INCURSION - an ALIEN OMNIBUS

by Chris Lowry

  “Not the same thing.”

  “Probably not,” he admitted.

  An alarm on the monitor began beeping.

  “Is this thing built for stealth or combat?” she asked.

  “Dawes?” Carver called behind them to the back of the cockpit.

  Dawes answered in a muffled groan.

  “Are you knocked out or dead?”

  “Both.”

  “What's the alarm mean? Did you read that in the brief?”

  “No,” Dawes struggled to sit up.

  “Are we stealth of combat?”

  “They said it was a stealth ship.”

  “Shit,” Rachel whispered.

  “What shit?” Carver shifted in the cushioned seat.

  “Hang on!” she worked the keyboard.

  The Shuttle banked hard to the left and sent Dawes crashing into the wall. Laser blasts overshot them and disappeared into the darkness of space.

  “Say something before you do that again!” Dawes yelled.

  “Something!” her fingers jabbed the keys.

  The shuttle rolled right and lurched as the bolts seared a wing.

  Alarms blared in the narrow cockpit as the lights flickered out and on, then out again. Rachel worked the keyboard like a machine gun, but the shuttle just floated.

  “No good,” she bit her lip. “It's not working.”

  Dawes pulled himself up on the back of the seat and nursed a bruised shoulder.

  “Do your thing,” he nodded to Carver.

  “What thing?”

  “Hit the fucking monitor.”

  Carver reached up and punched the display. Sparks erupted from inside the panel and showered down onto them. Steam hissed across the cockpit and obstructed the view screen.

  “Why the hell did you do that?” Rachel screamed.

  “It worked before,” Dawes explained. “It didn't work this time.”

  “You think I ain't got eyes,” Carver yelled.

  He drew back a fist, aimed and swung.

  Rachel caught his hand in hers.

  “Let me handle this.”

  She keyed the switches, pressed buttons, her fingers moving in a precise blur. The display monitors hummed back online, the engine's firing back up. Fans sucked the smoke out of the cabin and vented it into space.

  It cleared the view screen to show the Lick ship hanging in front of them.

  “He got us,” said Carver.

  “Do we have engines?” Dawes muttered.

  “I've been here before,” Carver groaned. “Drive by. We dead.”

  “Engines full,” said Rachel.

  “It's been nice knowing you,” Carver folded his hands in prayer.

  Dawes lunged forward spread across Carver and jabbed the keys.

  “Punch it!” he screamed.

  “Is you crazy!” Carver shouted back.

  He reached up to change course or stop them, but Dawes batted his hand away. The two men wrestled for the controls while Rachel watched the ship grow larger in the view screen.

  “What are we doing?” she asked in a calm resigned voice.

  “Chicken,” Dawes said.

  “What did you call me?”

  He tried to shove Dawes off him, but he was too weak.

  “What if he won't move?”

  “He's gonna move.”

  The shuttle rocketed toward the Alien ship.

  “Then what?” Carver still struggled.

  “He's not moving.”

  “He's gonna move.”

  They were practically on top of the bug like ship as it held steady in their path.

  “Dawes?” Rachel said in a soft voice.

  “He's gonna move,” Dawes chanted. “He's gonna move. He...ain't...moving.”

  Dawes fell across the seat as he jammed the control panel.

  The Shuttle rolled sideways. Alien lasers blasted the space they had just been. The shuttle skimmed the alien craft, trading paint and kept spinning in a roll.

  Dawes bounced off the wall, the ceiling, the other wall as Carver and Rachel were slung around in their restraints.

  “Good plan Dawes,” Carver said. “Real redneck thinking. Chicken.”

  Rachel keyed in a course correction and they stopped upright and moved forward.

  “He's turning around,” she said.

  “Keep going,” Dawes groaned.

  “Where are we gonna go? It's space man. Look at it. We can't get away.”

  Carver pointed toward the view screen and the now familiar view of twinkling stars.

  “We're not going to,” Dawes rested against the back of the seats even more battered and bruised after his tumble around the cockpit.

  Carver took a closer look at the monitor. What at first looked like stars was quickly turning into a debris field left over from the destruction of the Lucas. Smudges of gray shrapnel and metal floated in swirling patterns.

  Rachel squeaked.

  “We can't go in there. We don't have shields.”

  “We have to,” said Dawes.

  “Man, you about to get us killed.”

  “Not us. Him.”

  He's right. They can see that. The Lick ship has them outgunned and can maneuver better. They're only choice was to lose it in the debris field. It might work. The chances were better that it would kill them.

  The shuttle could handle the more minute pieces but anything bigger than a baseball could punch right through the reinforced hull at speed. That's what Dawes was planning on. The bigger pieces doing the dirty work. If only they could survive that long.

  “I'll handle it,” Rachel bit her lip and leaned over the keyboard her eyes filled with determination and dread.

  She fired up the engines to full throttle. It would burn most of their fuel, she knew, but if they lived, she could set a course for earth and let momentum do the rest. If they had rations to last that long. If they had water and oxygen to last that long. Being in space was a death trap, and anything they did was just to delay that fact long enough to reach the safety of earth. There were so many calculations she had to make just to ensure their survival. The path home, the orbit once they got there, food, water, waste, air. So much to concentrate on.

