Drawing Battle Lines

by Robert Culp

  Rebecca lunges to where I was just standing. I slash up with the saber, the filament slices right into her stomach and exits through her back, severing her at the waist. Her legs fall to the deck and stop moving. Her upper torso however, is another story. She twists on her way down and is now looking right at me, holding my gaze. Her eyes are a soothing shade of amethyst. I feel the amulet pulsing. I hope it’s helping me resist her psionic onslaught. The pulsing speeds up. Then stops.

  I can’t move.

  She is pulling herself towards me. A slimy trail of blood, spinal fluid, and I don’t want to think of what else stains the deck behind her. She’s bleeding out, but not fast enough. She is going to kill me. And I’m paralyzed. I feel myself collapse on the deck. Her Mindblast has me completely helpless. All I can do is sit on the deck and watch her come forward to kill me.

  I want to live. I want my crew to live. I want her to die. I can’t move. My eyes stare into hers. Sonia, you can’t win a staring contest with a cyborg!

  No, I can’t. But I can cause a final teleport. The saber disappears from my hand and appears over her. Gravity does the rest. The blade slices through her skull like it is butter. Blood, brain matter, other unknown substances flow from her skull cavity. The top of her skull lands, as luck would have it, in her hand. Her last action is to throw it at my head.

  The duralloy enhanced bone strikes my helmet. I see the visor crack. I feel and hear the blistering foul air hiss into the helmet. The air in here is toxic and the pressure outside the suit is greater. I won the fight, but lost the war. I’m going to die after all. I’m exhausted, broken, and now I can’t breathe. All I want to do is sleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  My head hurts. My face burns. My eyes hurt. My leg hurts. I expected Heaven to be warm and bright, but this is ridiculous! And the angels carrying me away have rough hands. Even through the armor…oh wait, I’m not wearing armor anymore. And whoever—whatever—they are, they yell and curse a lot. Oh no, are they demons?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  My eyes open. I’m in the medical bay. I can’t move anything but my eyes. There’s one of those mirrored half spheres on the ceiling. I can see Rikk sitting beside me.

  “Hey darlin’,” he says quietly. “Don’t worry, no one is around.” He puts down the document reader he’s holding then leans over and gives me a gentle kiss. “I’ll get Doc. He’s been—we’ve been—waiting for you to wake up.”

  “Wait,” I tell him. He stops. “I have questions. I started the auto-destruct sequence, why didn’t the ship explode? What’s the ship and crew status?”

  “Well that explains what you were mumbling into your headset when we found you, You’re currently in traction and restraints. Even when you were sedated you must have been dreaming. You kept flailing your arms and legs around. You did a considerable amount of damage in the reactor chamber. Chief Jenkins and his folks have put in considerable overtime to get it back on line. Anything else?”

  “Do you seriously call that a kiss?”

  “That’s the best kiss you’re getting until the doctor clears you for more. I’m not going to be responsible for you being here a microsecond longer than you have to be.”

  “If my hand worked I’d pinch your butt.”

  “If you had a working hand, you’d probably be doing more than pinching it. I’ll be right back.” But he gives me a better kiss before he goes.

  The doctor comes in talking to Rikk. “Chief Sergeant, I understand your relationship but legally you have no right to be in the room when I’m explaining my patient’s condition to her.” He sees me about to protest and says, “No matter what she says. So I’ll need you to go about your business.”

  Rikk leans into me. “You’re a lucky girl,” he says. He gives me a quick kiss and leaves.

