Jelly ship swelled in size on her overlays, the ache of the summons acting upon the Soft Blade increased in direct proportion. Kira rubbed her sternum with the heel of her hand; it almost felt like she had heartburn—an uncomfortable pressure that made it difficult for her to stay still. But it wasn’t a discomfort she could dispel with a burp or a pill or a drink of water. Deep in the recesses of her mind, she could feel a certainty from the xeno that the only cure would be for the two of them to present themselves before the source of the summons, as duty demanded.
Kira shivered, a surge of nervous energy coursing through her. Not knowing what was going to happen was terrifying. She felt weird—sick almost, as if something horrible was about to take place. Something irrevocable.
The suit reacted to her distress; Kira could feel it contracting around her, thickening and hardening with practiced efficiency. It was ready. Of that she was sure. She remembered her dreams of battle; the Soft Blade had faced mortal danger many, many times over the course of the eons, but while it had always endured, she wasn’t so sure about those it had been joined with.
All the Jellies would have to do would be shoot her in the head, and suit or not, the shock of the impact would kill her. No amount of tissue restructuring on the part of the Soft Blade would save her. And that would be that. No reloading from a checkpoint or save file. Nope. One life, one attempt to get things right, and perma-death if she failed. Of course, the same was true for everyone else. No one got to run the level beforehand, as it were.
And yet, even though she was in danger because of the Soft Blade, Kira found herself perversely grateful for its presence. Without the xeno, she’d be all the more vulnerable, a shell-less turtle waving its legs in the air, exposed before its enemies.
She clutched her rifle tighter.
Outside, the wheeling stars vanished behind the huge white hull of the Jelly ship, which gleamed and shone like the shell of an abalone.
Kira struggled to suppress another pulse of fear. Beneath her clothes, the Soft Blade spiked out in response, small, razor-tipped studs roiling across her coated flesh. She hadn’t realized just how big the ship was. But it only held three of the tentacled aliens. Only three, and most or all of them should be dead. Should …
With the ship so close, the compulsion was stronger than ever; she found herself leaning forward, pressing against the wall of the corridor as if to crawl through it.
She forced herself to relax. No. She wasn’t about to give in to the desire. That was the dumbest thing she could do. No matter how tempting it was, she had to keep the compulsion from controlling her actions. And it was tempting, dreadfully so. If she just obeyed as was expected and answered the summons, the ache would vanish, and from ancient memories, she knew the reward of satisfaction that would follow.…
Again Kira struggled to ignore the intrusive sensation. The Soft Blade might feel the imperative to obey, but she didn’t. Her instinct for self-preservation was too strong to just do whatever some alien signal was telling her to.
Or so she wanted to believe.
While she fought her inner fight, the Wallfish cut its engines. Kira flailed for a moment, and then the Soft Blade adhered to the floor and wall wherever she touched, anchoring her in place much as it had done with the radiators of the Extenuating Circumstances after she’d been blown into space.
The Wallfish maneuvered with RCS thrusters around the swollen bulk of the Jelly ship until it arrived at a three-meter-wide dome that projected from the hull. Kira recognized it from videos as the airlock used by the aliens.
*Everyone ready!* Falconi barked, and from around the corner, she heard the bolts of weapons being racked and the hum of capacitors charging. *Visors down.*
Then, for a seemingly endless moment, nothing happened, and all Kira felt was tension and anticipation and the rising hammer of her pulse.
On the cameras, the dome began to move closer. When the Wallfish was only a few meters away, a thick, hide-like membrane retracted from the dome, exposing the polished, mother-of-pearl-esque surface underneath.
*Looks like they’re expecting us,* said Sparrow. *Great.*
*At least we won’t have to cut our way in,* said Nielsen.
Hwa-jung grunted. *Maybe. Maybe not. It could be automated.*
*Focus!* said Falconi.
