Vengeful Dawn

by Richard Patton

  “What about guns?” Sanjay asked, holding up his own. The rifle was covered from the tip of the barrel to the breach with an intricate array of mesh and shocks.

  “Only if you have one of those silencers,” Ethan answered. “Older suppressors won’t cut it. As far as the Naldím know, we’re still in our barracks, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “Except for how, you know, all the guns and comms are missing,” Rick added passively.

  “I’m hoping they won’t notice until we’re already on the offensive.”

  “Well, that ain’t gonna happen if we keep on standing around talking,” Ford said, hefting a machine gun onto his shoulder. “Let’s move.”

  The group split into two teams. Ethan and Ford led the pilots up to the hangar, while the engineers and a marine escort made their way to the reactor.

  The pilots’ progress was quick, unhindered by the marines’ insistence on corner-clearing protocol and an encouraging lack of Naldím presence in the upper hallways. It was only when they reached the hangar itself were they halted.

  There were fifty meters of open floor between the team and their objective: Ethan’s Naldím fighter. Within those fifty meters, however, lay the problem of nearly a dozen Naldím, all heavily armed. It was a small comfort that they were all absorbed in attempting to access the fighter.

  Ethan looked between the pilots. They all knew what they had to do. “Make it fast,” he ordered. “Don’t fire ‘till you have a good shot.”

  There were no words of acknowledgement. Only shivering nods and quiet grunts. Ford alone seemed unfazed by the impending battle, but then, Ethan supposed, he was the only marine there. Pilots preferred to have fourteen metric tons of titanium alloy and twenty kilometers of open space between them and their target.

  But they charged in anyway. A heated debate between the Naldím barely concealed their heavy footfalls on the bare metal floor, allowing the group to cover most of the distance before they were discovered. All it took was one wayward glance from a Naldím weary of his compatriots’ bickering to pitch the scene into chaos.

  An uneven drumroll of pistol fire blasted through the hangar. Two Naldím toppled. The rest turned and retaliated. Someone went down, screaming as an alien projectile met their flesh. Ethan could not look back to see who it was. He could only keep pushing forward. The dead could wait.

  The bass thrum of Ford’s machine gun underscored the erratic shots of the squad. Scores of bullets lodged themselves in the Naldím’s armor, while precious few found their marks and scattered viscera across the ground. It was effective enough, though; the Naldím slowly succumbed to the ferocity of the attack. The squad lost only one more soldier before, in a blind fury, they obliterated the opposition.

  Ethan’s gun immediately fell to his side, and he sprinted up to the fighter to make sure it was still functional. A wave a relief passed over him as its interior lit up to welcome him in.

  Climbing into the cockpit, Ethan felt a buzzing in his sleeve pocket. He reached in after situating himself and pulled out his comm.

  “What the hell? I told you to keep radio silence!” he said, not bothering to check the name on the call.

  “Oh, excuse me, high-and-mighty,” Jess shot back over the comm. “Just thought you’d want to know they were ready for us!”

  Ethan’s heart dropped past his stomach. “How?” he asked.

  “Probably noticed the missing weapons and scutch, but does that really matter? We need help down here!”

  Ethan waved his arms at Ford, catching his attention. “Get down to the reactor and help the others,” Ethan ordered. “We’ll get the fighters in the air and free Vengeance.” Wordlessly, Ford complied, checking his magazines as he jogged out of the hangar.

  The other pilots were approaching their craft, disconnecting fuel lines and unlatching them from their anchor points. Ethan had far less to do. He locked his brace into the control sphere and the ship sprang to life. It pivoted on a dime at his command, and, now facing the lift, taxied into position. In seconds, he had blown through the flight deck’s shroud and was in free space.

  The comm buzzed again. This time, his pilots were on the other end. Ethan looped the fighter around the shroud, watching for their arrival. “Squadron, what’s taking so long?”

  “We’re pinned down!” a voice replied. Through the chaotic sounds of battle, it was difficult to identify. “Shields already left. Repeat, we have no fire support!”

  Jess’ voice pushed through before Ethan could respond. “Walker, could really use that backup!”

