by Doug Hoffman
“They seem to be coming from all directions,” Jones observed as he and Carter joined Inuksuk in crate demolition.
The Gunny switched to 2nd squad's channel. “Aurora, we have hostiles trying to infiltrate our position inside of crates on the moving roadways. Over.”
“Roger that, Gunny. A bunch of them just tried to ambush us. Unless there are a lot more of them hiding they won't be a problem.”
As the two squad leaders conversed the wall of the central crystal column lit up inside with flashes of orange and yellow. This was followed by a bright, blue-white flash that caused a sheet of crystal to spall off of the column. Beau ducked out of instinct.
“Mon Dieu, what caused that?”
“Something must have exploded inside the wall,” said Jimmy, standing beside Inuksuk.
“Davis, Walker, come in.” the Gunny called. Nothing but silence replied. “Well shit,” she mumbled.
“More prey, on the left,” Inuksuk called out, enjoyment obvious in his voice. He fired again, followed by another detonation down range. Another crate appeared on a connecting ramp on the west side and the Gunny put a burst of 15mm into it. I think we've just been handed a shit sandwich with extra pickles.
“Everybody find a position with a good field of fire. I got a feeling this mess is only just starting...”
Grits & Brains
Grits fell down the hole created by the exploding alien power pack, accompanied by shards of crystalline material from the station itself. Tumbling as he fell, the armored Marine collided with several ledges and rubble blockages on the way down, until he emerged into a smooth rounded tunnel. It also led downward and after a short descent he and a posse of accompanying debris collided with Brains. The British Marine had managed to stop his descent and was clinging tenuously to the side of the tunnel. Both resumed falling.
“Bloody hell! Watch where you're going you wanker.”
“Screw you, you super giant ass! I wasn't the one who blew a hole in the fuckin' roadway.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a sloping grate, which they landed on. Both scrambled to keep from sliding farther down the inclined barrier, rolling onto their stomachs and grasping the perforated surface beneath them. Debris continued to pelt them from above, the larger pieces bouncing off and disappearing down the incline.
“Gunny, Davis, come in. Anyone on this channel?” The comm remained mute. “Are you happy now, mate?”
“You're the genius, Bubba. Tell me what we do now.”
“Inertial tracking says we fell over one-hundred meters. We are beneath the central support for the spire. That's the solid bit that fills the center of the round-a-bout, turning it into a toroid.”
“A what?”
“A bloody doughnut, you clueless hillbilly.”
“Well why didn't you say so? Why do you always have to use fifty cent words instead of talking regular English?”
“I am speaking regular English. How's this for plain talk: I've no clue how we get back to the rest of the squad.”
“I can tell you one thing, we ain't getting out the way we got in. The hole we fell into was already growing shut when I was passing through. That plus I think we are in an air return. ”
It was Davis' turn to be confused. “A what?”
“I used to work on farm equipment, like combine harvesters, and my uncle once took me to the big coal plant outside of Birmingham. In part, both move stuff along pneumatically, be it grain or coal dust. This whole setup looks like an air return.”
“What makes you say that?”
“The station has to recycle the air from its spires somewhere. If you haven't notice, there's a gale blowing down this shaft we fell into and the grate seems to be here to prevent big chunks of garbage from being sucked into the works.”
“So you want to hack a way through the grate?”
“No way, man. Think of how we recycle air onboard the ship.”
“We sterilize it with UV radiation, take out any particulates with electrostatic plates, and then run it through CO2 scrubbers—well, the part that doesn't get sent to the hydroponics section.”
“Right, CO2 is plant food, but I don't think this station has room for enough plants to scrub its atmo, so it must use either chemicals or something else to separate the carbon from the oxygen. So that means what's down there could be a combination of ionizing radiation, high voltage, and other unpleasantness.”
“Great, we can't go up and we can't go down.”
“No, but my ass-cam shows an opening below where the crap that we knocked loose disappeared.”