  “He’s right, Captain. You are a lucky girl,” he pauses to light a cigarette. “A pretty tough one too,” he says as the smoke starts to waft around the room. “So this is what you were found with: your right leg, as you may have found, is now useless. Her initial kick pulverized your femur, that’s the thighbone. That you were able to stand at all on it, much less fight is one of those medical mysteries that science will never be able to sufficiently explain. Lifting buildings off babies, and stuff like that.” He takes another drag on his cigarette before continuing. “Whatever cracked your visor had enough impact on your helmet to snatch your head straight back; giving you significant neck trauma and a concussion. You avoided medical decapitation by about half a millimeter. You have some paralysis, probably your body’s way of asking for time off, but I put traction and restraint fields on you to keep your unconscious self from hurting you even more. We’ll start turning that off while you’re awake.” He reaches above my head and I hear a click. I also hear a low hum that I hadn’t noticed until it stopped come to an end. “You’ll find difficulty in breathing deeply because of the toxic gases you inhaled. Those are also responsible for your extensive chemical burns. Most of which I’ve been able to fix. You’ll feel the NewSkin itching as it grows and melds with yours. What are your questions so far?”

  “When will you clear me to return to duty?”

  He doesn’t even try to suppress his laughter. “Oh, I won’t. Commander Athena, once she got some semblance of order and a headcount established made the command decision to terminate the mission. As I understand it, we’ve been on our way to Atlas for two days. You and Commander Mac Fadden will receive treatment from the finest neurosurgeons and cyberneticists in the employ of the Academy of Ancients. Or at least, that is how I understood it. I’m not privy to their plans, but if I were you I’d start wrapping my head around having a bionic leg and a plasteel skullcap. That’s more prophylactic than anything, in my opinion. Yes, your skull has a few cracks in it thanks to impacts with the inside of your helmet and one of her arms went haywire after you blacked out, but I don’t think surgery is warranted. However, my opinion was not sought.”

  “A bionic leg?”

  “Probably no more impressive than your other one, I mean there’s no point to giving you one leg that can run at Mach two if the other one can’t keep up. And even if it could now press half a ton your skeleton couldn’t support that kind of load. It will be a fitting replacement but as it’s just the one it won’t be an enhancement. Like I said, it just doesn’t make sense.”

  “Then what?”

  “Therapy. You’ll need to learn how to use it. I think you’ll be done and released to your own recognizance in six weeks.”

  “How is Celeste, I mean, Commander Mac Fadden?”

  “She’s recovering, she didn’t have it as up close and personal as you. In fact, as I understand things she was among those on their way to get you when you killed one of the cyborgs. Apparently, that distracted the other long enough that Commander Mac Fadden’s zombie mojo—or whatever the hells it was—broke. The XO already had a rifle, round in the chamber, and turned it on the other cyborg. Which served as a cue to the crewmembers with her—situationally aware and otherwise—to do the same thing. Those things apparently don’t die very quickly or easily. The XO will also get a new leg—her knee was destroyed—and one arm. And one eye.”

  “I was on the ragged edge of scrapping the mission anyway,” I muse. “My Tammuzite pride acted up when that bitch told me I was going to follow her orders.” I lock eyes with him. “How many people did we lose in their attempted takeover?”

  “Surprisingly few fatalities. Two troopers and two spacers. Not that it makes a hill of beans, but from the post mortems, they killed each other. The spacers had the bad luck to be between the troopers and the cyborgs didn’t consider line of fire. Burns and other injuries? Considerably more.”

  “Where is the XO?”

  “Next door. She’s been asking about you. Daily.”

  “Wait, you said we’re be underway to Atlas. Rikk said I did a lot of damage to the URC—”

  “Quite an understatement, I understand it’s practically a brand new u
nit now.”

  “How long have I been out?”

  He takes a deep drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke at the ceiling before answering me. “Six weeks.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Dr. Brabdo considers me well enough to receive visitors the next day. I ask to see Celeste first. Alone. He wheels her chair in before leaving us alone.

  “Cap’m,” she says. “You look better than you did the last time I saw you.”

  “I imagine. Doc says you were on your way to get me when you got the drop on Hannah.”

  She looks away for a second then returns her gaze to me. “On its face, that’s essentially correct. But that’s not what I remember.”

  “Oh?”

