Speed of Darkness

by Tracy Hickman

  Merdith ignored the remark. “Without the Confederacy outposts, there will be nothing left to stop the Zerg!”

  Breanne shrugged. “Well, there’s always the vaunted local militia . . .”

  “They don’t have either the equipment or the numbers to stop a planetary infestation!” Merdith started to walk toward the command island, but Ardo grabbed her arm, firmly restraining her. “What about the civilians? What about their evacuation?”

  “The Confederacy,” Breanne grumbled, “has apparently written off the planet . . . including its civilians.”

  Merdith struggled against Ardo’s grip, but the Marine held her back. “Written us off to the Zerg? It was that Confederacy device that brought the Zerg here! With all their weapons and all their starships and all their soldier-boy Marines, they wanted more power. So they built that box, not even comprehending the death it would bring with it. They thought they could control them or capture them. They had no idea what they had unleashed. And now they’re just ‘writing us off’ as though we were some cipher on a balance sheet!”

  No one in the room had an answer for her.

  Merdith stopped struggling, anger still in her face.

  “A planet full of monsters. I just thought I’d never see them among my own kind.”

  Breanne looked up, her wicked smile returning under the bristle of her hair. “You never know, do you?”

  “Lieutenant,” Littlefield interrupted. “Tac-com one-twenty-nine.”

  “On speakers,” Breanne commanded.

  “This is the Vixen on radial three-four-zero, forty-five clicks to MS Station . . . stand by to refuel for immediate dustoff.”

  “Negative, Vixen. Report to the OOD for evac on landing.”

  “Hey, he’ll be on the ground there inside of ten minutes,” Tinker said nervously. “Maybe . . . maybe they won’t let him leave again once he’s on the ground.”

  “Any word on my request regarding Scenic Station?”

  Ardo looked up at the speakers.

  “Negative. No contact.”

  “What about that personnel request? I gotta find that tech!”

  “CHQ has no information for you at this time.”

  “All right, you know the drill,” Breanne said. “Jans, get on the horn and call—”

  “Lieutenant, this is Xiang! We have multiple contacts bearing oh-five-five degrees!”

  Breanne glanced down at the map table, her eyes suddenly wide. “Where? How many?”

  “There’s a . . . Stand by . . . There’s about twenty . . . maybe twenty-five passing to the south. Hydralisks, I think, ma’am. And . . . oh, hell! There’s a flight of eight Mutalisks above them.”

  “They’re not on the map,” Breanne seethed. “Why aren’t they on the map?”

  “The Mutalisks are turning. They are vectoring toward the base. Permission to fire, ma’am?”

  Breanne continued to stare angrily at the map table.

  “Permission to fire, ma’am?”

  All of the color drained from Tinker’s face.

  Littlefield looked up. “Breanne?”

  The lieutenant shook herself from her frozen state. “Negative! Hold your fire!”

  “What . . . what do you mean, hold your fire?” The technician’s eyes darted around in fear.

  “Listen to me! We don’t want this fight right now.” Breanne motioned everyone else up to the command island. “Everyone take cover! If anyone is spotted, open fire, but until then stay out of site. Don’t transmit, just monitor. There have been reports that the Zerg can follow transmissions to their source. Just wait for my command, and hope like hell they pass us by!”

  “What is the universe coming to,” Littlefield muttered, “when Marines start hiding under desks!”

  Ardo propelled Merdith up the short ladder to the command island. As he did, light blossomed to the west. Through the windows he saw in the east the glowing trail of the first Confederacy evac ship arching into the sky.

