by James Palmer
A small squad of Marines appeared, flanking a pair of medics.
“What happened here?” asked the female medic as she knelt beside Ellison, scanning her vitals with a diagnostic gauntlet.
“Straker,” Led muttered. She retrieved her weapon and went back up the corridor. “Noah,” she said, her cochlear implant chittering as it made the connection. “What the hell was that concussion?”
“Engines just went offline,” said Hamilton. “We suspect a mini-EMP device. Where’s Straker?”
“He escaped after his device went off, but he’s hurt. A broken arm, probably a few broken ribs. He won’t be hard to track.” Leda flexed her right arm, pleased that it had returned to normal.
“We’ve got bigger problems,” said Hamilton. “The Ix are here in system.”
“I know. Straker said he called them here.”
“Terrific.”
“I’m on my way,” said Leda, breaking into a run.
Chapter Thirty:
Intellects Vast and Cool and Unsympathetic
Approximately one hundred Ix ships filled the viewer and the hologram of the system Hamilton and his ragtag fleet occupied. Was it possible that there were more of the enemy ships than when they first entered human space? Hamilton wasn’t sure, but he knew he didn’t like the odds.
Commander Leda Niles rushed onto the command deck, panting, a sheen of sweat on her high forehead.
“Status?” she asked hesitantly.
“Not good,” muttered Hamilton as he paced the deck, hands clasped behind his back.
“They’re coming in hot,” said Gunner Cade. “Firing plasma weaponry, launching craft.”
“Respond in kind,” said Hamilton. “Drizda, we need everything those Archives have.”
“You’ll have it, Captain,” said the Draconi scientist over the tightbeam.
The Archives got off the first volley, their pinnacles glowing white hot before firing off searing beams at the Ix. One of them incinerated a cloud of the Ix’s tiny, razor-winged ships before lancing through one of their larger vessels, slicing it in half before it exploded.
Everyone on the command deck cheered, which Hamilton silenced with a grunt. “We haven’t won yet. Keep it coming. Throw everything we’ve got at them, then use one of the Archives for cover.”
They felt the electric thrum of the railgun as it fired several depleted uranium shells in quick succession. “Engines are offline,” said Hudson. “We can’t move anywhere.”
“We’ll make a great target for the Ix,” Leda murmured. “They’re probably homing-in on Straker like a beacon anyway.”
“Lt. Brackett,” Hamilton snapped. “Send Admiral Lang a message. Send him our coordinates, and tell him we are engaged with the Ix.”
“Aye, sir,” said the communications officer.
“And get our engines working!” Hamilton wished he had more ships at his disposal. The few Draconi vessels under his command were being rapidly picked off in the melee, and the Wanderers had left the system as soon as they handed over Straker, which had probably been part of the madman’s plan all along. Hamilton hoped Admiral Lang arrived soon. If Hamilton wasn’t still being punished.
He watched, amazed, as the three Archives made short work of the Ix fleet, two similarly matched technologies going toe to toe. The Archives’ energy weapons pierced the darkness, and one Ix vessel after another disappeared in brief blossoms of white hot light. Hamilton reasoned that, if they could bring every Archive under their control, they could wipe out the Ix within a standard month. Until he witnessed the Ix counterattack.
The razor-winged ships were fast, spinning like drill bits when they slammed into Archive C, the myriad of tiny craft burrowing into the ancient structure’s thick hide like self-propelled drill bits. Hamilton watched as one by one these ships rammed themselves into the skin of the Archive, seemingly with no effect. Then one by one they exploded, becoming bright dots before disappearing, leaving large, molten holes, the surrounding area reduced to slag.
More razor-wings came, jamming themselves into the holes their kamikaze predecessors had made in the Archive’s tough hide, themselves exploding. One wave after another, until the Archive began listing to one side, flashes of light emitting from the numerous holes punctured in its vast bulk. Its apex flared white hot, then winked out, then the whole structure disappeared in a brilliant bloom of white light.
