by Richard Fox
“Damn thing’s like a croc,” she said, “and we’ve got it wounded and cornered.”
“Sir,” Torni said, “you see this?” Hale turned around and found Torni poking through the door control panel. A half-dozen mutilated crewmen lay dead along the bulkhead near her. Torni knelt next to a dark skinned crewman and opened his hand, revealing a circuit board.
“That’s Master Chief Hutchinson,” Torni said. “He must have tripped the emergency locks. Trapped that thing in here.”
“That was a good idea, how?” Standish asked.
Torni reached up and closed the dead sailor’s eyes. “It must have got in before they could secure the doors. The gunnery team were as good as dead. He locked himself in with it to keep it from going anywhere else.”
“We’ll give him the respect he’s earned once this thing’s dead,” Hale said. “When we’re down there, don’t shoot the omnium reactor.” Hale emphasized the last words.
“Knew we should have kept that thing on the flight deck,” Bailey said. “But MacDougall and Lafayette’s precious little toy just had to go someplace designed to withstand a battle.”
“Flash bangs now, complaining later,” Hale said. “Combat circle the whole way down, call it out when you see the target.” The lieutenant took a flash-bang grenade from his belt, designed to overwhelm an enemy with enough noise and light to shatter human eardrums and temporarily blind whoever was unfortunate enough to get a good look at the explosion. Hale pulled the pin and tossed it down the shaft; his four Marines followed suit.
Hale turned away and tucked his face into the crook of his arm. The deck rumbled as a ripple of nonlethal explosions boomed. He stepped into the opening the banshee made and fell. The walls blurred past as he worked the anti-grav linings along the soles of his boots to keep his descent under control. The linings flared as he neared the deck, but he still hit hard enough to jar his bones from his feet to his skull.
Marines and Steuben landed in a circle, their weapons humming with energy. The flash bangs had scorched the ground around them, and there was no sign of the banshee.
Hale looked around and saw pallets of gauss ammunition for rifles and every caliber of weapon on the ship. Large containers for the three foot long rail cannon munitions took up nearly half the armory and were evenly spaced like trees in an orchard. The containers were taller than Steuben, and the banshee.
Against the far bulkhead, a purpose-built container housed the omnium reactor.
“I don’t see it,” Torni said.
“Negative here,” Orozco said.
“Who wants to go wandering around the maze of ammo cans?” Standish asked. “Hey Mr. Monster…come out and play.”
Steuben slid his helmet’s visor up to the top of his head and breathed deeply. “I smell it,” he said. He pointed his rifle toward the reactor.
“Keep a 360. Don’t let it sneak up on us,” Hale said.
Steuben led them through the forest of containers—some open and bare, most locked shut. Droplets of gray blood left a trail down a row, joined by a smear every few feet. Steuben raised a fist to signal a halt.
Steuben’s double set of nostrils flared. “Something’s not right. The trail continues but—”
A container’s doors burst open and slammed Steuben off his feet. The Karigole flew into Orozco and the two went down in a heap of limbs.
The banshee stepped out of the container and swiped at Hale. He brought his arms up and managed to block the worst of the blow that hit him like a mule’s kick. He had a brief sensation of flying before impacting against the graphene-reinforced steel of a container.
White flashed across his eyes as he fell to the deck. He tried to get up, his vision swimming as his arms and legs seemed to want to do anything but what he needed. The flash of gauss rifles brought him back into focus. His Marines were fighting and they needed him.
The banshee had its back to him, one claw wrapped around Standish’s neck, hoisting him into the air. Standish drew a pistol from a holster on the small of his back and unloaded on the banshee’s face. The creature roared in pain and tried to turn away from the assault.
Hale got to his feet and ran at the monster. He twisted his wrist twice and his bayonet snapped out of his gauntlet. Hale drove the blade into the banshee’s armored back. It roared and dropped Standish, swinging its arm around with enough force to turn Hale into pulp.
He ducked under the strike as the blow knocked a dent into a container. The banshee tried to whirl around to get at the bayonet still embedded in its flesh and took Hale around with it.