  CHAPTER 17

  WEAK LINKS

  ARDO VAULTED UP THE LADDER TO THE COMMAND island. The space was crowded enough with the large equipment banks nearly completely surrounding the map table in the center. The combat suit only made things worse in the cramped space. Still, the consoles were built to Marine specs and designed for durability as much as for functionality. They had a clear path to the lift. Ardo wondered why they did not all just disappear into the bowels of the Command Center rather than try to duck for cover behind the consoles of a fish bowl like Operations. Breanne crouched behind the map table. It was not the first time Ardo was struck with her catlike movement. She switched off the display on the map table, then smoothly pulled a large set of field binoculars up to her eyes. “Six of them . . . no, make that seven. Mutalisks flying cover for a ground force of . . . let’s see . . . maybe fifteen or twenty Hydralisks about a half mile to the south.” Breanne slid back down next to the table, out of sight of the windows. “There may be more beyond that, maybe a mile or two. It’s difficult to say. The main force seems to be passing us by. Everyone stay put. Let the flyers have their fun ogling the ‘old abandoned human base.’ Once they’re a few clicks safely away from here we’ll make the call and catch our ride home.”

  Ardo sat with his back against a console directly opposite to Jans. The engineer was intent on every word Breanne was saying. He was pale even in the dim light of the Operations Room and nodded rather more vehemently than he probably should have. Jans swallowed hard, then his head slowly turned toward the ladder exit from the island just to his left. Ardo followed the man’s gaze. He was staring toward the tactical communication panel just below the catwalk to the west. It was still lit, the muted words of the chatter of the starport still pouring out of it through the speakers mounted above the island.

  “Transit alpha four-oh-niner, cleared for immediate departure pad seven. Transit alpha oh-six-five hold short at pad fourteen. Transit gamma eight-zero-zero cleared to pad twelve. Transit delta two-two-zero, hold at Lima for cross traffic . . .”

  Jans’s eyes grew large as a second flare of light erupted through the western windows above the tac-com console. “There goes another one,” he breathed.

  “They aren’t wasting any time getting out,” Littlefield muttered. The sergeant seemed distracted and detached, his mind working on a different problem.

  Ardo knew it was his imagination, but the knowledge did not help him. The chatter from the speakers seemed unbearably loud. “Shouldn’t we shut that off?”

  Breanne shook her head, looking up as she listened. “Too late. They’re here.”

  Ardo realized he could hear it, too: the fingernails-on-slate sound of the Mutalisks screaming at each other as they neared the human base. The sound cut through the windows to reach their ears, mixing with the constant chatter from the tac-com open channel.

  “Transit alpha oh-six-five cleared for immediate departure pad fourteen . . .”

  “Control. Vixen inbound requesting vector . . .”

  Jans caught his breath.

  “Vixen, hold at nav marker Ta-shua and stand by; the pattern is full.”

  “Roger, control, holding at Ta-shua.”

  Another column of flame and smoke tore upward through the darkening atmosphere.

  Merdith crouched next to Ardo, hugging her knees to her chest. “Looks like you soldier-boys are going to miss your boat.”

  Breanne’s eyes reflected a practiced indifference. “We’re not finished yet, Ms. Jernic.”

  “No, of course not,” Merdith responded evenly. “All I’m saying is that if you did happen to miss your boat, you might want to consider other means of departure.”

  “Ah,” Breanne smiled back at her, baring her teeth, “you mean throw our lot in with a spy and a traitor, perhaps?”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Lieutenant,” Merdith shrugged, “but I’m no spy.”

  “No, of course not.” Breanne casually looked away toward the windows. “Not a spy, not a collaborator, not an ex
pert doing weapons research for the Sons of Korhal. You are just an innocent civilian engineer who was found in accidental possession of a highly classified piece of Confederacy equipment.” Breanne stopped, turned to Merdith and smiled frostily. “Look, Ms. Jernic, I choose to believe you. I choose to believe you because if I choose otherwise I’ll have Mister Melnikov here take you out of this Command Center and shoot you as many times as necessary to insure that you are very permanently dead. Now, you don’t want me to choose not to believe that, do you?”

  Merdith considered the angular face in front of her carefully. “No, Lieutenant, I most certainly do not.”

  “Then, Ms. Jernic”—Breanne sniffed derisively— “for the time being, you keep your company and I’ll keep mine.”

  “Whatever you say, Lieutenant,” Merdith spoke casually. “However, may I point out that your friends are apparently leaving the planet in droves while my friends may soon be the only ones with a ticket off this planet. Even if you do manage to get back to the starport somehow, just how pleased will your superiors be to see you? Nobody likes to see a dead man walking in the door . . . especially when it’s in everyone’s best interest that the body stay dead.”