  We’re both quiet for a while. She’s struggling with something and I know not to push her.

  “Sonia,” she says with a quiver in her voice. “I was coming to kill you. Apparently Rebecca told Hannah you were in the URC. I and probably a dozen more were sent there to support her. I just thank Sarah that you killed Rebecca when you did. Between that and the shock—the brutal assault—of that foul air hitting me I had a ‘wait a minute’ microsecond and spun around and shot her point blank in the face with my rifle. That broke her hold long enough for a few others who were with me to wake up and turn on her.”

  We’re both in tears. I suppose she’s reliving it. I’m mourning those who died and grieving for those who were injured.

  “I…I don’t know how I can go on,” I say between sobs. “So many people are dead because I came to space. Freddie, Sherri, now these. Maybe I don’t belong out here.”

  “Hold out your hand.” She leans towards me with something in her fist. I’ve noticed that her hand has been clenched since she came in. She opens her hand and drops a small red glass bead in my palm. I pick it up with my other hand and hold it to the light to look at it.

  “What is it?”

  “In and of itself,” she says as she sits back in her own chairBed, “it’s nothing. It’s a small red glass marble. I bought a bag of them for about three credits the last time I was on Rigg’s. What it means is what’s important. It’s for those days that suck out loud. When your leg hurts. When nothing is going right. When you are faced with nothing but horrific choices. I want you to look at it. Or at least remember it. And I want you to know that when your Savior, on the worst day of Her mortal life, died She did so with your name on Her lips and your face in Her heart. This bead represents one drop of Her blood, shed on your behalf.”

  Now I’m really crying. “Celeste,” I say wiping tears away. “I can’t take this from you...”

  “Yes, you can. I want you to have it. I told you I have a bag full of them. Well, half full.” She smiles.

  “But,” I try to argue again. “I don’t believe in Sarah like you do.”

  “That’s okay,” she says with a mischievous grin, the trails of her tears still shiny on her cheeks. “She believes in you.”

  I try again. “So why haven’t you told me any of this before now?”

  “It isn’t that you didn’t need to know it,” she smiles at me. “But until now you weren’t in a position to hear it. Today, you’re ready for the good news.”

  “I have to interrupt, Captain.” Doctor Brabdo has yet to knock before opening that door. He’s probably hoping to catch us comparing scars or something equally juvenile. “But it’s lunch and rest time. Say your goodbyes, Commander.”

  “Celeste,” I say as Brabdo wheels her out, “we’ll talk more about this.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  “I don’t know what—I mean—”

  “I know. I love you, too,” she says as the door closes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  It’s the middle of the third night and something wakes me. I sit up in bed and look around my hospital room. I’m alone. Or at least I thought I was. There is a man standing against the wall opposite the bed staring at me. He’s wearing one of those cape and cowl things that flow from his shoulders to his feet. His face is in the black space formed by the cowl. “Sonia, do leave the device at Atlas,” his voice is smooth, like silk or chocolate. “Do not take it with you on your next cruise. I will reclaim it. You will get on with your life. We both get what we want. I want the device. You want to never see me again.”

  I clutch the bedclothes to my throat. “Who are you? How did you get in here?” I can feel a cold sweat. “Security! Nurse! Doctor!”

  “No one can hear you,” he chuckles. “Do we understand each other? Will you do this simple thing I’ve asked of you?” His tone hardens as he walks closer.

  “Which device? Who are you?”

  “The device you stole from me. I want it back.”

  “I didn’t steal…you’re that pirate!” The temperature of the room hasn’t changed. But now there’s a fog swirling around him. It acts more like smoke than mist, but the room is neither warmer nor cooler. Even so, I feel sweat running down my forehead.