Hale propped his feet against the banshee’s back and fired his anti-grav linings. The blade broke free and took a bloody chunk of flesh with it as Hale propelled away from the beast. It fell to its knees, pawing at the gaping wound on its back.
Hale skidded across the deck and got back to his feet.
Torni and Bailey unloaded on the banshee, shot blasts impacting like hammer blows. The banshee struggled to its feet, bleeding from dozens of pellets that pierced its armor. The banshee stumbled against the open container it had used to ambush the Marines. For a split second, Hale had a very bad idea.
“Cease fire!” Hale commanded and ran straight at the reeling banshee. Bailey and Torni complied just as he leapt toward the banshee and triggered his grav linings, accelerating him like a missile. Hale’s shoulder slammed into the banshee and knocked it into the container, his momentum carrying him with the monster. He fell against the floor and looked up to see the banshee’s glowing yellow eyes staring at him from the rear of the container. It snarled, then shook its head as it screeched, sending bloody spittle into the air.
Hale felt a grip on his ankle and he was yanked out of the container. He rolled across the floor and saw the container doors slammed shut. Steuben braced himself against the doors as Torni and Bailey slapped their hands against the locks and pneumatic bolts slid home, trapping the banshee within.
The doors shuddered as the banshee rammed into it, but they held. It punched against the walls, leaving rounded dents with each blow.
“Torni, we good?” Hale asked as he got to his feet, his bones aching.
“Cuts and bruises, nothing serious,” she said.
“Nothing serious?” Standish wheezed from the side of the container, his helmet off and an ugly ring of bruises blooming around his neck. Yarrow, at his side, rolled his eyes and pressed a finger against the side of Standish’s neck.
“Ow!” Standish slapped Yarrow’s hand away.
“He’s fine, sir,” the medic said.
Orozco handed Hale back his gauss rifle. “Sir, that was either the dumbest or the bravest thing you’ve done in weeks.”
The banshee roared within its new cage.
“Think it’ll hold?” Torni asked.
“All ammo pods are designed to hold explosive munitions. That thing’s strong, but not strong enough to bust out of there … I think,” Hale said. A flurry of blows shook the container.
“What’re we going to do with it? Teach it to play fetch?” Standish asked.
“That’s above my pay grade,” Hale said. He opened a channel to the bridge. “XO, this is Hale. Threat neutralized…and we’ve got a prisoner.”
CHAPTER 3
Durand sent a burst of rounds into an escape pod. Chunks of burning metal blew off the pod and it spiraled into a blazing fireball. She did her best to keep her distance from the pods. Other pilots had reported seeing the same screaming things she had, but none had the same close call.
She checked her gauges: low battery power and a few more seconds of sustained gauss fire left. The atmosphere below was afire with descending pods, all out of her reach. If all the pods were full of those monsters, where were they going?
“Squadron, this is Gall, give me an ammo and fuel count,” she said. “This turkey shoot can’t last forever.” Her remaining pilots called in with long pauses for each of those killed in action before the next in sequence reported.
They
were halfway through when the Breitenfeld interrupted.
“Gall, this is Valdar. We’re showing clear skies around the Dotok ship, confirm?”
“Only thing I see is debris from enemy ships. Low orbit will be a bitch to deal with until all this junk clears out,” she said. She banked her Eagle to the side and got a better look at the Dotok carrier. The Dotok fighters—she could make out at least eight—hovered around the carrier like a pack of guard dogs. Tiny geysers vented precious atmosphere from a dozen hull breaches. A spray of ice crystals trailed the ship like a comet’s tail.
“Breit, she’s hurt bad, suggest you prep the flight deck for a mass casualty intake,” Durand said.
“We’re trying to reestablish comms with them now. We know they’ve got fighter craft. Did you see them in action? I don’t know if they’re going to be a help or a burden when the next fight comes to us,” Valdar said.
“Negative, they stuck close to their ship the whole time. Wait…” a glint in space caught her attention—another escape pod, this one drifting in orbit. “I’ve got another bogie in sight. Permission to rearm and refuel once this target is destroyed.”
