I’d expected him to call a retreat. I fully expected to be ordered to slither down into the tunnels.
“Down the chute?” I asked hopefully.
He shook his head. “No good. Officers said…it’s no good down there.”
I felt a chill, despite the blistering heat. If the enemy was down in the tunnels—well, this was over. We’d lost the battle.
“I’ve got to shorten up the focus on my projector, McGill,” he said, pausing to gulp air. “You have to help me.”
It took me a second to figure out what he was trying to do. He wanted to dial the tube to a shorter burst range. Up close the belcher would be like a cannon loaded with grapeshot. Turned upon rioters it didn’t do as much damage, but it couldn’t miss and it could hit everything at once.
Then I saw why he needed my help. His right arm wasn’t just injured—it was missing. At some point, one of the monsters had run off with it as a trophy. His suit had automatically sealed the wound so he wouldn’t bleed out, but he wasn’t able to adjust his weapon.
I wriggled close to him and let go of my rifle. I began turning the big circular ring on the outside of the tube. It was hard to move, and I was surprised at the grunting strength I had to apply.
“Hurry up,” Borges said, “they’re running out of food over there.”
I worked harder, and soon it clicked.
“That’s as far as it goes,” I said.
He nodded, moving stiffly and slowly. He was in shock, probably, but still in the game.
“Going to aim high. Can’t kill them on this setting, but I can blind them.”
I liked the idea of that. It sounded like an excellent last-ditch tactic.
We didn’t have to wait long to try it out. As if a signal had been sounded—and perhaps it had—the team milling around Bunker Nine turned as a group and charged our way.
I fired my rifle, having reloaded in the meantime, but it had no noticeable effect. The enemy was soon swarming around us, and Borges got to his feet and let loose. He lifted that heavy tube with one arm, and I was impressed.
“Down, McGill!” he screamed.
I flattened myself in the darkest gouge I could find in the bunker while Borges burned them. He aimed high, just like he said he would, and the monsters were caught in a flare of wide-angled radiation.
They howled and raged, thundering around us in instant confusion. Some fell and thrashed, eyes welded shut. Others went mad, snapping and biting their fellows in their agony.
Borges was howling too—with laughter. He spun around, spraying out heat and pain toward any lizard who dared to come close enough.
The attack broke. They staggered away, tripping and falling. Borges still laughed and coughed, then laughed again.
But suddenly, he stiffened. I saw it in his eyes, even before I registered the spray of pellets that had ripped through his body. He’d been standing all this time, exposed. At least ten rounds had torn through his body and come out the far side. They’d finally taken him down.
He fell with his eyes open in disbelief, but a grin was still frozen on his face.
I realized I was alone. Everyone else was dead.
So much for being a bad grow, I thought to myself. I’ve outlived them all.
-32-
When Borges dropped his weapon, it had rolled out into the open. I grabbed at the tube, snagging the strap and reeling it back into the bunker. I fumbled with it. My snap-rifle was ineffective anyway and almost out of ammo. Borges’ tube was all I had left.
Clamping the tube between my knees, I used both hands to wrench at the focusing dial. It was stiff and would barely move. Something in the mechanism was broken, or the designers hadn’t wanted operators to fool with the range settings unless they really wanted to.
Outside, I could see the lizards milling, taking cover. Some had fled, but I could tell a few were rallying. I couldn’t see any more tails or hear the chatter of human weapons. Only a few places were actively firing, and that was sporadic. I tried to talk to whoever might be in charge, but I didn’t get any response on my com link. That was a very, very bad sign.
I tried not to think about the rest of the cohort. This was about me and the last double-wave of angry reptiles. I told myself that if I killed them all or drove them off, I’d worry about the rest of my unit afterward.
I considered slipping down into the tunnels—but I knew that wasn’t going to work. I’d already seen them down there, flittering by in the dark. They were trotting to and fro probably looking for holdouts and survivors.