  Ethan looked between the twisted metal of the shroud and the battered hull of the ship. Even in his nimble fighter, it would take at least a minute to maneuver back into the hangar to back up the pilots. The Scotts’ engineering team didn’t have that long, but saving them meant flying to the other end of the ship and lining up a precision shot.

  It was a decision Ethan didn’t want to make. So, he decided he could do both.

  Yanking the control sphere hard to the right, Ethan fell into a dive that brought him level with the engineering deck. He skimmed the armor plating, looking for the small ventilation hatch built into the corner of the reactor chamber – a shaft meant to evacuate the room if the reactor leaked.

  “Jess, get your team out of the main chamber,” Ethan warned, arcing wide to line up his attack run.

  “Copy. Give us… twenty seconds.”

  Ethan counted down as slowly as he could given the fear coursing through his veins. He brought his fighter to a halt a few dozen meters from the vent. The stillness only made him twitchier. He fired with three seconds to go.

  The hatch blew open in a rush of air. At first, it seemed to have done nothing. But sure enough, a moment later a Naldím was sucked through the gap, then another, and another. Ethan saw no humans among them. Content with his comrades’ safety, he pivoted the fighter and shot back toward the hangar.

  The comm was silent. Slowing as he reached the shroud, Ethan tried again and again to contact his team. They’re jamming us, he thought, soothing himself with the idea. He sidled through the open elevator shaft and swung haphazardly into the hangar, ready to save his squadron.

  There was no one left to save.

  Charred bone and burning flesh were all that was left of Ethan’s friends. Naldím patrolled the area, treading through the corpses like dirt. He could taste bile building in the back of his throat, and he vomited over the controls.

  The next few moments passed in a daze. He was vaguely aware of the Naldím forcing his craft to the ground and extricating him from the cockpit. He barely felt their rough claws tearing through his flight suit as they shoved him into the elevator. They led him through the halls, though not toward the barracks. Idly, without fear or hope, he wondered if Rick and Jess and Ford had made it back.

  As he slipped in and out of lucidity, Ethan realized he was being escorted to the bridge. It didn’t look much like he had last seen it. Alien devices were choking the life out of the consoles. A bizarre array of ornaments adorned the captain’s chair. In the corner, out of the light, was an upright gurney. Strapped to it was Captain Briggs, nigh unrecognizable through the bruises and blood.

  Ethan tried to speak to him, ask if he was alright, but nothing came out. The rancid taste of sick still burned in his mouth.

  The Naldím shoved Ethan into the opposite corner, spitting something in their tongue that he supposed was a command to sit and be silent. He didn’t have the energy to refuse. Briefly blacking out again, Ethan found himself face to face with a third Naldím, decidedly more decorated than the others, and commanding a rudimentary understanding of Common.

  “Your name,” the Naldím hissed. His breath smelled strongly of copper. When Ethan failed to answer, he repeated the question, louder and closer. Ethan could see hundreds of teeth grinding within his gills.

  “Lieutenant Ethan Walker,” he responded, gaining strength with each syllable. “Imperial Navy serial code four two six six-”


  The Naldím stood, cutting him off with a wave of his hand. “Ethan Walker reiki kanen pro Nossali,” he shot at the others. “Rot thaki n’shalan thar’kolos.” Ethan only caught the last word: fighter craft. One of the terms he and Thar’o had taught each other and bonded over. It didn’t sound half as pleasant coming from Thar’o’s kin.

  The guards glanced at each other. One of them tilted his head. The first Naldím turned back to Ethan, kneeling again and lightly flaring his gills. “You and ship,” he started, immediately missing a beat. Were he not in shock, Ethan would have laughed as the Naldím struggled to find the Common words to suit his purpose. “You and ship are example,” his captor repeated. “Example that there is no hope. You and ship will be paraded like hunting trophy. All will see. There is no hope.”

  Whipping around so fast that his braided iron hair cut a gash in Ethan’s cheek, the Naldím made for the door. “Tanen!” he barked at the others. They followed on his heels off the bridge.