“Granted. We’ll have the pit crews waiting.” Valdar closed the channel.
“Glue, I’m going for a pod. Herd our cats back to the ship for a hot swap. I’ll catch up,” Durand said. Glue keyed her mike twice to acknowledge. Durand changed course and set her sights on the pod, another fat teardrop of beige metal.
With the battle nearly over, Durand felt fatigue creep into her body. Adrenaline was an amazing thing in combat, but its high came with deeper and deeper lows after every contest. The dreams about what she’d seen on the Toth ship—tanks bearing disembodied nervous systems and wire probes that promised to violate her mind before ending her life—had plagued her since the mission to Anthalas. She could ask the medics for pills to help her sleep, but anything that might dull her senses was a hazard to her and the pilots that depended on her leadership.
She shifted against her seat and felt sweat trickle down the back of her flight suit. She pressed her finger against the trigger and readied to destroy the life pod. All too easy.
White-hot bullets streaked past her cockpit. Durand banked hard, her heart pounding as she gunned her thrusters. Sitting around looking for an unseen attacker was a sure way to end up as an expanding field of debris.
A Dotok fighter flew across her bow, close enough to make out stenciled letters on its hull and see the pilot. The stubby fighter executed a picture-perfect Immelmann turn and flew toward the escape pod. It maneuvered parallel to the life pod; tiny adjustments with the Dotok’s maneuver thrusters brought the fighter’s spin to match the life pod’s.
“OK, I can take a hint,” Durand said. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. How had she been so sloppy to let any fighter sneak up on her? She flew back toward her waiting squadron.
A minute later, the same Dotok fighter came up alongside her. The pilot waved to her, then pointed back at the life pod. The pilot raised a fist, then let it fall onto his palm and raised both hands together. He repeated the gesture several times before realization dawned on her.
“Help, they need help,” Durand said. She nodded and flashed a thumbs-up to the Dotok, who reared back in his seat, seemingly surprised.
Did I just offend him? Probably. We’ll work out the finer points of their body language later, she thought.
Durand opened the search and rescue frequency. “Angels, need you to make a pick up, and it’s not what you’re thinking.”
****
Captain Valdar looked over Takeni’s surface from the leading edge of his bridge. Long trails of snow blew from impossibly high mountains that peaked above the troposphere, its highest points exposed to near vacuum. The mountain range ran from north to south, connected to a plain of irregular peaks on one side of it and a vast tract of desert and high mesas on the other. A canyon slowly came into view from the east.
“Remind you of Mars?” Ensign Erdahl, the communications officer asked the officer sitting in a work pod to his left.
“I was thinking that,” Lieutenant Neely said. “It just doesn’t seem right. See that line of mountains to the north? They’re running parallel to those monsters above the death line. We don’t see that on Earth. Plate tectonics drove up our mountains. What happened here…it reminds me of Miranda, Uranus’ moon. The surface of Miranda looks like a broken mirror. Ibarra’s rovers sent back a tranche of data a few years back. Everything fit the old theories that Miranda was broken apart billions of years ago then reknit itself.”
“So this is some kind of Franken-planet?” Erdahl asked.
“That’s my guess. Wouldn’t it be incredible to stay and study this place for a few years? Instead we’ll be ducking drones until whatever the skipper has planned.”
“Evacuation,” Valdar said.
The two junior officers jerked like an electrical charge shot through their seats. “We’re getting them all out.”
“Captain,” Erdahl said, “we’ve got the translation protocols worked out and the…Burning Blade is hailing us. Want it on the main screen?”
“Do it.” Valdar double-checked that the bridge was pressurized, then twisted off his helmet. He ran his fingers through his sweaty hair and smoothed out his mustache. “It’ll be nice to talk to another species that isn’t trying to kill us, won’t it?” he asked the two officers who had redoubled their attention on their workstations.
“Chance of a lifetime,” Erdahl said.
“Can I play myself in the movie?” Neely asked.
