The Dotari Salvation (Terran Strike Marines Book 1)

by Richard Fox

  King stared at him, his expression unreadable.

  Hoffman formed an explanation but stopped himself. He knew better than to countermand his top NCO. It was a sin second only to reversing an order or hesitating. Thoughts of his hesitation on New Bastion threatened to intrude. He squashed the memory.

  “Opal volunteers to go first,” Opal said.

  “You’re too big, tough guy,” Booker said almost under her breath as she held him back with a light touch of her fingers.

  Hoffman did a handstand in the zero gravity and pulled himself through the dark hole. He activated the full spectrum of his helmet optics and could see more than he needed to. The slightly melted walls of the tube felt warm through his gauntlets and he understood this was a mind trick. Knowing and feeling were as far apart as they could be at this point.

  The thruster nozzle, large as it was, widened the farther he went until he was able to stand and activate the grav liners in his boots. “King, bring the team down.”

  One by one, the Strike Marines came headfirst into the small room and reoriented themselves to the floor. Opal squeezed out of the opening and moved away from the nozzle, staring at it with narrow-eyed suspicion. “Opal didn’t like that.”

  “Well, I thought it was a nice break from being shot at by aliens,” Adams said.

  Garrison patted her on the shoulder. “If it makes you feel better, you look good going face-first into a Dotari ship thruster hole.”

  “Cover your zones. Three hundred and sixty degrees of sharp-eyed Strike Marine security,” King said.

  “This room is like ten feet across,” Max said.

  “Then it should be easy to cover.” King stepped closer to Hoffman and Lo’thar but said nothing.

  Hoffman pointed at Lo’thar, then at the main doors to the chamber. “Any reason those should be welded shut?”

  “Certainly not…that’s funny,” Lo’thar said.

  “Can we get in?”

  Lo’thar shot a covert look toward Garrison and Adams. “Not without blowing the door clean off the frame. The bulkhead servos have been spiked.” He walked toward a smaller set of utility doors, pausing to examine a slash mark bisecting the elegant Dotari sign labeling the door.

  When Lo’thar touched one of two large buttons on the frame and the door opened, he smiled at Hoffman. “It might be easier to break open the doors and go through the fuel stores… but the foundry sections will work.”

  Duke, shifting from one foot to the other with un-sniper-like impatience, tapped his helmet. “Air’s getting a might thin in here.”

  Hoffman pulled Lo’thar back. “Opal, now you can go first.”

  Opal lumbered through the air lock, staying just within view as he aimed his rifle left to right, then right to left in the new room. “Clear.”

  “Team, move,” Hoffman said.

  Moments later, Max called out, “Last man.” He shut the door and atmosphere flooded into the air lock.

  Duke removed his helmet and took a deep breath, wiping sweat off his forehead and blinking hard several times. Hoffman noted his skin was a faint shade of blue.

  Adams, Garrison, Max, and Booker all laughed at the old sniper.

  “Your lips are a lovely shade of teal, old man. You ought to dye your hair to match,” Adams said.

  “Keep flapping your gums. See what happens,” Duke managed.

  “LT, recommend we take a break,” King said.

  Hoffman nodded.

  “Check your gear. Take in some calories and rehydrate,” King said.

  Lo’thar and Booker moved off to one side and removed the banshee hand from the plastic bag.

  “Can you analyze it?” Lo’thar asked. “I would like to know if it has what my daughter needs. If we can at least get this…part…back to the Breitenfeld, this mission will be a success. It won’t matter if we’re ripped apart by banshees after that,” Lo’thar said.

  “Dotari always this sunny, Lo’thar? Give me a minute.” Booker pulled a flexible roll of tools from her kit and spread it out. She jabbed a needle into the banshee flesh and it entered the bone with a crack. Withdrawing a sample of dark fluid, she snapped the vial into her gauntlet. “Let’s see what we’ve got here…”

  Hoffman watched from a distance and said a silent prayer.

  “Are these readings correct?” Lo’thar leaned over Booker’s shoulder, uncomfortably close to the Marine.

  “You have to let it finish,” Booker said. Long moments passed. She furrowed her brow and worked her fingertips over a touchscreen on the back of her hand.