No, I didn’t want to die in the trenches. Out here, I had a clear field of fire, and at least I’d meet my end under an open sky. I wasn’t sure if the bio specialists up on Corvus would revive me, anyway. If they got another chance to correct the error many thought my continued existence to be, I figured they might take it.
I cranked on the tube, getting the focusing dial to move, but slowly. I cursed and growled in frustration. Maybe on the world where this damned weapon was made, everyone had three hundred pounds of torque in their hands or claws. I had no idea why it was so hard to move, but I was impressed by the weaponeers that used them. No wonder they were mostly big guys with powerful arms.
I heard the telltale click as it snapped into position at last. Configured for longer range, I immediately employed the tube by heaving it onto my shoulder and sighting in the direction of the surviving juggers. I saw a tail sticking out from behind a broken column, and I depressed the firing stud.
The results shocked me. The tube rocked in my hands. I hadn’t expected recoil. But I knew that the most powerful of lasers and particle beam weapons gave a small kick. Anything that hurled mass and energy out of one end pushed in the opposite direction.
The tail was only scorched, but it was withdrawn quickly. I smiled and went hunting for the sniper who had killed Borges.
He found me first, spraying a shower of bullets my way. I ducked and waited, counting to three. Then I popped up again and sighted quickly.
Just as I’d hoped, the saurian had risen up, coming out of cover to get a better shot. Maybe he’d thought he’d hit me. Whatever the case, I caught him full in the chest with a focused beam of energy. He did a backflip and came down in three smoking pieces.
I was ready for the recoil this time, and I had my arms wrapped around the unwieldy tube. The weapon felt like it wasn’t built for humans to operate, and I understood that more clearly every time I tried to use it.
Once I had control of the tube again, I looked up and my jaw dropped. A shape loomed over me. A jugger had come up out of nowhere—probably from behind me while I was firing toward the sniper.
I knew right off I was screwed. I was lying in a shallow scratch in the pockmarked courtyard, totally exposed to the teeth of the giant that closed in for the kill. Compounding my sense of shock and dismay, I saw that this jugger was special—the ridged scar on his belly was unmistakable. This was my mystery lizard, back to fight me once again.
My first instinct was to attempt to wriggle down a hole. I got my boots in—but I could tell right away I wasn’t moving fast enough.
I lifted the heavy tube and interposed it between me and the jugger. This didn’t impress him. He lunged and those huge jaws came down. I saw the wet flesh inside. The mouth was so huge! I was about to be swallowed.
But the jugger’s snapping jaws came up short. The tube had hit the back of his throat. Instinctively, he shut those massive jaws. My hands were almost chomped along with the tube.
I had no idea what the tube was made of, but it didn’t buckle. It didn’t even dent. Instead, a dozen four-inch fangs snapped and blood gushed over me—the jugger’s blood.
My fingers sought the firing stud, but I couldn’t find it. I realized in horror that the trigger mechanism was inside the jugger’s mouth, enclosed with countless snaggled teeth. A roar washed over me, and I knew the big lizard wasn’t happy.
Then he jerked up his head and I felt the tube being torn from my hand
s. I scrambled to hold on. It was hard, because there was a hot slurry of spit and blood all over that tube and nothing much to hold onto. But somehow I managed to get one hand wrapped up in the strap and the other hooked on the adjustment knobs.
The jugger reared up, lifting the tube high, and I went with it. I found myself dangling about fifteen feet up and looking down at a beast which was eager to finish its meal.
I knew what was going to happen next, and it did: the jugger opened its mouth. I felt myself sliding into the teeth, following the tube which was two thirds of the way down into that gaping maw.
I only had one split-second chance, and I took it: I reached my hands farther along the tube and touched the firing stud.
Fortunately, the weapon had been primed and charged. At my touch, it shot a gout of energy directly down the throat of the jugger.
He’d gotten more than he’d bargained for, I suspected. Dead on his feet, the monster swayed and toppled. His guts were a steaming mess on the ground.