Hamilton shielded his eyes from the viewer. “Capacitors to full. Watch for debris.”
“We’ve lost Archive C,” said Drizda’s voice over the tightbeam. “Sigma Prime is screaming. She lost part of herself when it went up.”
“Understood,” said Hamilton.
“These Ix are highly adaptable,” said Leda. “Any weapon, any tactic, they can come up with a strategy to defeat it.”
Hamilton nodded. “They’re smart all right. Which just means we’ll have to be smarter.”
“Those razor things are small and fast,” said Cade. “Hard to see and detect. It’ll be impossible to get all of them.”
“Do the best you can,” said Hamilton. “If we lose those other two Archives we’re toast.”
Several points of light stabbed out from the tip of Archive A then, destroying two or three Ix vessels, though the beam’s intensity was markedly reduced.
“Somebody’s angry,” said Gunner Cade.
“Cut the commentary and press the attack,” Hamilton snapped.
The Zelazny fired off another volley of depleted uranium shells, along with a stream of charged particles from the ion guns. Archive B suddenly surged forward, covering the short distance between the two fleets with surprising swiftness, drawing Ix fire. Its apex throbbed with energy, sending thick beams of white hot light into the dense cloud of Ix vessels, hitting a few. A hail of their razor-winged ships bombarded the giant alien pyramid, cutting into its thick armor plate like shrapnel and exploding, just as it had done to Archive B. The structure attempted to protect itself, sending out a wide, searing beam that decimated a second wave of ships, but more came, attacking every side and angle, even slamming into the vast pyramid from below.
“They can keep this up forever,” said Leda. “Sigma Prime can’t.”
“If only they had our shield capacitors,” Gunner Cade murmured.
“What?” said Hamilton. “Wait. That’s brilliant. Transmit our capacitor specs to Archive A.”
“Sir?” said Cade, turning in his seat.
“Yeah, I know there’s a regulation against sharing technology with other species,” said Hamilton. “You can court martial me later. Just do it.”
“Data sent,” said Lt. Brackett a moment later.
“Drizda,” said Hamilton. “Did you get our transmission?”
“Yes,” said the scientist. “Looking over the data now.”
“Can it be done?”
“Sigma Prime thinks so. She’s growing the tech the Archive needs to generate a strong electric field now.”
“Growing?” said Leda.
“Terrific. We’ll try to keep them off of you until the modifications are complete. Hamilton out.”
They watched, helplessly, as the second Archive was blown apart, turning white hot for a few nanoseconds as its impervious hide puckered and turned to slag. Then Archive C was no more.
“Captain,” said Lt. Brackett. “I’m receiving a signal. It’s coming from Deck C of the Zelazny.”
“Signal?” said Hamilton. “What kind of signal?”
“The unauthorized kind,” said Leda. “Straker.”
“It’s a homing signal,” said Brackett.
“Looks like the Ix have picked up on it,” said Hudson. “We’ve got a swarm of those razor-wings vectoring in on our position.”
“Gunner Cade,” said Hamilton. “Blast as many of them as you can to slag. Brackett, get a squad of Marines to the location of that homing signal. Tell them shoot to kill.”
“Yes sir,” said the communications officer.
The ship shook vio
lently, rocking Hamilton almost to his knees.
“What the hell was that?”
“Multiple impacts,” said Lt. Brackett. “We’ve got hull breaches on Decks D, F, G—”
“All right,” Hamilton barked. “I want Marines in all those sections. I want to know if these are the kind that explode, or the kind that show up uninvited.”
Hamilton and Leda watched, relieved, as the only remaining Archive—Drizda’s Archive—crackled with blue fire as it was enveloped in electrical energy.
“They did it,” said Leda. “They’ve energized the hull.”
“At least something’s going right,” said Hamilton. “Brackett, where the hell are my Marines?”
“Converging on the location now, sir,” said the communications officer.