  Lo’thar held his quills down, murmuring a dismayed sound. “What is wrong with it? There is something wrong, isn’t there?”

  Booker sat back on her haunches and wiped sweat from her forehead. “The blood has no antibodies, no immune system at all. Which, of course, fits with what the Breitenfeld encountered on Takeni. They had a…specimen they tried to free from Xaros control. The subject died on the operating table. She didn’t have an immune system either. The doctor—I don’t remember his name—”

  “Acorso,” Lo’thar said.

  “How do you…doesn’t matter. He thought the Xaros replaced the banshee’s immune systems with Xaros tech, made them immune to chemical and biological attacks. Didn’t find an immune system in the turned humans recovered on Pluto either,” Booker said.

  Lo’thar snapped a curse in Dotari and kicked the banshee arm away, then retreated to a corner, one of the only semiprivate spaces in the small area. Lo’thar crossed his arms tight across his stomach and hunched his shoulders.

  Booker got up and made for the Dotari, but Max stopped her with a shake of his head.

  King nudged Hoffman’s elbow. “It will take an hour to recharge our tanks.”

  Hoffman shook his head. “Still can’t get that far if Duke’s carrying a quarter of his air.”

  “Get me a Dotty air tank. I can rig something up for him,” Booker said.

  From his corner, Lo’thar responded almost absently. “There are emergency kits on every deck and in every compartment. Or there were when all the fleets left Dotari a thousand years ago. But what do I know? I go charging across the galaxy on a sliver of a chance and have nothing to show for it. My daughter wakes up every morning with hope, and if I ever return, it will be as a fool.”

  Hoffman held up a finger to King and traced a circle in the air, signaling for him to get the team ready to move out, then he went to the Dotari and squared off in front of him.

  “Who are you?” Hoffman asked.

  Lo’thar’s quills twitched. “Lieutenant, did your air tanks fail, causing brain damage?”

  “I thought a hero of the Ember War was on this mission. Aren’t you the Lo’thar that flew with Gall and the 103rd squadron off the Breitenfeld? Didn’t you fight and beat the Toth? The Naroosha? The Xaros at the Apex? Didn’t you save Saint Kallen on Nibiru?”

  “That was a long time ago.” Lo’thar looked away. “I traded my wings for a family.”

  “And you volunteered for this mission to save that family,” Hoffman said. “And is there anyone else on this ship that knows it better than you do?”

  Lo’thar hissed quietly.

  “You are invaluable. Irreplaceable. Vital. Not to just this team but to your daughter. Every Dotari on your home world. You get that?”

  “My brother Man’fred would be so jealous right now,” Lo’thar said. “You know he’s a fleet First on—”

  Hoffman grabbed the pilot by the shoulder, confident that the alien was focused again. “You said the foundries are here. What could they make?”

  Lo’thar looked from Hoffman to the team. “If they’re online, and we could find the raw materials, and—”

  “Just find us some air tanks,” King said.

  Quills ruffling, Lo’thar stared at the gunnery sergeant. He pulled on his helmet and closed the visor. “Fine. We must continue into the ship to find them. This area is without them, unless you Strike Marines see something a mere Void Superior
ity Fighter pilot cannot.”

  “Garrison and Adams, up front on point. Lead the way,” Hoffman said.

  “Right away, boss,” Garrison and Adams said.

  “My sister is a Ranger. She’d always say that…Rangers lead the way. Well, look who’s doing it now,” Adams said.

  “We’re doing it,” Garrison said. “Doing it on an alien starship overrun with monsters. Bet this won’t make it into any recruiting slogans.”

  King, Booker, and Lo’thar went next, with Hoffman bringing the rest through the air lock. Duke shouted “last man” and closed the door by slapping his hand on an oversized button several times.

  “This isn’t dusty,” he said. “Those things might be in here.”

  “Yeah, they look like they know how to use buttons,” King said. “Maintain security. Keep your head on a swivel and watch your partner’s back.”

  Garrison and Adams moved around a corner in the hallway.

  “You better see this, LT,” Garrison said.

  King and the others arrived before Hoffman and stood transfixed by the sight of a door that had been barricaded with steel bars welded to the bulkhead.

  “Well that’s…different,” Max said.

