Ord threw punches that drove the Ork backwards up the hill several steps before he dug in and grabbed Ord’s right wrist with his left and threw a punch of his own. Ord caught the blow, and a contest of strength ensued, fiercely powerful beings, right wrists locked in left hands, seeking the other’s death.
In the midst of the struggle, Ord heard blaster fire and knew it could only be coming from Ursula’s position on the other side of the chasm. He feared what might be occurring, and his response to fear was much the same as Teller’s, he grew angry.
The Ork was taller and heavier than Ord. He held the higher ground as well. Both were advantages, and the monster sought to use these against the giant Human. He leaned toward and over Ord, using his weight to bear down, but found it was like pressing down on a block of permacrete, solid and unyielding.
Unlike permacrete, Ord possessed muscle, endurance, and determination, and he used this to keep the Ork’s right arm suspended in the air while his right slowly closed on the Ork’s neck despite the resistance the monster offered. The Ork responded with powerful lunges trying to bend the elbow of Ord’s left arm, all the while the giant’s right powered its way closer to its target.
The Ork snapped a bite at Ord’s face in an attempt to get the giant to back away, but the man responded contrary to the tactic. He lowered his head and shoved it into the Ork’s chest, sliding up to butt the Ork under the chin.
Stunned for but a moment, the Ork suddenly released Ord’s hand and reared away, trying to escaped the giant’s grasping hand, but he failed. Ord’s hand tightened around the monster’s neck as the Ork brought a sharp blow downward at Ord’s head.
The first blow landed, rocking Ord, but the giant ducked his head and raised his elbow, canting his opponent’s head and blocking the next blow. The Ork threw another punch, then another, both with the same result. Realizing he was on borrowed time as his oxygen supply dwindled, the Ork threw a low punch at Ord’s torso and bit at the Human’s head.
Sharp teeth raked across Ord’s scalp and as the warm flow of blood ran down his face, he realized the Ork’s desperation would drive him to become as fierce as only those who face annihilation might become. Digging deep, Ord drew on a lifetime’s worth of swinging a hammer or pick at Gizzen’s hard stone and hefted the Ork from the ground, squeezing with everything he had left. The Ork slammed kicks and knees at the giant in an effort to turn the tide.
. . .
Wego fired again as Ursula brought her weapon to bear. She fired at nearly the same moment the Tyko unleashed another shot, causing her to flinch as the bolt flashed by her. Cold fear and hot rage coursed through her. She knew she faced a dangerous and sadistic killer with considerable experience in that field of endeavor, but she also knew her weapon was lethal enough to stop him. If only the operator could be as lethal, she thought. Your life depends on it. How far are you willing to go to stay alive? she silently asked. She glared angrily at the closing killer. “As far as I must,” she hissed in answer.
She brought her snub blaster up as she had trained. Her sight followed Wego. He fired again, his shots flying high as he made his way closer. She aimed for his head and fired. A miss. Another shot and another, both also missing. His head is moving too much. She slid out of sight, down into the fold in the ground. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I have to let him get closer.”
Terror tried to take hold, but anger overcame it. Wait. Soon she heard footsteps grinding on rocky soil. She sat up and pushed her way onto the higher ground at the back of the fold, ignoring the painful wound in her leg. Wego saw her and snarled. They both brought their weapons up simultaneously and fired at nearly the same moment. A flash passed her as sparks flared from the Tyko’s body armor. He growled and strode forward.
Ursula fired a pair of shots before her blaster blinked a 0 on the display at the rear of the pistol, indicating her weapon was empty. The two bolts hit the thick plate on Wego’s chest, flaring as they popped on the hard surface. Specks of plate and burning bolt material sprayed into his face, stopping him in his tracks.
Ursula scrambled for a full magazine, her last, while Wego rubbed his face and growled. He snarled and fired a shot that burned past Ursula’s head, the heat from the round causing a sting of pain as it flashed by. A clanging sound and glint of light from polished metal signaled the deployment of Wego’s bayonet. The monster smiled.
Ursula winced at the sight and brought her weapon up, firing a trio of shots. The bolts walked a zigzag course up his torso, the last spraying particles into Wego’s face again.
He bellowed, closing one watering eye, raising his weapon and charging as Ursula placed her sights on his face and fired.
The bolt was on course to bore a hole through the center of Wego’s brain, but in the frantic dynamics of combat, random chance intervened and Wego’s paw intersected the path between brain and blaster, The bolt passed through the plate on the back of his glove, flaring as it did. Beyond the plate was Wego’s meaty paw, and within the paw the grip of his weapon. Within the grip was the magazine holding rounds for the heavy blaster, and when the flaring bolt met propellant within the rounds, a conflagration started. Not huge, but large enough to destroy paw and weapon in a booming flash. He shrieked in pain, stumbling back and then falling.