Hamilton’s cochlear implant chimed, keyed to the common circuit. He heard the frantic voices of the ship’s compliment of Marines as they moved through smoke and rent metal near the spot where one of the Ix’s razor-winged craft had burrowed itself into the ship.
“There it is.”
“It’s opening. Look!”
“Watch out, Collins!”
“Holy—”
The crackle of weapons fire buzzed loudly in Hamilton’s head, until he mentally killed the feed. He slammed a button on his command chair, and a warning klaxon blared to life. “Prepare to repel boarders,” he said over the common circuit. He pulled his needle pistol from its holster, made sure it was primed, returned it to his belt.
Leda looked up at Hamilton. “Straker said the reason there are no bodies left behind by the Ix is because they can take them over somehow, turn humans into more Ix warriors. What if he’s right?”
Hamilton nodded grimly. “Our task is still the same, kill them before they can kill us, or worse.”
Chapter Thirty-One:
The Cure
Straker squeezed the trigger on his stolen flechette gun, sending a cloud of metal needles into the edge of a bulkhead, shredding a small section of titanium plate and making a triad of Marines think twice about continuing their pursuit. His ruined left arm throbbed, the painkillers his failing exoskeleton pumped him with having worn off long ago. He checked his weapon’s load. Once it was empty, he would have to find another, for he couldn’t reload one-handed.
“Come to me,” he murmured into the smoke and darkness. “Come to me, my saviors.”
He could feel them now, making their way toward him with insectile grace. He had faith he would be brought face to face with them soon. Their Communion would be glorious. They sang their holy and terrible name in his head, like a cacophony of crickets beating in time to his racing heart.
Soon.
All he had to do was stay alive until then. He leaned out into the corridor again with a loud whine as his servos complained. He wondered if he was strong enough yet to jettison the now clumsy, almost useless apparatus. He had already detached the upper body assembly and left it stuffed inside a maintenance hatch.
Straker stuffed his pistol into the unzipped top of his jumpsuit and, grabbing a piece of metal conduit he had found nearby, pushed himself to his feet, wincing as two of his ribs ground together painfully. He coughed then, spouting more dark blood.
I’m dead if they don’t come for me soon, he thought. Either the Marines would kill him, or he would die from his wounds. Neither of these were acceptable outcomes.
He had tried to remain in one place so the Ix could pinpoint his location more easily, but with everyone on the ship having received orders to kill him, this made that strategy more difficult. He heard shouting up head, Marines barking orders to one another through the smoke that filled the corridor from one of his strategically placed pocket incendiaries. He touched a control stud on his belt, powering down the remains of his exoskeleton. He felt the artificial gravity of the ship exert its force upon his legs. Pulling a pin from the exoskeleton’s left hip, he popped the whole assembly loose, and it crumpled to the deck like a matchstick house. Slowly, carefully, he stepped up and over the nanocarbon struts of the suit and found that he could walk pretty well. It was like wading through oil, but he could move.
Using the narrow length of conduit as a kind of walking staff, Straker moved on up the corridor, away from the angry voices of Marines who no doubt had orders to kill him on sight. If his saviors couldn’t get to him in time, then he would have to go to them.
They were louder now, screaming their intent in his mind, so he knew he was getting closer. He heard with his ears a human voice cry out in pain as one of the Ix warriors doubtlessly snatched him up, subsuming him, making him one with the Ix. Straker smiled, eager to experience that transcendent process for himself. “I’m coming,” he muttered as he loped up the corridor, mindful of not making any movements that would exacerbate his broken ribs.
Straker turned right at the next T junction and found himself face to face with a triumvirate of the Ix. He smiled up at them. They were beautiful. Metallic mouthparts worked as they regarded him with silent detachment.
“I am Colonel Straker,” he said. “I give myself freely to you. I have specialized knowledge of your enemy, their weaknesses. Make me one with you.”
The middle Ix detached itself from in between its fellows and bounded across the distance between them and Straker in one long stride. It reached down with one of its many arms, grabbing the top of Straker’s head and yanking him unceremoniously into the air. Straker found himself just inches from the alien insect’s jewel-like eyes, wincing in pain as his ribs and arms protested at being jerked off the deck in such a fashion.