When he went down, he thrashed for a moment. I found myself pinned under him. Something hit my head, and my helmet dented and the faceplate shattered.
I laid there on my back, under a thousand pounds of shivering reptile. My breath came in ragged gasps. The jugger had stopped breathing altogether.
I tried to move. I tried to free myself, but I couldn’t. My com-link was either broken or there wasn’t anyone listening.
After a period of struggling, I paused and listened.
The battlefield was quiet now. I couldn’t hear a thing, even with my visor gone and the open wet heat of Steel World’s night air rolling into my face.
I don’t know how long I laid there. It might have been an hour or ten minutes. When you’re trapped under a mass of flesh, it warps your perspective.
Finally, however, I saw something new. Lights glimmered and played over the ground around Bunker Five. I blinked and recognized the vehicle. It was an air car—a nice shiny one that reminded me of rich, snotty aliens.
Could it be the Galactics? Or maybe the Nairbs? It made sense either way. They were inspecting the damage, tallying the count. Who had left more bodies on this bloody field, now that it was over, them or us?
I felt an urge to do something. Not so much to get rescued—I didn’t really expect them to care about me one way or another. But I wanted them to know my side wasn’t out of this yet.
I reached down and drew my sidearm. It wasn’t much, sort of like a snap-rifle with less power, range or accuracy. But it did fire pellets when you needed a last-ditch weapon.
Very carefully, I sighted on the air car. I squeezed the trigger four times—maybe five.
Orange sparks pinged off the bottom of the ship. I knew I’d hit it at least. It wasn’t enough to damage the vehicle, just to get their attention.
The response came about a second later. The air car wobbled then lifted rapidly. I smiled. Maybe it had been the Galactics after all. They’d been shot down before, and quite possibly they were gun-shy today.
I relaxed and considered passing out. But I wanted to see what was going to happen, so I held on to consciousness with an effort of will. The weight of what amounted to a dead dinosaur lying over a third of my body made every breath a struggle. Already, my feet were numb. I knew I wasn’t going to last the night.
Stealthily, the air car returned. I opened one eye and wondered if I’d been dozing. Was I dreaming now?
No. The air car played a quiet light over my part of the courtyard. Everything was still. A few bodies twitched now and again, a testament to the raw vigor of these reptiles. They often moved and tremored hours after their apparent deaths.
I could see the light only because a scrap of my shattered night vision visor was still operating. It caught the gleam of their lights, showing them as a soft green glow. I wasn’t sure if they were using infrared or what, but it was catching the attention of my dying suit.
I lifted the pistol again. So as not to frighten the weasels, I shot a few bullets in the air when their light touched me. They had to be able to detect that.
They did. The light stopped drifting and focused upon me. I wondered if it was burning my retinas like any infrared laser—but I was too tired and injured to care.
I dropped my pistol to my side and lifted my gloved hand to wave at them. Then, I gave them the finger. Vigorously.
The beam seemed to study me for a full minute. I grew tired of shaking my middle finger at them, so I let my hand fall to my side. I was getting sleepy again, but I didn’t want to miss whatever happened next so I struggled to stay awake.
Slowly, cautiously, the air car drifted closer. I watched with vague interest, feeling a little light-headed.
Finally, the ship landed nearby, and the hatch opened. A familiar shape emerged.
It was a Nairb. It had to be—either that, or someone had taught a terrestrial seal to fly and painted it a globular green.
I considered shooting the alien, I really did. I wasn’t in my best of moods. These guys had a lot of gall, floating around counting bodies. They never died for their planet. They sat in posh offices and made snooty judgments about other people they barely understood.
But, sadly, my own better judgment kicked in. I simply waited as the creature approached.
A translator box clicked and rasped.
“You are a human combatant?”
“Yes,” I said. My voice sounded weak, so I cleared my throat and tried again. “Yes! I’m Recruit McGill, of Legion Varus. Please be careful, there is a battle in progress.”