Gregorovich said, *Contact in three … two … one.*
The deck lurched as the Wallfish and the alien ship touched. Silence followed then, shocking in its completeness.
CHAPTER VI
NEAR & FAR
1.
With a start, Kira remembered to breathe. She inhaled twice, quickly, and tried to calm herself so she didn’t pass out. Almost there; just a few seconds more …
Her overlays flickered, and instead of the feed from outside, she saw a view of the airlock antechamber from a camera mounted above the entrance: Gregorovich letting her watch what was happening.
“Thanks,” she murmured. The ship mind didn’t reply.
Falconi, Hwa-jung, Nielsen, and Vishal were hunched behind the packing crates bolted to the deck. Sparrow and Trig stood in front of them in their power armor, facing the airlock, like a pair of hulking giants, arms raised, weapons aimed.
Through the windows of the inner and outer doors of the airlock, Kira saw the curved, iridescent surface of the Jelly ship. It appeared flawless. Impregnable.
*Repair bots deployed,* Hwa-jung announced in a preternaturally calm voice. She crossed herself.
Across the antechamber, Vishal bowed in what Kira suspected was the direction of Earth, and Nielsen touched something under her skinsuit. On the off chance it would do something, Kira offered up a quiet prayer to Thule.
*Well?* Falconi said. *Do we have to knock?*
As if in response, the dome rotated, an eyeball rolling in its socket to reveal … not an iris, but a circular tube, three meters long, that led straight through the sphere. At the other end was a second hide-like membrane.
It was fortunate, Kira thought, that Jelly microbes seemed to pose no risk of human infection. At least none that had been discovered. Still, she wished that she and the Wallfish crew could have observed proper containment procedures. When it came to alien organisms, it was always better to err on the side of caution.
A soft pressure tube extended a few centimeters from the outside of the Wallfish airlock and pressed in around the circumference of the tube.
*We have a positive seal,* Gregorovich announced.
As if in response, the inner membrane retracted. The angle of the camera didn’t give Kira a good view into the Jelly ship: she could see a slice of shadowy space lit by a dim blue glow that reminded her of the abyssal sea where the great and mighty Ctein had ruled.
*My God, it’s huge!* Vishal exclaimed, and she fought the urge to peek around the corner to see with her own eyes.
*Pop the airlock,* said Falconi.
The thud of locking lugs snapping back echoed down the corridor, and then both the inner and outer airlocks rolled open.
*Gregorovich,* said Falconi. *Hunters.* A pair of whirring, orb-shaped drones descended from the ceiling and darted into the alien ship, their unmistakable hum quickly fading to nothin
g.
*No movement showing from the outside,* Hwa-jung said. *All clear.*
Then Falconi said, *Okay. Hunters aren’t picking up anything either. We’re a go.*
*Watch your six,* Sparrow barked, and heavy footsteps shook the deck as the two suits of power armor headed toward the airlock.
At that exact moment, Kira felt it: a nearscent of pain and fear intermingled in a toxic brew. “No! Wait!” she started to shout, but she was too slow.
*Contact!* Sparrow yelled.
She and Trig started shooting at something in the airlock: a barrage of gunfire and laser blasts. Even around the corner, Kira could feel the thump of the guns. The sounds were brutally intense: physical assaults in their own right.
A hemisphere of sparks formed in front of Sparrow and Trig as their lasers immolated incoming projectiles. Chalk and chaff exploded outward from their exos, the glittering clouds expanding outward in near-perfect spheres until they collided with the walls, the ceiling, and each other.
Then a spike of fire jumped from Falconi’s massive grenade launcher. An instant later, a harsh, blue-white flash illuminated the depths of the airlock, and a dull boom rolled through the ship. The blast tore apart the cloud, allowing a clear view—between ragged strips of haze—in and around the airlock.
