by B. V. Larson
Knowing this was my last and only hope, I turned my snap-rifle toward open space and began firing bursts. I propelled myself downward, closing with the line of tiny ships. They loomed large and—
Crunch. I’d collided with something. It was like being run over by a whale. I’d been struck and was clinging to what appeared to be a claw-arm, unsecured and swinging around in open space.
Dazed, I barely had the wits to hang on. My gauntlets closed and I clung to the ship, but I never could have kept my grip if I hadn’t been half-wrapped around the claw-arm’s boom.
When I could breathe again, I cursed and fumbled, finding safety straps and wires to attach to myself. It couldn’t be too long before—
A sickening lurch began and didn’t end. The universe spun, and I fought a powerful urge to vomit. When I had that under control, I saw the blinding glare of engines blooming. The tug that I’d hitched a ride upon had spun around and begun to decelerate.
That could only mean one thing. I braced myself as best I could, but nothing could completely deaden the next impact.
The tug plowed into Minotaur at low speed—but it was enough. The claw arm I was clinging to swung forward under power now, pinching the hull tightly. A half-dozen of its brothers did the same all around me.
We’d boarded Minotaur, and I was the first invader to touch the hull.
Crawling carefully, I wormed my way over the claw-arm and the ship. The nose of the tug had buried itself into a soft spot in the bigger ship’s hull. Minotaur was only armored on its prow, around the broadsides. The tug had been rammed into its stern.
Inside the ship, I was sure that unfriendly invaders were disgorging onto the decks. This made me angry for some reason. I was getting pretty tired of all these crazy Tau, and now that they’d seen fit to leave their station behind and carry their warlike behavior onto what I considered my turf, well, let’s just say that my patience had run out.
Instead of crawling onto Minotaur’s hull, I scuttled out toward the tug’s engines. The tug was no warship. It had no armor, no defenses—I wasn’t even sure if the crew could see me with external cameras or if they would care much if they could.
But they ought to have cared. I tapped the rearmost hatch with the Galactic key, forcing it to open. Both ends of the airlock now yawned open breaking every safety code in the book.
Gas rushed out, and I was nearly blown back out into open space. I’d been expecting this and managed to hang on.
Within three short seconds, the ship depressurized. Bodies spun past me and shot out into space as if fired from a hose. They spun and squirmed and died. It was all over quickly.
Crawling into the aft airlock, I prodded the bodies I found inside. Two of them had suits on which were probably stolen from the original crewmen. They were alive, but confused.
Before they could gather the presence of mind to take a gun off one of their asphyxiated comrades, they died in a hail of snap-rifle shots.
My magazine finally rattled dry after the second man stopped moving. I dropped it and crawled around until I found one of those lightning-rod guns they were so fond of. I checked the gauges on the side. As far as I could tell, it had a full charge.
Smiling grimly, I forced my way over a dozen stiffening corpses and into the airless passageway beyond the nose of the tug.
I was back on Minotaur, armed, and ready for more.
-32-
Minotaur had never been constructed to repel invaders from small ships. That sort of action was probably unthinkable to the designers of any Imperial warship. The Empire had no peers, after all. There was no external enemy, thus no threat to guard against. Warships were designed to deliver troops, threaten helpless planetary populations, or possibly participate in a major battle as part of a massive armada with another Core System rival.
This lack of defenses had always puzzled me, but I thought I understood it now. The designers from the Core Systems never viewed populations such as those in Frontier 921 as any kind of credible threat. They were worried about one another. Therefore, their ships were built to line up in vast formations, broadsides all pointing at an equally impressive host of enemy ships from a rival space fleet.
From the beginning, as far as I could tell, the alliance between the Core Systems had been a tenuous one. They’d never possessed anything like brotherly love for one another. They’d cooperated because it made them rich.
Why was it all falling apart? I’m not sure any human knew the truth. Maybe a man who lived on the edge and worked with aliens every day—a man like Claver—he might know more than most. It was almost a pity that I’d never get a chance to ask him about it. Almost.