The Nairb cocked its head and looked around for a moment. “The battle has ended.”
“For the moment,” I said, “but although the saurians have been defeated time and again, they always seem to come back.”
The Nairb studied me. Another of its kind slithered out of the air car. They spoke together. I gathered they were debating the situation. I lay quietly on my back under the crushing weight of the lizard. I figured that whether I was about to die or not, I’d at least managed to upset the meticulous plans of the Nairbs one more time. That was worth a lot to me.
“I’m sorry,” I said loudly. “I can’t guarantee your safety if you stay here any longer. As I said, this is a dangerous region.”
“There must be some mistake,” said the second Nairb, speaking to me for the first time. “Your challengers claimed victory some time ago. They left the field victorious.”
“Ha!” I said. “Indeed, there has been a mistake. We’ve beaten them time and again. It is a common tactic with losers who wish to save face: retreat and claim victory.”
More chatter went back and forth between the two. I tried to shift into a more comfortable position but was unable to do so. Finally, they returned their attention to me.
“You are not a legal combatant. You are disabled.”
“Not so. I’m pinned under a fallen enemy, that’s true, but I’m not dead. I’m still dangerous. I shot your air car, didn’t I?”
“Demonstrate your status. Mobility is required to be considered able-bodied.”
He had me there, and I knew it. My mind was foggy, but it managed to come up with a card to play.
“Remove this corpse from my person,” I said, “and I’ll show you what I’m capable of.”
They chatted about that for a time, then returned to their ship. I called after them, and as their air car floated upward, I drew my pistol again. I cursed them for leaving me for dead.
Just as I was about to fire again, aiming for the windows this time—something happened. I felt a tug at the mass of dead flesh that held me down.
A few more seconds passed, and the tug grew stronger. I felt myself being pulled with it. I howled with pain. The jugger lifted into the air. How were they doing this? Some kind of focused force field? Some of our troops had shields, but this was something different. The Nairbs were a rich folk indeed.
Just as quickly as the field had grown and gripped me, it let go. The body of the dead jugger sli
pped away from me. I fell on my face. My feet wouldn’t hold me. I was on my knees, panting, freed but in agony. My pulse pounded in my head and purple splotches darkened my vision. I was close to passing out, I could feel it.
I gasped like a fish in a boat. I tried to control my breathing and gently rolled myself into a sitting position.
I found the two Nairbs staring at me. They studied me with interest.
“It’s moving.”
“That proves nothing,” the translator rasped, interpreting their speech.
I put my hands under me and lifted myself onto my knees again. The Nairbs shuffled backwards on their flippers.
“I’m fine,” I lied. “Now do you believe me? Score me as alive. Legion Varus wins.”
“Wins? No, not at all. There is no chance your people have won the challenge. That has already been determined. Your losses are greater by several hundred corpses. We are only trying to decide if you should be counted as dead, wounded or able. Our accounting must be complete, and accurate.”
I sighed. Body count. Wasn’t that what they’d said it was all about?
Still, I’m a stubborn man. Just ask anyone. I decided I would have to prove myself able.
I tried to stand up. The Nairbs backed up further. I stumbled, went to one knee, and stood again, hissing between my teeth.
“There,” I said. “I’m mobile. Thanks for the help. Now, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I’m going to have to kill a large number of saurians to reverse the score.”
They made an odd sound. Maybe they were laughing—I really wasn’t sure.
“Impossible. The odds of success are infinitesimal. Our ruling stands, and there will be no time extension.”
“I didn’t want to believe it, but the doubters were right,” I said. “The corruption runs deep here on Steel World!”
“Your references are confusing to the point of being rendered meaningless.”
“What I’m saying is, you Nairbs don’t like my kind, and your judgment is slanted against us.”
“Corruption! Yes, now I understand the accusation. Do you have any proof of your claims?”
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