  Except now.

  Now she had to get them through this part. If they survived this part she could think about the next step. Like a place for the third person to sit. That's what she would work on next.

  After this.

  After taking the unshielded spacecraft into a new debris field. While avoiding alien pursuit. And lasers.

  If they survived she would worry about the other stuff. The future. She just had to make sure they had one first.

  She finished and drew the engine's full power on the edge of the disaster. They could hear small bits of metal bouncing off the hull, see it on the view screen.

  A big piece spun up out of nowhere. Carver screamed.

  Rachel keyed the rockets and shifted around it.

  “Keep going,” Dawes muttered encouragement.

  “We're all gonna die!” Carver screamed again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  The Lick ship dipped into the debris field after them. She was right. It had greater maneuverability than the small shuttle built for stealth and speed. It dodged around the larger pieces of ship's hull as it gained on them.

  Lasers danced across their bow.

  Rachel zipped left. She rolled right. The ship followed. She couldn't shake them and each second the lasers got closer.

  Something cracked in the wing and the shuttle began to shake.

  “We can't keep this up,” she rubbed her arm across her sweating brow.

  “We're going to break apart. Or worse.”

  “Worse,” Carver screamed. “What's worse?”

  She hit the keys but nothing happened. A large section of hull plating twirled into view. She hit the keys but nothing happened.

  “This,” she uttered.

  Carver shouted, leaned forward and punched the control pan
el. The shuttle rolled left, scraping against the giant metal section and sent it spinning back toward the alien ship. It tried to move out of the path of the plating, but the metal sailed into one of the engines. An explosion blew it out and sent the alien ship into a tailspin that whirled it off into outer space.

  Rachel turned back to the keyboard that had power again and straightened them out.

  “Did you mean to do that?”

  “Looked good didn't it?” Carver smiled.

  “I was talking to him,” she nodded toward Dawes.

  “Let's just get the hell out of here,” said Carver.

  Rachel steered them free of the debris field.

  “Just take me home,” Carver said. “I'm done.”

  She reached up to the keys again and set a course for earth. She hit the engines for a ten second burn, and fell back against the seat cushion.

  “We lost directional control,” she sighed.

  “Can you believe this shit?” Carver said. “I mean how much can happen to one man?”

  “There are three of us,” Dawes corrected.

  “Yeah, but I meant me.”

  Dawes rested both arms against the back of the seat cushions and held himself steady in the zero G.

  “Can we fix it?”

  “Not from in here.”

  “What are we going to do then?” Carver asked. “Just sit here?”

  Rachel stared at the monitor as she called up schematics of the ship. She studied the liquid crystal display, her finger following the contours of the ship to a red dot that sensors indicated was the problem.

  “I think the hydraulic link that joins the wing control is busted,” she told them. “IF we can rig a connection it might work. That's our first problem.”

  “How are we gonna do that?” Carver smirked. “It's out there. We're in here. It ain't like you can just pop the door and climb out.”

  Rachel adjusted the schematic.

  “There's an airlock in back,” she said and turned to Dawes. “Is your suit compromised?”

  “Me?”

  “He's in a ship suit, I'm in a ship suit.”

  “It looks just like mine.”

  “Yours is a space suit. Ours is designed for short term exposure long enough to get to safety if the ship is compromised. Yours can handle a spacewalk.”

  “I'm not an astronaut.”

  Carver indicated the vastness of space shown on the view screen.

  “Take a second guess cowboy. You're in outer space.”

  “I don't spacewalk,” Dawes searched for a place to hide or escape, but the cockpit was just over big enough for the three of them.

  “What's the problem man?”

  “We're drifting at something like ten thousand miles an hour.”

  “Thirteen,” Rachel corrected with a grin. “But it's all relative.”

  “You want me to step out in that relativity?”

  “You're the only one who can do it.”

  She loosened her seat belts and drifted over to him. She ran her fingers over his suit, checking for rips and tears, anything that might have violated the integrity and could be a death sentence in the air lock.

  “Hey girl,” Carver gave her a bloody grin. “I think my suit's been compromised. You want to give me one of those finger checks?”

  “Yeah, bend over,” she shot back.

  “I usually have to pay extra for that.”

  She giggled. It was the first time they had heard her laugh and it made the two men giggle too. Their laugher sent her into a fit of laughing, which set them off even more until the three of them were howling.

  Rachel drifted over to the keyboard and typed.

  “I think the nitrous line was dinged,” she snorted.

  “Laughing gas?” Dawes guffawed.

  “Like deep sea diving,” she explained as she dialed the oxygen levels back to normal. “We use a mix of gases up here.”

  She wiped her streaming eyes as they brought their laughter under control.

  “I'm sorry,” she said. “We're in it up to our necks and you're the only one who can get us out. Your suit is good. So get your ass out there.”