My first mission once aboard Minotaur was to get to the hangar deck. Monitoring tactical traffic on my tapper, I knew we had operating legionnaires there and they were in a tight battle. I didn’t contact them, not wanting to pinpoint myself to the enemy with an active signal. I was alone and could easily be taken out by a roving band of invaders. There was no guarantee I’d get the drop on them a second time.
I only fired my newly acquired weapon twice on the way to the hangar deck. The first time was to burn down a Tau sentry in a passageway. I almost felt bad as his head burned away. I could only imagine the effort he’d undertaken to get this far—all the way out into space and breaching the hull of a huge Imperial warship—only to get clocked by me from behind by one of the rebel side’s own weapons.
The second time I used it was to blow open the hatch the sentry had been guarding. I’d deduced that now wasn’t the time for subtleties. This ship could be won or lost in the span of the next few minutes, and if I was going to influence that outcome, I had to get back into the game immediately.
The hatch went down with a clang, which was significant. If I’d heard nothing, the hangar would have still been depressurized. But it was full of gas—and troops.
A pitched battle was going on when I stepped into the smoking opening. One group consisted of Germanica legionnaires. They were crawling out of cracks in their module which was resting upside-down against the back bulkhead of the hangar. Under the module was a crushed pinnace.
Two enemy tugs had penetrated the field and disgorged troops. Shimmering with a lavender haze, they were better-armed than most of the mobs I’d faced. They also outnumbered the human troops by at least two to one.
Outgunned and pinned down by enemy fire, the Germanica troops weren’t giving up. They crawled out of their cracked-open module on their bellies releasing sprays of suppressing fire and seeking cover. They were better-trained and disciplined, but many of them were injured when they entered the fight. They’d suffered broken ribs and the like, and they snarled in pain as they wormed their way out of their module.
From my position, I had only one advantage that I could identify—I was behind the enemy lines. They were arranged in a half-circle, peppering the emerging legionnaires with fire, and I was at one end of that crescent. All I could see was the backs of Tau rebels, working their weapons to deadly effect. Some of them were armed as I was, but most weren’t. They had snap-rifles and laser carbines—weapons doubtlessly stolen from our own troops.
Another man might have hesitated, but it just wasn’t in me. There’s something about watching humans dying to aliens that flips my switch. I went prone to present the smallest possible target and hosed them with my lightning-gun.
A dozen or so went down, hit in the back with a withering streak of energy. I had no idea how to use my new-found gun, so I went wild with it. I slashed them with a continuous beam until the survivors turned and saw me.
They went mad. Howling, they charged toward me firing as they came. Projectiles spanged and sparked everywhere as simultaneously my weapon gave out. I’d probably fried it by unleashing such a long, continuous beam.
I ran in a crouch and retreated into the passage behind me. About three seconds later, they reached the opening and fired a hail of tiny bullets from chattering snap-rifles after me.
Fortunate
ly, I was around the first bend by that time. Unfortunately, so many bullets chased me that some ricocheted and caught up. Three splinters of metal pierced my light vac suit and stung, punching tiny holes in my flesh. I wasn’t sure if they were actual rounds or just shrapnel from the walls themselves, but it hardly mattered. My right leg wasn’t in great shape anymore, and blood was running down from my kidneys to my boots.
I turned at bay, and shook my lighting rod. I ran my eyes over it, but didn’t see a heat gauge or a power meter—at least not one that I could read. In truth, I didn’t know what was wrong with it.
“Damn,” I said. Realizing I could never outrun them, I scuttled back the way I’d come. I drew my knife and decided to try to take the first one that rounded the corner in the passage. With luck—extreme luck—I might be able to grab up his weapon and be back in the fight.
My plan, vague and desperate as it was, didn’t work out at all. I was too slow on my feet. The enemy rounded the corner before I could reach knife-range, and there were two of them rather than one.