  Briggs stirred under his restraints. “Thought the bloody bastards would never leave,” he grunted. His voice was remarkably strong given his weathered appearance. “That stink on them… something else.”

  Ethan clambered to his feet and hurried over to his captain to free him. Briggs clutched the side of the gurney for support but managed to stay upright.

  “Are you alright?” Ethan whispered, not able to tear his gaze away from the brutal latticework of cuts and scars across Briggs’ face.

  “I’m alive,” Briggs chuckled humorlessly. He threw himself down in the adorned captain’s chair and motioned for Ethan to take a seat as well. “Completely out of the loop, though. What’s the word downstairs?”

  “We tried to escape,” Ethan started. He paused, wondering again what had become of Ford and the others. “Something went wrong. They knew we were coming, and it got most of Diamond and Raptor killed.”

  Ethan imagined Briggs reacting in numerous ways, but laughing wasn’t one of them. It was a tired and dry laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. After a moment he settled down, coughing slightly on the remaining viscera in his throat.

  “What?” Ethan spat.

  “If you’re going to get all bent out of shape every time someone dies, you should’ve stayed on Mars.”

  The Debt

  Subdermal Suit Layers:

  - Refactor of Kinetic Dampening Gel formula

  - Improved reaction time and dispersion in Thermal Conductor Mesh

  - Adrenal Injector sensitivity scaled back

  Excerpt, Chameleon Adaptive Armor Mk XIV Upgrade Log

  The Phantom was designed to be pilotable by one person if the need arose, but as Rebecca was quickly discovering, the engineers who built the ship hadn’t actually expected the need to arise. Between powering weapons and shields for the inevitable resistance she would face approaching Vengeance, and preparing the ship to exit compression, even her enhanced abilities were being stretched to the limit. It only occurred to her as the Phantom dropped into normal space that Cam might have been of some help, but between his tenuous bond with her and her own desire to remain in complete control, Rebecca supposed it was for the best that she work solo.

  A strange feeling overcame Rebecca as the Vengeance burst into view, one she had not felt since she had reunited with Sloane after the events on Dawn Six. Nostalgia was her best guess.

  With no more regard for stealth, the Phantom shot toward the derelict battleship. There was nothing else in the area save a cloud of debris, so, with her focus unwavering from the ship ahead, Rebecca brought the Phantom in to dock.

  The airlock snapped open and Rebecca darted inside, armed to the teeth with every advanced weapon the Phantom stocked. She immediately took cover in the foyer, ready and fully expecting a battalion of Naldím to come crashing down on her. But the Vengeance was a ghost ship.

  The further inward she travelled, the more confident she became that there was no one on board. Clearly something had happened – the scorch marks and bullet holes that dotted the halls spoke for themselves – but it seemed strange that the Naldím would capture the Vengeance just to leave it abandoned in deep space.

  Rebecca reached the bridge unopposed. Immediately her parietal node was triggered, alerting her to an attacker inbound on the left. She deftly dodged the blow, drew her blade, ridded her opponent of his weapon, and pinned him against the wall. The point of her knife came within nanometers of piercing his flesh when she stopped herself, realizing who it was.

  “Ethan?”

  Ethan squinted at her through the darkness. “Who the hell are you?”

  Rebecca shed her helmet and sheathed her knife. “How many Wraiths do you know?” she asked incredulously.

  Ethan slid down the wall to the floor. He ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, thank Hawking,” he breathed. After a second of utter silence, he began to laugh, and Rebecca, suddenly unable to control herself, joined him. She collapsed by his side, still chuckling – though not as strongly as him – and wiped away a small tear.

  “Huh,” she said, cutting herself off. “Haven’t done that in a long time.”

  Ethan rolled onto his shoulder to look at her. “You should do it more often.”

  Something stirred across the room. Rebecca had already leveled her rifle when she heard Briggs’ voice. “Don’t listen to that wanker. Last time I laughed he nearly killed me.”

  Ethan quickly sobered. “That wasn’t something to laugh about. Captain.” There was a surprising amount of malice loaded into the last word. He turned back to Rebecca, struggling to his feet.

  “How did you find us? How did you even know we were captured?”