The Marines' armor depended on cameras to provide a 360 degree holographic view of the outside world because their heads were fully encased in shielding. Along with the panoramic cameras there was a single pickup that provided a shot of what was directly below and behind the wearer. It was a backup camera much like those on cars. Naturally, being Marines, they quickly christened the backup camera the ass-cam.
Checking his rear view, Davis saw what his partner was talking about. “That's a damn small opening, mate. And what's to say there's not a crusher or garbage disposal down there. I lost my recon drone when we fell.”
“Me too. That leaves only one way to find out.”
“Maybe we should toss a grenade down there.”
“Hell, that's how we got into this mess in the first place, you blowing shit up.” With that Walker let go of the grate and slid down the incline to the opening.
“Bloody hell.” Davis let go and slid after his partner.
CIC, Peggy Sue
“Roger, Ice Castle. Understand that both squads are under attack in the hub. Interrogative, is there any activity in the spire itself?”
“That's a negative, Peggy Sue. No activity so far.”
“I copy, Ice Castle. Stand by.” Beth turned to acknowledge her husband's hand gesture. “What, Captain?”
“Just got a call from Lt. Palmer in the pinnace. They are all aboard and headed away from the Karf's spire.”
“What is their ETA back at the ship?”
“As usual, there's a hitch. Let me put them on speaker. Go ahead, Rubber Ducky.”
Bobby's voice came from the comm. “Peggy Sue, we have taken an alien life form aboard. It is part of a single being called the Tcist and it claims to be the entity that runs the Starflake's infrastructure. We rescued it from the grays. Over.”
“I copy, Daffy, you have an alien on board,” Beth responded. “What do you suggest we do with it?”
“The creature needs to be placed back in physical contact with the crystal structure of the station. I suggest we head directly for the shopping mall spire.”
“Roger that. You are cleared to proceed directly to the first spire. Report when you have docked with the station.”
“Copy, Peggy Sue. We are proceeding to the first spire docking area. And tell the XO we are going to have a talk about call signs. Daffy, out.”
Beth snickered.
“What did he mean, Number One? Granted 'Daffy' could be construed as a might insulting but the call signs were all duck names.”
“Huey, Dewey, Louie, and Daisy are all Disney characters, but I felt that Donald was too close to a real name and might be confusing. All that was left was Uncle Scrooge so I used a Warner Brothers character instead—Daffy Duck.”
“And your selection had nothing to do with the connotation of the name?”
“Of course not, Captain. I never gave it a second thought.” She tried but failed to keep the grin off her face. After a moment, both Beth and Billy Ray burst out in laughter, partly because of Bobby's call sign but mostly out of relief that the hostages were back safely.
Chapter 27
Grits & Brains
Brains found himself careening down a smooth chute that weaved back and forth like a drunken snake. After a harrowing minute he popped out of the chute and into a new curved tunnel. Skidding along the bottom of the tunnel he found himself accelerated by friction—the whole tun
nel was moving. He felt himself rising up the curved tunnel wall like a luge rider negotiating a corner, back to the wall and held in place by centrifugal force. Over the comm came a familiar voice.
“Yeeehawwww!”
“That you Grits? Where are you, mate?”
“Ahead of you, Bubba. We're in some kind of centrifuge, probably used to...”
Walker's voice quit in mid sentence. Before Davis had a chance to consider what that meant he reached the top lip of the spinning torus. The supporting wall behind him opened and once again he was free falling.
The interlude of personal weightlessness was rudely interrupted by yet another tunnel wall. The Marine's velocity was redirected and he was again falling deeper into the station core. Illumination from his suit lamps showed nothing but the smooth, blank interior of the pipe as he fell.
The surrounding pipe disappeared and a fraction of a second later Brains plunged into liquid. He collided abruptly with the bottom of the tank, though most of his velocity had been shed by the liquid around him. Righting himself he stood and found that the liquid was about as deep as his suit's shoulder height. Above was a large arched ceiling, across which a number of circular openings were scattered.