Reflexively, I squeezed the trigger on the lighting gun. To my surprise it emitted a brief blaze of energy. Apparently, there’d been one last gasp of juice in the thing after all.
The two enemies were seared and fell before they could return fire with their snap-rifles. I hobbled closer—and listened.
Silence reigned.
Frowning and distrustful, I dropped the lightning-gun and picked up a snap-rifle. I felt more comfortable with a weapon I knew how to operate.
When I finally summoned up the balls to look around the corner, I came face-to-face with another man armed just as I was.
We almost blasted each other. It was close. But after a brief muscle spasm on each side, we eased off our triggers and grinned.
“Germanica?” I asked the recruit that faced me.
“Yeah. Varus?”
“That’s right. What’s going on back in the hangar?”
“We’ve cleaned them out. They got hit from behind somehow, and we were able to get out of that wreck and take up good firing positions. We swept them pretty fast. They’re rank amateurs.”
I nodded, noticing the kid was full of himself. That’s how most Germanica people talked. They were all tough as nails and twice as sharp.
“There are more invaders on this ship,” I told him. “I need to talk to your commander—and we need to find the Imperator.”
“The Imperator?” the kid asked, frowning. “You’re telling me she’s aboard this ship?”
“I revived her myself,” I said and the other guy’s frown told me he wasn’t sure if he believed me or not.
“Whatever,” he said. “This way, Varus.”
I followed him, dragging my leg. He passed back a nu-skin patch which I gratefully applied. That stopped the bleeding at least and relieved a little of the pain.
I met up with a Germanica Centurion in the mess that had been the hangar deck.
“This is unprecedented,” she kept saying. “How many did we lose?”
“Sixty-one, sir,” a veteran told her. “Most from the initial impact. Half the rest are wounded.”
“Are we still out of communication with dispatch? How about headquarters direct?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Unacceptable,” said the Centurion. She was at least in the thick of it. She helped drag wounded back into the module where they’d set up a medical triage unit even as she complained about how unbelievable her predicament was.
For my own part, I was relieved to see her face. I didn’t know her. There was no way she could rat me out to the Imperator, or anyone else, for having colluded with Claver.
“Sir?” I asked.
The Centurion eyed me like dead meat. “Varus? What do you want here?”
“I’m the one who engineered your retrieval, sir.”
“Really?” she asked, turning around and putting her hands on her hips.
She was a tall one with narrow hips and even narrower eyes. She was older than most centurions were in Varus, but that didn’t mean she was a softie. I got the feeling she’d seen her share of combat rather than playing it safe.
“I’m Centurion Leeza,” she said. She had one of those foreign accents that sounded faintly British. “By Hegemony’s rules of conduct I’m declaring you a battlefield asset, and I’m commandeering you as an asset. Do you have a problem with that, Specialist?”
“No sir,” I said. “Not as long as my own officers aren’t around.”
“Excellent. Name?”
“Specialist James McGill, sir.”
“McGill... Where have I heard that name before?”
I shrugged. “Not sure. Maybe the Imperator mentioned me.”
My reference to the Imperator created the instant effect I’d hoped for. She forgot all about asking me to tell my story.
“You’ve seen the Imperator? She’s alive?”
“Yes sir, and still in command of this ship as far as I know. I last saw her on the fire control deck.”
Leeza frowned. “Why hasn’t she contacted me yet? There’s nothing on my tapper—nothing on local tactical chat, either.”
My heart sank. Turov had never stayed quiet for long. If she was silent, she was most likely dead. For some strange reason, I didn’t like that idea.
“I suggest we go check on her, sir,” I said.
Leeza looked around and spied the recruit standing next to me. “Take Chisholm, here. Report back to me when you have news of her status.”
“Roger that.”
We left in a hurry. I was still limping, but it wasn’t as bad now as it had been. I took a few seconds to raid the medical kits of the two surviving Germanica bio people who gave me what I needed to keep moving.