  Dawes considered them both for a moment. When he was a kid growing up, he had pretended to be a cowboy and pretended to be an astronaut. As a grown up, he was a cowboy of sorts. He had done a stint or three on a ranch, knew his way around a lasso and horses, even had the hat and look for it. But he never would have guessed that he would be both. Not in a million years.

  He ran his fingers over his suit again. He knew what happened in space. If his suit had a hole in it, his air supply would leak out into space and he would die. If he died, the two people in the shuttle would die too. All of them would run out of air, him much faster, and they would all succumb to the cold grip of sleep and never wake up.

  After fighting off an alien invasion only to die because of something stupid like this? He couldn't accept it.

  Not when he might be able to stop it.

  Dawes thought that even if his suit didn't work, he could hold his breath long enough to fix the hydraulic. That way he could buy these two a ticket home.

  Maybe when they got there, they could tell a story about the legend of the cowboy astronaut. Something along the lines of Bill Cody or Wyatt Earp in space. He liked the sound of that.

  “Where's your helmet” Rachel chewed on her lip.

  He nodded to the storage cabinet by the cushioned seats.

  “Tell me exactly what to do,” he said and listened close to her instructions.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  A tiny hatch in the side of the shuttle swung open and Dawes drifted out on a tether. He pulled himself along the top of the shuttle and across to the wing. Rachel was right. He couldn't feel the thirteen thousand miles per hour drift. Everything was moving at the same speed.

  A rope with tools tied to it was fastened around his waist. Rachel had pulled everything out of the repair kit that she thought he would need and instructed him exactly what to do. He just hoped he could remember each step.

  He reached the section of the wing where she told him to look and ran his hand along the edge. The running lights on the stealth shuttle were too dim to see much. He spied a tiny piece of bent metal on a hydraulic arm exactly where she said it would be.

  He pulled himself along the edge of the wing to reach it.

  Something sharp snagged his glove and air began shooting out of the tiny hole. It shoved him away from the wing and spun him around in the tether. He shot all the way to the end of the rope and nearly broke free when it yanked taut.

  The air leaking out of his glove put him in a slow spin at the end of the rope. His movement twisted and tangled it.

  Dawes clinched the glove closed to try and slow the leak. He pressed the glove against the chest of his suit and fumbled with the other hand for the circle of rope and the tools at his waist.

  When Rachel suggested a roll of duct tape, he thought she was kidding. Now he was glad she made him include it. He fumbled off an inch-wide strip and slapped it on the glove. The air leak slowed. He did another and another until the leak was stopped. He knew it wouldn't hold forever, but it was enough for now.

  He noticed the beeping in his headset now, and keyed the heads up display to turn it off.

  Then he grabbed the tether and began hauling himself back toward the ship.

  Inside the ship, Carver and Rachel watched the view screen.

  “Where did he go?”

  “We need a camera on the side of this thing,” Carver complained. “How we going to know what's out there? You should just call him on the damn radio. Who cares if we're overheard now.”

  Rachel grabbed him by the shoulders and pecked him on the lips.

  “You are a genius.”

  She keyed in the communications application and waited for it to boot.

  “Damn girl, I told you I was.” What you doing?”

  “We can talk on the radio.”

  She finished
setting it up.

  “Dawes?” she spoke into a microphone. “Turn your radio headset on.”

  “Dawes here,” he answered.

  They cheered.

  “What's going on?”

  “My suit has a hole in it,” he said.

  “Get back in here,” Rachel ordered.

  “It's alright,” he answered. “I used duct tape on it.”

  “Duct tape was not made for deep space.”

  “It's working,” he said.

  “We don't see you on the monitor,” Carver screamed.

  “You don't have to yell,” Rachel admonished.

  “Don't yell Carver,” Dawes said over the radio. “You're coming in loud and clear.”

  “Where are you?” Carver said softly.

  “The air sent to the end of my rope,” Dawes explained. “I'm pulling myself back in now.”

  “Into the airlock?” said Rachel. “That's a good idea. We'll figure out another plan to fix the hydraulic link.”

  “No,” Dawes answered. “I'm pulling myself back to the ship.”

  “Are you out there space skiing?” Carver shouted. “Just fix the fucking wing and get back in here man.”

  “What do you think I'm trying to do. I'm almost at the wing.”

  “Did you find the hydraulic?”

  “It's there. It's damaged, just like you said.”

  “Can you fix it?”

  They listened to him huff and wheeze as he crawled out on the wing again and pulled himself along with his hands. He grunted and strained.

  “What's that,” Rachel asked. “What's wrong.”

  “I tied a knot in the rope and now it won't reach the damage,” he said in a frustrated voice. “God damn it.”

  “Just untie the damn thing,” said Carver. “Cowboys know how to use a rope.”

  “I don't have enough oxygen to go back and untie it.”

  “How do you know that?” Carver said. “You an expert at air now?”

  “Now, but the heads-up display says I have about ten minutes left. I can't make it there, untie it and make it back here to fix it before I run dry.”

  “Then come back to the airlock,” Rachel said.

  “Hang on.”

  They listened to him struggle for a minute.

  “What's he doing? Hey man, what are you doing?”