“Hey, that you Brains?”
Brains looked about and ten meters away he could see Walker waving at him.
“And just who the hell else would it be, you tosser.”
“You'll see. Shit keeps dropping into the tank from above.”
Reinforcing his partner's point, a mangled body splashed down between them. Small and twisted, in the darkness it could have been a naked child. Brains struggled forward to the impact point only to find the lifeless form of a dead Karf.
“Blood hell! It's one of those gray bastards.”
“Yeah, I was trying to tell you that. Seems we've landed in the station's cesspool—all sorts of dead critters keep falling from the ceiling.”
Well bugger me sideways! Pushing the dead Karf aside Brains moved closer to Grits. “Why are they collecting down here, in this bloody swimming pool?”
“They ain't collecting, Bubba, they are being recycled.” Grits held up the partially dissolved carcase of another Karf with one hand. It broke in two and oozed from his grip, the pieces sliding back into the water. “And that ain't all.”
Before Grits could explain, Brains heard another voice in his helmet, the voice of his suit's computer. “Warning. Caustic environmental conditions detected. To avoid armor damage exit the current environment immediately.”
“You have got to be having me on! We've banged and thumped our way a half a kilometer deep into this crystal shit pile to end up being digested with the bloody aliens our mates are probably killing somewhere above us as we speak?”
“That would be about the size of it. But all is not lost my limey friend.” Grits pointed with one arm farther into the dimly light cavern. “Over yonder there appears to be a catwalk across this open pond of rotting corpses.”
“Well crack on, Yank. The sooner we get out of this acid bath the better.”
The two ungainly armored figures worked their way across the fetid pond. Mostly walking but making swimming motions with their arms to clear the way of floating, half dissolved corpses, they made their way to the thin ribbon of material that spanned the space from one wall of the cavern to the other.
As with most of the ramps and walkways on the station the catwalk had no guardrails. Roughly a meter and a half wide and three meters above the surface of the pond, it was a simple solid slab eight centimeters thick.
“So what do you think, mate? Can we jump up there?”
“Don't know. Even with reduced gravity jumping up out of this liquid 'll be a bitch. Try getting up on my shoulders.”
“Righto.” Brains moved to comply as he accepted a foot lift up from his partner. Things went well until he tried placing a foot on the sloping shoulders of Grits' armor. Brains' foot slipped and he fell backwards into the liquid foulness, one arm reaching forlornly into the air. Large waves rippled outward from the Marine's impact.
“Well that didn't work so well,” Grits said when his partner's head and shoulders reappeared above the surface. “I think I'm just gonna try something, if you don't mind.”
“Be my guest.”
Grits placed himself right under the edge of the catwalk, raised his arms above his head and sank beneath the surface. When only his hands remained above the pond he launched himself upward, exploding from the surface in a spray of droplets and globules of dissolving flesh. Rising like a missile launched from a submarine, he jumped high enough to grasp the edge of the catwalk, and there he hung.
“All right, Bubba! Climb over me to the catwalk!”
“Oh bloody hell,” Brains muttered but he jumped up and grabbed a hold of the other Marine's backpack ammo magazines. Hand over hand he pulled himself up his friends armored form. Finally he got a hand on the catwalk and a knee on top of Grits' helmet. With a final effort Brains pulled himself onto the catwalk.
“Brilliant, mate! I'm clear.”
“Uh, Bubba? Could you give me a hand, my grip is starting to slip.”
Going down on one knee, Davis clasped Walker by the wrists and bodily pulled him onto the catwalk. Together the two armored giants collapsed onto the solid surface.
“If I ever questioned why we are always sent out in pairs I won't anymore,” Brains panted. “And they say it is better to be alone than to be in bad company.”
“Hell, Bubba, a man alone is in bad company. Now lets get out of this open sewer.”
“No argument here. After you, guv.”