We passed up two firefights but got caught up in a third one as we approached the tactical control room. This was because the combat was going on right outside the door of the facility itself.
A freakish-looking combat suit stalked the hallways. It was so big I thought it was a drone at first, but then I saw real eyes inside that slitted visor.
Servos whined as the suit turned at the waist and claw-like grippers pinched closed, grabbing a Tau by the waist. The alien struggled and shot his weapon bravely into the monster’s face, but the rounds only splattered, turning into orange sparks on the heavy titanium armor.
The pinchers closed, snipping the Tau in half. Hanging together by a thread of spine, the alien slipped down in a messy heap onto the floor when the pinchers opened again. Around the metal suit’s splayed feet were the crumpled forms of several other Tau, all similarly dispatched.
The monster turned, sighting us next. It took a clanking step forward.
The recruit I’d come with lost his nerve. He backed away, lifting his weapon and cursing repetitively. I knocked the barrel of his weapon down.
“Identify yourself, please!” I shouted at the suit.
It took two more clanking steps toward us. The recruit at my side shrank with every stride. Finally the head popped off, and a grinning young lady beamed down at us in amusement. It was none other than Galina Turov.
“Nice to see you again, McGill,” she said. “I found this thing in the weaponry closet. Pretty neat, isn’t it? I think all our legions should buy them. Tech World is a great market for hardware like this.”
“Sir,” I said, “Centurion Leeza of Germanica sent me to find you. May I ask why you haven’t been communicating with the rest of the ship’s defenders?”
“Couldn’t,” she said. “It’s hard to hear in this thing. The motors whine and roar. Besides, I couldn’t reach my tapper with my arm inside the actuator.”
“I see. What are your orders, sir?”
She grinned. “Let’s kill all the Tau then plan our next move.”
“Yes sir.”
The next half-hour troubled me somewhat. I began to understand Turov’s personality—the darker side. She liked to fight as long as the enemy couldn’t touch her.
I thoug
ht maybe a lighting gun could take her out, suit or no. But despite following along in her stomping wake as we mopped up enemy resistance across the ship, we didn’t run into any more lightning-guns to test my theory.
-33-
Hours later, after the ship had been cleared of invaders, I returned to the fire control center. There was Galina Turov, standing with her right hip canted at a provocative angle while she worked the boards. I felt a surge of relief that the battle was over, and that she had survived it.
How odd… I began to ponder why the hell I cared whether this woman had survived or not. Staring for a full minute, I thought it over. She was standing with her back to me, unaware of my scrutiny.
As far as I was concerned, Turov had been a devil from the first day I’d met her. I should want to see her dead. The thought of finding Turov’s corpse—young and lovely or older and snarling—should have brought a smile to my face. After all, hadn’t she sent goons to harass me in my own house? Men who’d actually killed me in the end?
But as my gaze lingered on her form, I found I didn’t want her to die. The only answer I had for my mood was it must have been a natural response to her youth and beauty. Men like me—we’re suckers for a pretty woman. We’re just wired to want to give them a break.
I felt sympathy for every cop who’d ever let a girl slide—but then I sternly reminded myself she wasn’t just guilty of dodging speeding tickets. This woman had been a conniving, cast-iron witch.
“Are you going to report, or stare, Specialist?” Turov asked me suddenly without turning around.
I jumped and stepped fully into the room. There were cameras on me—there had to be. Damn.
“Sorry sir,” I said, deciding to cover by completely ignoring the situation. “Yes, I’m here to report—and to check up on your status.”
Why the hell had I said that?
She turned around slowly. Her head cocked to one side questioningly. I found the gesture eerie and entrancing at the same time. She was like some kind of vicious animated doll. I knew an evil spirit was hidden in that package. I could only imagine her charm had helped propel her up the ranks early-on and that, as she got older, ruthless ambition had finished the job.