Ursula let out a breath, relieved Wego was down, the ammunition counter on her blaster displaying 2. Her relief lasted but a moment.
The Tyko growled ferociously and came to his feet. Ursula suppressed her panic and fired a pair of blaster bolts, scoring hits on his head but flaring off the helmet he wore.
Wego’s good paw went to his belt and wrapped around the grip on his Tykonian battle blade. He drew it and snarled, turning and closing on Ursula once again.
. . .
Ord released his death grip from the Ork’s crumpled neck, letting the body fall in a dead heap on the ground. He looked toward Ursula’s position. A bloodied and enraged Wego closed on her, one paw a mangled mess, his other wielding a fighting knife.
She lives! he thought. Ord’s eyes scanned across the nearby landscape seeking his D91 or the dead Ork’s blaster, but found nothing but an old yet very serviceable single-hand sledgehammer on the ground just two steps away, disinterred during the battle of giants. He lifted the tool, getting a feel for its balance and weight. This is a fine hammer, he thought. Far too nice to deserve the fate of abandonment. He held the hammer a short distance from his face. “Not your role, but Ord asks you to serve,” he said to the tool.
. . .
Wego stood over Ursula and growled, saliva dripping from his jaws. He held the knife before him and twisted it in the dim light, a gesture Ursula felt was intended to terrify her. If so, it’s working, passed through her mind. Her blaster blinked 0.
A deep and enraged bellow sounded to Ursula’s left, loud enough to cause her—and Wego—to look that way. It was Ord, rage burning in his eyes, blood running down his face as a flash of movement crossed the long shadows toward them. A loud bang of impact startled Ursula. She looked to Wego and saw him toppling, helmet flying, face a smashed and bleeding horror. Beside her came a thud, a gory hammer cratering the ground near her leg.
Wego let out a gush of air as he hit the ground and then was still.
“You hurt?” Ord yelled.
“My leg, but I’ll live.”
“Out of ammo?”
“Yes.”
“Knife or hammer, use on Wego.”
“He must be dead.”
“Make sure. If not he will rise again.”
Ursula nodded. Crawling next to the Tyko, she found he still breathed. Wego twitched, his eyes flickering, causing her to start. They came open and he looked at her.
“You’ll die,” he said in a rasping voice.
Her eyes narrowed in anger. She wrapped her hand around the grip of the fallen battle blade and plunged the point into the monster’s skull, the fearsome blade sinking to the hilt. The monster stiffened and twitched in spasm before going slac
k. His breathing was stilled. She slid away from the body and looked at Ord. “It’s done,” she said with a grimace.
“Remember, it was a necessity. Stay there. Care for wound. We finish fight, then Ord will get you.”
. . . . .
. . . . .
16
It Ain’t Over Till…
. . . . .
Excerpt from, Cap’n Cosmos’ Guide to it All, the Interstellar Guide for Endeavoring Spacers.
Cap’n, what’s the difference between realspace and normal space?
-Delroy Sung’to III
That’s a question asked more times than you might think, Del. Space Actual is the official Syndicate Standard Speech term for the topic. It, like everything else in a galaxy of trillions of beings, has myriad names, terms, and whatnots. Realspace and normal space are two of the most common. The use of the terms Space Actual and realspace source themselves in the debate over whether or not slipspace actually exists as our space does. If you’re smart enough to follow the arguments, then the Cap’n salutes you and suggests you are too smart to be a spacer. If you don’t understand or don’t care what the heck the eggheads are arguing about, don’t worry.
Working spacers traverse the stars without worrying about the scientific, religious, or philosophical ramifications of the validity of slipspace. They have more important things to worry about, like… has the price for Ardalusian Red Spice plummeted while they were making their run; or is running the blockade around Borla-V worth the risk; or do they have Carperan Pale Ale in pails at the Paylemoria spaceport cantina; or… well, you get the picture.
Spacers are a practical bunch for the most part, and if they were to join in on a debate about realspace or slipspace, it would most likely be over whether or not the terms should be capitalized. Slipspace versus slipspace, Space Actual versus space actual. Form your own opinion, pick a side, learn to use your fists, and join the discussion at your nearest spacer bar when you’re old enough. Remember, Endeavoring Spacers, it’s never too early to prepare for a career as a long mover.
. . .