Something small and white whizzed out of the alien ship, moving faster than Kira could follow. Then the camera feed went dead, and a concussion slammed into her, knocking her head against the wall and making her teeth slam together hard enough to hurt. The pulse of over-pressurized air was so loud it went beyond hearing; she felt it in her bones and in her lungs, and as a painful spike in each ear.
With no urging on her part, the Soft Blade crawled across her face, covering her completely. Her vision flickered and then returned to normal.
Kira was shaking from adrenaline. Her hands and feet felt cold, and her heart was slamming against her ribs as if trying to escape. Despite that, she mustered her courage enough to poke her head around the corner. Even if it was a mistake, she had to know what was happening.
To her horror, she saw Falconi and the others drifting in the air, dead or stunned. Drops of blood wept from a cut in the shoulder of Nielsen’s skinsuit, and there was a piece of metal sticking out of Vishal’s thigh. Trig and Sparrow seemed to have fared better—she could see their heads turning in their helmets—but both their suits of power armor were locked up, inoperable.
Past them lay the airlock and—through it—the alien ship. She glimpsed a deep, dark chamber with strange machines looming in the background, and then a tentacled monstrosity moved into view, blocking the light.
The Jelly nearly filled the airlock. The creature appeared wounded; orange ichor oozed from a dozen or more gashes across its arms, and there was a crack in the carapace of its body.
Wrongflesh!
Kira watched, frozen, as the Jelly crawled toward the Wallfish interior. If she fled, she’d only attract attention to herself. Her rifle was too small to have much chance of killing the Jelly, and the creature would surely shoot her in return if she opened fire.…
She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry as dust.
A soft, dead-leaf shuffle sounded as the Jelly entered the antechamber. The sound caused Kira’s scalp to prickle with cold recognition; she remembered it from times long past. Accompanying the sound was a shift in the nearscent from fear to anger, contempt, and impatience.
The Soft Blade’s natural instinct was to respond to the scent—Kira could feel the urge—but she resisted with all her strength.
None of the crew had started moving again, and now the Jelly was maneuvering among their floating bodies.
Kira thought of the children in the cargo hold, and her resolve stiffened. This was her fault; boarding the Jelly ship had been her idea. She couldn’t allow the alien to reach the hold. And she couldn’t stand by and watch while it killed Falconi and the rest of the crew. Even if it meant her own life, she had to do something.
Her deliberations took only an instant. Then she fixed the overlay targeting reticule on the Jelly and raised her gun with intent to fire.
The motion caught the Jelly’s attention. A cloud of white smoke erupted around it, and there was a swirl of tentacles and a spray of ichor as the creature spun around. Kira fired blindly into the center of the smoke, but if the bullets hit, she couldn’t see.
A tentacle lashed out and wrapped around the ankle of Trig’s power armor.
“No!” Kira shouted, but it was too late. The Jelly swarmed back into its ship, dragging Trig behind it, using him as a shield.
The curls of smoke dispersed into the antechamber vents.
2.
“Gregoro—” Kira started to say, but the ship mind was already talking:
“It’s going to take me a few minutes to get Sparrow’s armor back online. Don’t have any more hunters, and point-defense lasers took out all the repair bots.”
The rest of the crew still drifted limp and helpless. There was no assistance to be had from them, and the refugees in the hold were too far away, too unprepared.
Kira’s mind raced as she considered options. Every second that passed, Trig’s chances of survival dropped.
In a soft voice, so soft it seemed out of place, Gregorovich said, “Please.”
And Kira knew what she had to do. It wasn’t about her anymore, and somehow that made it easier, despite the fear clogging her veins. But she needed more firepower. Her rifle wasn’t going to be very effective against the Jelly.
She willed the Soft Blade to unstick from the wall, kicked herself over to Falconi’s grenade launcher—Francesca—and hooked her arm through the sling.
The counter on the top of the launcher showed five shots remaining in the drum magazine.
It would have to do.