  A horrible scraping sound rang through the tritanium roof of the Operations Room. Ardo winced against the sound, pulling his rifle up closer to his chest in his sudden tension.

  “Hold still.” Breanne breathed out her words as quietly as she could manage. “They’re here.”

  Everyone looked up. The sound of scraping scales on serrated tails dragged casually across the armor shivered through the plates overhead. The sound occasionally obliterated the surreal voices so casually communicating from the still operating tac-com transceiver.

  “Transit gamma eight-zero-zero, cleared to depart pad twelve immediately. Transit epsilon four-three-three, hold short at rho-beta intersection.”

  There were two additional scraping impacts on the roof plates. Ardo could clearly hear the dreadful, screeching voices of the Mutalisks as they slithered about the rooftop. He glanced at Jans across from him. The man was sweating profusely, his eyes fixed on the transceiver as though somehow he could crawl through the device and somehow join the distant voice on the other side.

  “Transit epsilon four-three-three clear to proceed to pad ten . . .”

  “Control, this is Vixen holding at Ta-shua. What’s the delay? I’ve got to see the base commander and . . .”

  “Vixen, you are cleared to land. Report at outer marker. Over.”

  “What about my brother? I don’t know . . .”

  Jans gritted his teeth. Another voice came across the com channel, not nearly so detached.

  “Marz, for the last time, he’s probably already off-planet in an unreported transport. Get your ass down out of the sky right now.”

  “Copy that, sir! Vixen on final appr . . . repor . . . outer mark . . .”

  Ardo glanced at Littlefield, whispering. “The transmission’s breaking up?”

  “The Mutalisks,” Littlefield sighed. “They’re playing with the antenna dishes.”

  “ . . . final appr . . . tand by.”

  “. . . oger . . . ansit epsilon four-three . . . eared for . . . mediate departure pad seven-left. Vixen, taxi left to platform seven-three for shutdown.”

  “Roger, control. Vixen taxiing to platform seven-three.”

  Breanne pointed to her ear and then toward the ceiling. Ardo strained to hear.

  The scraping sound had stopped.

  Littlefield put his thumbs together and moved his hands like flapping wings. Breanne shrugged and shook her head, her eyebrows knitted together in doubt.

  Ardo unconsciously held his breath. He was concentrating so hard on the sounds overhead that he did not notice Merdith’s nudge until her second try.

  She was pointing toward Tinker Jans.

  Ardo could see at once that the man was in bad shape. His pale skin glistened with sweat. He was physically shaking, his lips moving as he spoke to himself. His eyes were fixed on the transmission console just a few steps from the base of the command island.

  “Transit kappa oh-seven-five cleared for immediate departure. Vixen, what is your status?”

  “Are they gone?” Littlefield hissed.

  Breanne shook her head. She did not know.

  “My load has disembarked, control. I’m clean.”

  “Roger, Vixen. Shut down and proceed to platform five-right. Report to the section chief there for embarkation and departure.”

  “No!” Jans whimpered. “Don’t leave me here!”

  “Don’t leave me alone!” Melani wept. Ardo froze.

  “Vixen, roger that. Shutting down . . .”

  “No!”

  Jans hauled himself up in a single movement. Ardo lunged for him, but he was too late. The engineer propelled himself through the gap between the consoles of the command island, running across the floor plates.

  “Quick! Stop him!” Breanne snapped.

  Ardo sprang to his feet, clearing the access ladder in a jump, but he could not reach the engineer.

  Tinker Jans swept up the dangling communications microphone and keyed the transmit button.

  “Tegis! It’s Jans! I’m here! Don’t leave me! I’m back at the base at Scenic! They left me behind, they—”

  Ardo had no time to think as he ran across the floor. When he reached Jans, he simply drew back his combat suit fist and launched it at the engineer’s head.

  The power-enhanced, armored glove did its job well. Jans fell unconscious to the floor.