  “Long story I can tell you later. How many of you are left?”

  “Couple hundred at most. Everyone else is in the barracks.”

  “Naldím?”

  “Not many, but I think there are more on their ship.”

  Rebecca’s stomach twisted in a knot. “What ship?”

  “The one that’s docked with us,” Ethan replied quizzically. “You didn’t see it on your approach?”

  “Get to the port airlock on deck thirteen,” Rebecca ordered. “Use my ship to blast theirs off the hull. I’ll clear Vengeance and get the crew on station.”

  Clearly holding back a flood of questions, Ethan motioned for Rebecca to lead the way off the bridge.

  “Where do you want me?” Briggs asked, clambering out of the shadows.

  “You’re in no state to fight,” Rebecca countered. “Do what you can to get the ship ready to fly. Expect crew in…” she ran the numbers, “forty-seven minutes.”

  Briggs shrugged and set about inspecting the consoles infested with Naldím technology.

  Rebecca looked back to Ethan. “When we get out of this, we need to talk.”

  Ethan arched an eyebrow. “Okay,” he said slowly. It was enough for Rebecca. She stepped off the bridge and into the elevator, rifle at the ready.

  They split up on deck thirteen, Ethan bound for the airlock while Rebecca headed along the ship’s spine towards the main barracks. The fore section of the ship offered her no resistance; as most of it was used to store ammunition, there was no purpose for Naldím presence. When she reached the aft cutoff, however, it was a different story.

  The fighting had clearly not been as heavy here as it had near the breach points, but a handful of Naldím corpses were still strewn across the hall. Most of their wounds looked to be inflicted with blades and blunt objects. No doubt, Rebecca supposed, an ill-conceived escape attempt.

  Rebecca was brought to a halt in the mess. Though muffled, she could make out the distinct hiss of Naldím leg amps emanating from the kitchen. She approached the door cautiously, chancing only the slightest glance through the porthole at the workspace beyond. She had barely registered the fierce green eyes staring back at her when the Naldím kicked open the door and sent her flying into the nearest table. Instinctively she fired, only letting off two shots before the Naldím was on top of her.

&
nbsp; The table warped under their combined weight, launching half-eaten trays of food into the air. They struggled for a brief second before Rebecca slid out from under the Naldím, kicking hard at his hydraulics. The ensuing jet of steam gave her the miniscule window she needed to connect her fist with his face. As strong as she was, however, the Naldím was stronger.

  He caught her follow-up strike in his clawed hand and hurled her bodily through the kitchen door. Scrambling to her feet, Rebecca snatched a cleaver off the counter with one hand and drew her karambit with the other. The Naldím charged, his protective coating easily deflecting both weapons and turning her attack on its head. In seconds, the cleaver was in his hands and swinging quickly toward Rebecca’s neck.

  Ducking and weaving around his strikes, Rebecca finally found an opening in which to force his blade into a cabinet. She struck under his arm, sending a deafening crack ricocheting through the room.

  Rebecca danced backwards towards her knife as the Naldím wildly lashed out at her. Within seconds he had dislodged the cleaver and was charging again. She acted faster. Tearing a trio of pipes loose from the wall, Rebecca retreated back through the door, jamming it shut with her foot and leaning against it as the Naldím tried to hack through. She counted down the seconds, watching the gas leak into the room over her opponent’s shoulder. When she was satisfied the room had reached saturation, she tapped into the stove control and set the burners to full.

  The Naldím didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late. A massive fireball expanded across the kitchen, slamming him into the door and enveloping him. He offered one last, half-hearted strike at the glass before crumpling in a heap, flesh sizzling.

  There was no doubt other Naldím on the ship had heard the noise. Rebecca scooped up her rifle and resumed her trek at a sprint. Nearing the barracks, she could just make out the heavy footsteps and guttural barks of Naldím on the prowl. She stepped inside before they could spot her.

  Nearly half the bunks were uninhabited, and the others bore severely wounded and weathered crew. “I need a ranking officer,” Rebecca said, not bothering to introduce herself. Slowly, one of the crewmen – a sergeant, by her stripes – stood.