  “Opal hears footsteps,” Opal said.

  “Look sharp,” King said, aiming his gauss rifle down one of the connecting corridors.

  “Light footsteps,” Opal said.

  A second later, Hoffman heard the running feet just before an elderly Dotari burst around the corner. Thin as a refugee, clothed in rags, the old alien hefted a spear tipped with battery packs on prongs.

  “Dotok’ka’ma!” he screamed.

  Opal grabbed the spear by the haft, stopping it dead in its path. The oldster locked eyes with the towering doughboy and froze for a heartbeat, then he backpedaled while screaming and ran back the way he came, leaving the spear in Opal’s hand.

  “We are friends, noble Dotari,” Lo’thar shouted. “Wait!”

  “You think he speaks English?” Max asked.

  Lo’thar mumbled what Hoffman was sure was a series of obscenities, then shouted in his own language.

  King and Max sprinted after the stranger and tackled him in the adjoining corridor, pinning him to the deck as he struggled and squirmed. Max covered his mouth with his right gauntlet.

  “Hey! He’s biting me!” Max shouted. “Tell this Dotty no biting!”

  Lo’thar pulled off his helmet and bent next to the old Dotari, showing his face, and began speaking rapid-fire Dotari.

  The team alternated their attention between the empty hallways and the unfolding scene on the floor as the rail-thin alien kept struggling.

  “He doesn’t seem reassured,” Adams said.

  “Opal can help,” Opal said as he bent over the struggling mass of Strike Marines and the Dotari survivor. Opal smiled, displaying big teeth that resembled grindstones. The old Dotari squealed.

  Max removed his translation earpiece from his helmet and shoved it into the oldie’s ear. “We’re not going to hurt you. You understand the words coming out of my mouth?”

  The old Dotari’s brow furrowed. His quills rustled.

  “He understands,” Lo’thar said.

  “I’m going to take my hand off your mouth. You start yelling again, you’ll get my whole fist down your throat.”

  Adams whistled. “Look at Max. He’s all grown-up and acting like a badass now.”

  Max pulled his hand back.

  As the Dotari looked furtively from Lo’thar, to the humans, then to Opal, Adams and Max released their hold on him.

  Max held up his middle finger to Adams. Two of the armored fingers had dents. “Old bastard almost bit through.”

  The ragged old Dotari scrambled back to the bulkhead, his eyes wide with fright.

  “What…” the alien’s voice croaked through Hoffman’s earpiece, “what in the golden depths are you?”

  “I’m from the Canticle of Reason,” Lo’thar said. “This ship’s nestling. You know it?”

  The Dotari pulled his knees to his chest and shook his head in disbelief. He pointed a craggy finger at Hoffman. “Lies,” he said. “The air scrubbers are broken again. I am having another delusion. Go! Go and tell the cricklaishk I don’t want to see you ever again!”

  Lo’thar moved between the Dotari and Hoffman’s team. “We are true, old father.” He grabbed the Dotari’s wrist and moved the Dotari’s hand to feel his face.

  The old Dotari pushed Lo’thar’s face to one side, then ran his fingertips through Lo’thar’s quills. A heartbeat later, he laughed.

  “What happened here?” Hoffman asked as he removed his helmet.

  The old Dotari jerked his hand back, holding his fists close to his chest. “What are they? They have mouths of children and no hair. How can they live? We didn’t put anything like that on the Canticle of Reason!”

  “Humans, friends,” Lo’thar said. “They’re here to help us.”

  The old Dotari hesitated. “Ambassador…Ambassador Pa’lon spoke of other races. I never thought I’d see one.” He looked around at the others, seeming especially suspicious of Max and Opal. “Were you followed? Do the noorla know you’re aboard?”

  Garrison bobbed his head. “Oh, they know we’re here all right.”

  “Come, come. Shouldn’t stay here,” the Dotari said. “Noorla won’t go through vacuum, but today’s been full of surprises. Isn’t that right, Moz’in?” He limped away, favoring the leg King hadn’t pinned to the ground.

  Lo’thar hurried to walk beside him.

  King made eye contact with Hoffman. “What are you thinking, sir?”