You do not have to beseech us, sentient, it said in his mind. We are the Ix. We take what we will and destroy the rest. We will give you oblivion if that is our want. But you have called to us across the long dark, and that intrigues us. And precious little intrigues us.
The Ix raised another hand, the fingers flexing with a sound like a dozen tactical knives snapping open at once, and sunk blue-metal finger blades deep into Straker’s chest.
He cried out in pain as the creature’s talons cut effortlessly through soft tissue and ground against his broken ribs. There was a burning sensation in his veins, and Straker looked down at himself to see he was already transformed. His arms became swollen and distended, every vein and capillary beneath the skin outlined in black. His skin puckered and peeled apart, starting at the palms of his hands and moving up his wrists, revealing blood-covered blue metal that was still knitting itself into existence. The Ix, the rational part of Straker’s mind knew, was rewriting his DNA somehow, turning him into one of them. But it hurt so much!
Straker screamed, a skull-splitting scream that could doubtless be heard for a thousand kilometers up the length of the ship. The transformation moved up the length of his body, replacing his tissue with theirs. There was a series of loud pops as joints and tendons were rewritten, extra appendages growing and tearing through the fabric of his jumpsuit.
The Ix dropped him to the deck to complete his transformation. He stumbled, finding legs underneath him that weren’t there before. He felt the bones of his skull rearrange themselves, his jaw growing too large for his face, the skin on his head splitting open and hands that were not his hands tearing it away.
The thing that had once been Straker looked up at the Ix. Something was wrong. They didn’t look quite right. Through his right eye he could see the Ix in all their glory, giving off infrared. He saw the power conduits of the ship running behind the walls, could see electrons dance in a static-filled haze all around them. Through his left eye he saw them just as he had previously, and they regarded him with what he could only guess was revulsion.
Reaching up, the Straker-thing touched the left side of his face, and his manipulator appendage recoiled at the soft, warm flesh that still resided there.
“Noooo!” the Straker-thing screamed with its still all too human vocal cords. The Ix recoiled from it as if afraid. They consulted one another quickly, then raised their weapons, the closest one blasti
ng him with blue fire.
He slid backward on his clumsy appendages, recoiling from the heat and managing to duck under the blast “Stop,” it said. “I am one of you.”
The Ix fired again, melting a hole in the bulkhead where the Straker-thing had once stood. With a great leap the Straker-thing fell upon the Ix warrior, tears in his one remaining human eye. “I am one of you!” he said again, grappling with the Ix. He pushed the Ix’s weapon out of the way and reached toward its narrow throat, scissoring off its head with a snip of its finger blades.
The Straker-thing grabbed the dead Ix’s plasma weapon with one of its hands and, using the decapitated warrior’s body as a kind of shield, pressed the attack against the Ix’s brothers, hurling the body into them before raising the gun and firing a cutting blue beam that lanced the two remaining Ix in half.
The Straker-thing screamed again. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I am one of you. One of the Ix!”
A frantic thought fluttered through his mind. Leda Niles. She was the cause of this. She had to be. She had tainted him with her blood somehow. Perhaps the Swarm probe had inoculated her against becoming Ix. Yes. That had to be it.
Leda Niles would pay for what she had done. She had denied his transcendence.
Hefting the plasma weapon in his hand, the thing that had once been Colonel Straker and was now neither human nor Ix stepped over its would-be brothers and lumbered up the corridor.
Chapter Thirty-Two:
Retreat
“Status report,” said Captain Hamilton.
“Heavy casualties,” said Brackett as she listened to the ship’s tightbeam feed. The number of Ix running through the ship is growing.”
“They’re transforming anyone they come into contact with,” said Leda, “turning them into more Ix. How do we stop something like that?”
“I don’t know,” said Hamilton. “But we’d better think of something, and fast. I’m open to suggestions.”