Gripping the gun tighter than was necessary, Kira turned to face the airlock. White streams of air escaped through a cluster of hairline cracks along the inside of the lock, but the hull didn’t seem to be in immediate danger of failing.
Before she could lose her nerve, Kira braced herself against a crate and jumped.
3.
As she hurtled through the short tube, toward the alien ship, Kira scrutinized the rim of the Jelly airlock, ready to shoot at the slightest hint of movement.
Thule. What the hell was she doing? She was a xenobiologist. Not a soldier. Not a gene-hacked, muscle-bound killing machine like the UMC turned out.
And yet there she was.
For a moment Kira thought of her family, and anger hardened her determination. She couldn’t let the Jellies kill her. And she couldn’t let them hurt Trig.… She felt a similar anger from the Soft Blade: old hurts piled onto new offenses.
The dim blue light of the alien ship enveloped her as she exited the airlock.
Something large slammed into her from behind and sent her tumbling into a curved wall. Shit! Fear made a quick return as pain exploded along her left side.
Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a mass of knotting tentacles, and then the Jelly was upon her, smothering her with its banded arms, as hard and strong as woven cables. Nearscent clogged her nostrils, suffocating in its strength.
One of the slithering arms wrapped itself around Kira’s neck and yanked.
The motion was so violent, it should have killed her. It should have torn her head right off her body. But the Soft Blade went rigid, and the strange recesses and odd angles of the room blurred around her as she twisted topsy-turvy.
Kira’s stomach lurched, and she vomited into the suit’s flexible mask.
The vomit had nowhere to go. It filled her mouth—hot, bitter, burning—and then poured back down her throat. She gagged and out of sheer, misplaced instinct, tried to take a breath and inhaled what felt like a liter of searing liquid.
Kira panicked then: blind, unreasoning panic. She thrashed and flailed and tore at the mask. In her frenzy, she only dimly noticed the fibers of the suit parting beneath her clawing.
Cold air struck her face, and she finally was able to spew the vomit from her mouth. She coughed with painful force while her stomach clenched in pulsing waves.
The air smelled of brine and bile, and if the Soft Blade hadn’t still covered her nose, Kira thought she might have passed out from the alien atmosphere.
She tried to regain control of herself, but her body refused to cooperate. Coughing bent her double, and all Kira saw was the mottled orange flesh wrapped around her and suckers the size of dinner plates.
The rubbery limb began to tighten. It was as thick as her legs and far stronger. She hardened the suit in defense (or perhaps it hardened itself), but regardless, she could feel the pressure building as the Jelly tried to crush her.
[[Cfar here: Die, two-form! Die.]]
Kira couldn’t stop coughing, and every time she exhaled, the tentacle tightened further, making it increasingly difficult to breathe. She twisted in a frantic attempt to free herself but to no avail. A terrible conviction filled her then. She was going to die. She knew it. The Jelly was going to kill her and take the Soft Blade back to its own kind, and that would be the end of her. The realization was terrifying.
Crimson sparks filled her vision, and Kira felt herself teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. In her mind, she pleaded with the Soft Blade, hoping it could do something, anything to help. Come on! But her thoughts seemed to have no effect, and all the while, the sense of strain increased, rising until Kira felt her bones would snap and the alien would reduce her to a bloody pulp.
She groaned as the tentacle squeezed the last bit of air from her lungs. The fireworks in her eyes faded, and with them, any sense of urgency or desperation. Warmth suffused her, comforting warmth, and the things she’d been concerned with no longer seemed important. What had she been so worried about after all?
…
…
…
She floated before a fractal design, blue and dark and etched into the surface of a standing stone. The design was complicated beyond her ability to comprehend, and it shifted as she watched, the edges of the shapes shimmering as they changed, growing and evolving according to the precepts of some unknown logic. Her sight was more than human; she could see lines of force radiating from the infinitely long border—flashes of electromagnetic energy that betrayed vast discharges of energy.
To Sleep in a Sea of Stars Page 25