The pair of Marines moved toward the closer end of the catwalk in single file, owing to its narrow width. Arriving at the end they found their way blocked by a transparent crystal door.
“Well she-it.”
“What now?”
“Door. No visible controls.”
“Bollocks.” Brains paused a second. “We're Marines, right?”
“Yeah?”
“So remember what you said before you kicked open the closet door in the cosmic condo?”
His partner pondered the question before answering. “We break stuff?”
“No better time than the present, mate.”
Grits grinned as he raised his right arm. “Damn straight, Bubba.”
A torrent of 5mm flechettes poured from the multi-barreled railgun on the Marine's forearm as the crystalline barrier dissolved. The two Marines passed through the shattered doorway and into the corridor beyond.
Shopping Mall
PO Kashimawo “Kashi” Ademola observed the parade of squat yellow creatures. They came from down a dimly lit hallway and passed by without acknowledging his presence, headed toward the open doorway into a nearby room. Though the sailor carried a standard assault railgun he didn't think that shooting the strange aliens was a proper response. Instead he called Chief Jacobs.
“Chief, Ademola. There's something here you should see.”
“What is it, Kashi?”
“You know that yellow repairman that the Marines reported running into? Well I got a whole work detail of them passing by.”
“On my way. And don't shoot them.”
“Aye, aye, Chief.”
While Kashi and the Chief conversed another sailor, Leonard “Beans” Branford, approached from a different hallway. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the procession.
“Kashi, there's a line of yellow trolls marching by in front of you.”
“No shit.” Kashi looked over his shoulder at his shipmate. Inside his bubble helmet Beans' mouth hung agape as he stared at the trooping aliens. “I called the Chief. Wait 'til he gets here and don't do anything stupid.”
From the main hallway came Chief Matt Jacobs, the NCO overseeing their party. Like the rest of the shore party, Matt wore light power armor and carried an assault weapon.
“Well would you look at that? It looks like the alien version of the Seven Dwarfs. They're not singing 'Heigh-ho
! Heigh-ho! It's off to work we go' are they?”
“If they are singing I can't hear it, Chief.”
While Kashi spoke the last of the seven waddling yellow figures passed by and went through the doorway.
“Should we call the Lieutenant?”
“Not yet, let's see what the little yellow buggers are up to first. Kashi you're with me, Beans stay on lookout next to the door so we aren't surprised.”
“Aye, aye, Chief.”
The Chief and Kashi moved through the doorway that the procession of whooboo had disappeared through. It led to a room facing the spire's exterior. Beyond the portal was a large space with a four meter high ceiling and a breathtaking view through its far crystalline wall. The yellow workers—evidently unimpressed by the view—were busily tearing a hole in the floor.
“What the hell are they doing?” asked Jacobs rhetorically.
“Beats me, Chief. Now should we call the Lieutenant?”
“Yeah, Kashi. Now it's time to call the Lieutenant.”
* * * * *
Five minutes later JT showed up, looking harried and distracted. He already had his hands full coordinating the two engagements the Marines were involved in. This added distraction was not welcome at all. Moving up to stand next to Jacobs he just stared at the industrious yellow trolls.
“What the hell are they doing?”
“That's what I asked, LT, and I still haven't got an answer.”
“They seem to be building a conversation pit in the middle of the floor.”
“Or a planter, or a swimming pool.”
“More like a wading pool. It's fairly shallow, even for those little yellow guys.”
Two of the trolls were laying sections of flooring in the newly recessed area, while two others were constructing side walls. Another one had erected a scaffold and was affixing new light panels to the ceiling above the recessed area. Over at the exterior wall two more yellow figures were hunched over doing something indecipherable.
JT shook his head. “I don't know what they're building but they are building it quickly.”
“So what should we do, Sir?”
“Well, Chief. As long as they don't do anything dangerous—like trying to open the room to vacuum—just keep an eye on 'em. I gotta go back to the main plaza, we have a couple of battle-bots coming down to send to the Marines in the hub.”