  “‘Pirate’ is such a harsh word, but I suppose from your perspective it fits. Myself, I prefer ‘corsair’ or ‘privateer,’ I think they sound a little less vulgar. But that’s a conversation for another time. I have a request of you: Will you leave my property at Atlas, please? I’ve asked politely, if that helps.” His voice is now a dry rasp. He stands at the foot of the bed, I don’t see a face, but I know he’s staring at me.

  “You’re a murdering pirate. Why would I do you a favor?”

  “Because I can be a most formidable foe. And you don’t want me to come after you.” He reaches forward and grabs the covers with one gloved hand, pulling them from me. “And I have, shall we say, ‘other’ delights which you would rather not experience.”

  I suspect that a rabbit facing a rattlesnake feels the same way I do: paralyzed. I cannot move. He walks around to the side of the bed. The bedclothes are now on the floor. He puts the same gloved hand on my forehead; I can feel and smell the leather as he pushes me down onto my back. Why can’t I move? I open my mouth to scream but he covers my lips with that gloved hand. “Shh shh shh!” he says. “We don’t want an audience for this, do we? Or are you more of an exhibitionist that I expected?” He tears my hospital gown away with his other hand. Kick him! Hit him! Bite him! Do something! My body betrays me; it doesn’t move.

  “Who are you?” I whimper.

  The bed squeaks as he gets on it. He pushes my knees apart and kneels between them. Rather than answer, he pushes back the cowl. Instead of a head, he has a skull. But it’s not normal. There are now two eyes in the sockets, glowing a bright, bilious yellow. There is a covering of skin, drawn tight. The teeth exposed, what lips he has curved to a monstrous grin. “Have you forgotten my name already?” He lowers his body to mine, his breath stinks in my nostrils. “I’m Grinning Jack Grangiere!” His right hand moves out of my vision, I feel it as it slides past my waist. “I will be the father of your children!”

  I wake up screaming. I feel hands on me, on my shoulders. I do what I can to shake them off of me, but they’re too strong.

  “You’re okay, Sonia,” a voice says softly. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

  “Rikk? Is it really you?” I stop thrashing; he’s holding me closer to him. I know the feel of him, I know the smell of him. It’s really him.

  “Yes, baby, it’s really me. You’re safe.” The realization that it was a dream is like a physical shock. Well, if it was a dream.

  I pull him to me as tight as I can. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  “I’m not, go back to sleep.”

  “Only if you promise to stay right here.” I let go of him and pull myself to one side of the bed. He crawls onto it beside me.

  “I’m not going anywhere. Now go to sleep.” I look at the clock. 0436. I don’t think I’ll be sleeping for a while. Maybe quite a while.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Rikk brings a portable holoCom viewer and shows me the security tapes of my fight with Rebecca. Even at slow speed, it’s hard to see what ha
ppens. I see her lunge; I see me cut her in half. Then I sit and wait for her to crawl across the compartment. I see the saber vanish then reappear. I see her bounce her skull off my helmet. And I just sit there. While I sit there, both of her hands pound me. She has to stop and reorient herself a few times. All I do is sit there as her arms are flailing. Her face is pointed at me but I know that her brain is not transmitting any signals from her eyes to her arms. Hell, the top half of her head is gone. Could it be a microprocessor in her arm acting on a fading kilobyte of memory about my location? The arm strikes me several times in the head and shoulders. It’s a stealth suit, not strike armor. It’s a wonder my skull and/or collarbones didn’t shatter. We’re both still for about thirty seconds then the outer door opens. I see people, two in APE, one in armor, everyone else in work clothes run in and start grabbing at me. Those that are unprotected don’t stay long. I see them turn and run, holding their faces. I know how hard they are working to breathe. The armored person picks me up—roughly—and carries me out.

  “Who is that?” I ask Rikk.

  “I honestly don’t know,” he says. Not what I expected to hear. “Nobody will say and transponders were not on.”

  “They may not know. Coming out of possession may have left them disoriented.”

  “I’ve been in that predicament,” he says. “They aren’t that disoriented. The only conclusion is it was all of them.”