  “Some answers, at last. I can’t tell how long that Dotari’s been here, but he doesn’t seem like he’s all there,” Hoffman said.

  King looked to be sure each member of the team was moving well and paying attention, then picked up the Dotari battery spear, looking over the business end of the weapon. “Maybe he knows something about fighting the banshees we don’t.”

  ****

  “My name is Moz’in,” the bent-back old Dotari said over his shoulder. “Hurry. You must move faster. Can you not do it? Do they not teach human soldiers to move their posterior attachments?”

  “Nice translation,” Garrison said as he and Adams moved ahead of Moz’in.

  “The software may have a few problems,” Lo’thar said.

  “Let us go first, Mozy old buddy,” Adams said. “We’re here to protect you.”

  “Lance Corporal Adams is known to have the best posterior attachment in the Strike Marines,” Garrison said.

  Moz’in looked questioningly at Lo’thar.

  “Earth humor,” Lo’thar said.

  “We are safe. Noorla cannot, must not, find my home. That would be the end! Follow me. Move aside, you brute,” Moz’in squeezed past Opal and hurried down a spiral staircase so tight it resembled a ladder.

  Garrison and Adams led Hoffman’s Strike Marines in pursuit.

  “Tactical nightmare,” King grunted.

  Moz’in hustled through narrow hallways that seemed better suited to automated rail drones than a grown Dotari. Poorly lit and cold, the maze had the feel of between decks.

  “Right turn, left turn, right turn,” Garrison said. “You logging all this, little sister?”

  Adams showed him her middle finger.

  “Here are the stairs. What can it hurt to show my survival secret to my imaginary friends? Who would they tell?” Moz’in laughed. “I must check the air filters. This seems so real.”

  Hoffman and the others emerged inside a storage bay. Three hammocks hung limp between open crates. One held tattered clothing and blankets while the other two were stiff and dusty. Wires ran haphazardly between several computer monitors on a workbench.

  “King,” Hoffman said, then nodded toward the back of the room.

  The gunnery sergeant motioned for Booker and Max. “Garrison and Adams have been on point for a while. They need a break. We’re going to clear this room a
nd secure any exits.”

  “On it, Gunney,” Max said.

  Hoffman watched Lo’thar and Moz’in, but also took a closer look at the Dotari’s living space. Beside one of the monitors was a stack of freeze-dried food packets and what was either a blender or an upside-down servo mechanism full of green liquid.

  “Huh.” Adams nudged Garrison with an elbow and motioned to the odd device. “Looks like some kind of still. I’ve heard good things about Dotari booze.”

  Hoffman watched water drip from a spigot on the device.

  Moz’in brushed a space near the hammocks clean. “Welcome home! Ha ha. Moz’in didn’t tidy up. Never had visitors before, didn’t expect any today.”

  He jumped onto a crate and pulled the sack of food packs up with him, then flung them one at a time at Hoffman and his Strike Marines. Garrison was so focused on the liquid that he barely noticed when a pack bounced off the side of his helmet.

  Hoffman took his helmet off and hooked it on his belt.

  King, Booker, and Max returned from their security sweep. The gunnery sergeant tossed Duke a Dotari air tank.

  King looked over the team. “Max, you’re rated on suit repairs.”

  “So’s Duke, but can’t have him drop armor, can we?” Max said. “Should take me a bit to have him up to snuff.”

  “Speaking of…” Duke fished out a small tin of chewing tobacco and jabbed a wad between his gums and cheek.

  Hoffman rubbed the fatigue out of his neck with one hand and tried not to think. How long had it been since they entered Kid’ran’s Gift? It felt like forever.

  “Here, here. This is for you,” Moz’in said as he handed Hoffman a food pack.

  “Thanks. I…uh…haven’t eaten since we got here.” Hoffman felt fuzzy, tired from physical exertion and stress.

  Moz’in spread food packets on a workbench near the computers. “Mixed-spice carbohydrate-protein-vitamin supplement number eight. I had some number-three packs that were oh, so savory. You could mix them with warm water and make broth.” He clicked his beak. “The best.”

  Lo’thar tore open the food pack Moz’in had thrown at him, then paused to look at Hoffman.

  “Does he have enough to spare?” Hoffman asked.