“That’s the spirit,” Valdar said.
The screen above the windows looking over the planet came to life. The same Dotok from the earlier transmission, now with crude-looking staples pinching the cut on his face together, looked at Valdar. The blunted beak of his lower jaw formed a slight under bite, his eyes looked almost human.
“Captain Valdar, correct?” the Dotok asked.
“That’s right. Are you Admiral Yon’kai?”
“No. She’s dead.” He touched two fingertips to his lips. “So is Captain Then’ol. I am Sub-Commander Ty’ken…ranking officer of all we have left in space.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. When we were on Bastion the Xaros were—”
“Do you have ground troops?” Ty’ken asked. He winced, blood seeping from the cut under his eye. “A force of noorla landed near one of our settlements. I can do nothing for them. Ancient Pa’lon can’t reach them from the capital either, not in time anyway.” A panel behind him erupted in flames. Ty’ken whirled around and hit the flames with a white spray from a chemical extinguisher. He shouted terse commands in his native tongue.
“I have a company of Marines and a few transports. How big is this settlement?” Valdar asked. “Do you need me to send over a damage control party?”
“I’ll send over everything we know,” Ty’ken said. “My engineers assure me the worst is over. Thank you for your offer. My flight deck is still on fire. Can I send my fighters to your ship? They’ve been in the cockpit for a day and a half. They need a rest.”
“So do you, Sub-Commander. Send them over. I’ll make them feel welcome.”
Ty’ken nodded quickly. “Once I’m done putting out fires, I’d like to meet you in person.” The Dotok reached for a button on the side of his screen, then hesitated. “I’m supposed to say something to you. From your ambassador on Bastion, Stacey Ibarra. Cod mittens.” The alien smiled.
Valdar’s brow furrowed.
“Yes. Cod mittens,” Ty’ken said again.
“Sir,” Ensign Geller at the navigation station piped up, “that doesn’t make sense. Cod can’t even wear mittens. They have fins.”
Every head on the bridge slowly swung toward the ensign.
“I will shut up now,” he said.
“Got missives, Captain Valdar?” Ty’ken asked.
“Gott mit uns,” Valdar said.
“Yes, that’s what I said. Do humans normally mix lan
guages in combat situations? Seems overly confusing to me,” Ty’ken said. His screen shook as an explosion rumbled in the distance on his ship. Shouts erupted from an unseen crew and he switched off his screen.
“Bit curt, aren’t they?” Valdar mused.
“I’ve got the information on the settlement, sir,” Ericcson said. “It’ll be a stretch but we can make it.”
“Put it on the board.” Valdar clasped his hands behind his back and walked across his bridge. “Get Durand and Hale up here. This will be their fight.”
****
Lafayette worked a thin screw tip into the base of his cybernetic wrist and made a slight adjustment. His left arm ended with a stump, the hand missing. The machinery whirled around, changing directions several times. He shook his head and picked up a different tool.
His workshop was in the same purpose built container as the omnium reactor. The great machine hummed with energy, thick cables ran from its center to the Shanishol control stations bolted to the floor next to Lafayette, tiny stickers with English script were stuck atop the original language of the last users of the machine, rough translations to the function of each control and lever.
“I can hear you,” Lafayette said.
“How?” Steuben stepped from around a container. “I could sneak up on a fiilka without being noticed. Your ears are much smaller.”
“Well, old friend, I don’t exactly have ears anymore. Do I?” Lafayette tapped the metal that encased his head from beneath his jaw up to the top of his skull.
“The humans taught me a word, ‘cheat’. It means to do something beyond the limits of rules,” Steuben said.
“Well, I didn’t choose this augmentation. I’m hardly the one doing this cheat thing you speak of,” Lafayette pointed his stump to an open box. “Give me a hand, would you?”
Steuben rummaged through the box and took out a hand, dissimilar to the four fingered hand with talon tips that he had.
“Five fingers? You’ve been with these humans for too long. I’ll report you to Kosciusko for treason,” Steuben handed the appendage to Lafayette.