  “Jans! Jans! I’m coming to get you! Just hold on and . . . hey! Let go of me! That’s my brother out there! You can’t—”

  Shattering windows drowned the words out. The transparent panes exploded into the room. Instinctively, Ardo ducked away from the cascading crystal. He heard the sudden chattering of automatic fire in the room.

  Above the screeching, Ardo heard Breanne’s unmistakable voice filling the com channel. “Open fire! Open fire and kill them all!”

  CHAPTER 18

  JAWS OF VICTORY

  ARDO DOVE BACK TOWARD THE COMMAND ISLAND, instinctively arming his rifle. He was still rolling upright when he began discharging his weapon. Three Mutalisks launched themselves through the framework of the shattered windows. Their purplish wings were shredded on the remaining shards, but the creatures were oblivious to the damage they were inflicting on themselves. There was madness in their flat, blood-brown eyes: mindless, relentless, and deadly. Ear-piercing screams erupted from their wide, gaping mouths as they charged.

  “Keep firing! Keep firing!” Breanne shouted through the com channel. Ardo was happy to oblige. His gauss rifle joined the hail of death erupting from the guns on the command island just behind him.

  Wing membrane, cartilage, skin, muscle, all exploded in shreds from the ugly beasts as they fanatically moved forward. The wet pieces slammed against the panels, ceiling, and floor, exploding into acrid smoke. Within seconds the entire command chamber was filled with the swirling, thick stench that even the outside wind, now howling through the shattered windows, could not dissipate.

  Ardo continued to press his fire. He could see the nearest Mutalisk open its mouth, its jaw muscles working. He had a glimpse of fanglike projections on either side of its massive jaw.

  It’s attacking, Ardo suddenly realized. He dove to his left.

  A gush of bat-winged abominations disgorged from the creature’s maw toward the base of the command island where Ardo had just squatted. The sightless creatures splayed against the metal, erupting on impact. The floor plates melted away in a terrible, high-pitched squeal. The Mutalisk shifted the fowl stream, attempting to follow Ardo, but the Marine was too quick for the creature. His feet under him, he sprang forward toward the alcove of the elevator door.

  The deadly eruption continued to follow him, the Mutalisk now fixed on Ardo as its only thought. The vomited creatures slammed in a line across the floor, the plates dissolving like water under t
heir impact. Acrid smoke filled the room, making it difficult for Ardo to breathe with his faceplate still up. He scrambled toward the elevator alcove. The curved door was closed. To the left and right of the elevator were the raised platforms above the control stations. There was no other cover. He was running out of places to hide.

  He reached the elevator bay and slammed his hand against the call button. He turned quickly, his open palm repeatedly smashing down on the button. He glimpsed the hellish rush of winged abominations issue from the Mutalisk’s maw, evaporating metal in a straight line toward him.

  Suddenly the Mutalisk’s horrible attack stopped. Ardo looked up. The head of the Mutalisk exploded under a stream of tracer fire from the command island. Bits of the creature rained down around the room. Several greasy pieces impacted on Ardo’s battle armor, the creature’s latent acid clawing at the metal fabric of the suit. Ardo yelled incoherently as he brushed the pieces away quickly with his gloved hands. His suit was badly pocked, but he did not think anything had burned all the way through.

  His pursuer fell heavily to the floor, the impact almost immediately dissolving the plates beneath him. A gaping, smoking hole was all that was left of the place where the creature fell as it burned down through the deck. By the sounds coming from the fissure, it was still burning its way down through several decks of the Command Center.

  Ardo, his back to the elevator door, raised his weapon again. He searched desperately through the smoke swirling madly about the room, but he had lost sight of his companions. For that matter, he suddenly realized, the weapons from the command island had gone silent.

  “Lieutenant?” Ardo asked tentatively.

  Overhead, Ardo could still hear the tac-com channel. “ . . . Repeat, Vixen, return to base at once. That is a direct order!”

  “Jans! Hold on! Tegis is on the way! I’m comin’ for ya, kid!”

  Marz! Ardo realized. He must have gotten the message! He was inbound right now. All they had to do was . . .