“That’s scoria?” Teller asked pointing at a collection of ugly conglomerated piles crowded behind a dilapidated containment wall. The area sat in the lowest point in the cut he and Ned were examining. The mercenaries were on the road that led into the cut, and unless they turned around for some reason, they had to pass through the divide to get to the area where the Lance was located.
“I believe it is,” Ned replied. “Maybe dross as well. It looks like someone dumped it down there for recovery or further processing, but I’m just guessing.”
“Just the one way in and out. Looks like it would take a lot to damage it. It would make for good cover, but we’d be trapped in there. Up here’s better. It leaves us the opportunity to break out if need be. I’m betting we’ll need.”
The pair stood on a flat and elevated portion of ground that overlooked their end of the narrow cut. Several sizeable rocks edged the elevation. Behind them, near a large hump of earth, was a low, thick, duralam wall, it’s purpose unknown. Just behind and looming over the hump was a high mound of slag of different consistency than that behind the containment wall. To their right was a slope that ran up to another flat area. At first, they thought they might use it to observe the cut, but found a heavy multi-strand wire fence covered in thin panels lined the upper edge of the cut, blocking sight.
They knew it was a near impossibility to destroy the mercenary force that was coming their way, but they hoped they might prevent the mercenaries advance down the cut or pin them down before they reached their end of the furrow. The duralam wall was excellent cover, but two men preventing a dozen or more from advancing on them was going to be very difficult with just a pair of hand blasters. The pair sought a better solution.
They needed one soon, because the Gotmil force had entered the cut at the other end and was examining things before they moved farther.
Ned looked around and decided if there was a solution, it wasn’t in their present location. “Here, take this,” he said, presenting his blaster to Teller. “You might need it and I doubt it’ll be much use to me where I’m going.” He dug his spare magazines from a pocket and passed them to the spacer as well. “Before you ask, I’m going up there,” he said with a point past the slag pile. “Maybe there’s something that might even things up a bit.”
“Okay. I hope you come up with something quickly, because they’ll soon know I’m here solo. When that happens, they’ll come hard and fast.”
Ned pointed down the cut and hefted an old D-handled shovel the pair had found, its blade concaved from years of use. “Keep them at the other end as long as you can.”
Teller glared at Ned. “Sure, no problem. It’ll be easy.”
“No worries then. Give me just a few minutes.” He charged up the hill and disappeared over the crest.
Teller saw movement at the end of the cut. A trio of men moved onto the road nearly two hundred meters distant and came toward him. “Keep’em at the other end the man said,” he grumbled. He gave the front man elevation and lead with his sights and fired. To Teller’s surprise, the mercenary dropped like a stone and lie still.
“Maybe it will be easy after a—” Tell managed before the remaining mercs poured fire his way.
. . .
Ned heard the first shot and the answering flurry. He instinctively ducked behind a large boulder on the slope and soon realized the fire was directed elsewhere. That elsewhere is Teller’s location, he thought with a grimace on his face. He walked a few steps before stopping and looking back at the boulder. He looked down the incline and saw the wire fence and its panels. It can’t be that easy, he thought.
. . .
Ord moved over the rough course of the ridgeline at quite a pace, one that most might think impossible for a man his size. He had recovered his D91 and the Ork’s blaster, and after tossing the Ork’s weapon to Ursula, he made tracks for the ridge.
His data pad alerted him to an incoming message. It was Ho.
“You all right?” Ord said when he answered.
“At the cost of my left arm, I eliminated the warbot menace. My damage was existence threatening, but ARC Lance’s facilities provided the means to stabilize my systems.”
Ord smiled and related Ursula’s situation and his own. “Ord is looking for Teller and Ned now.”
“I believe I know their location. I am using ARC Lance’s communication gear to listen to Gotmil’s transmissions. I am sending you coordinates. At or near that position, the mercenaries are taking fire, but believe they have the upper hand and are preparing an assault. Despite their confidence, accurate blaster fire is slowing them.”
“Teller.”
“That was my supposition as well. You will lose data pad coms as you near the area. Gotmil are utilizing jamming devices.”
“Ord thanks you. Just in case, Ord will send you Ursula’s location. Recover her if we cannot.”
“I shall. I doubt it will prove necessary, my friend. I have confidence your presence will significantly alter the battle’s dynamics.”
. . .
For the time being, the Gotmil mercs seemed to be satisfied with throwing superior firepower Teller’s way. They weren’t hitting their target, but they were putting out considerably more fire than the spacer, something they believed would win them the fight. Teller answered with two-fisted blaster fire, hoping the mercs might think there was more than one opponent behind the wall. So far it’s working, he thought.
A pair of mercenaries sprinted forward a dozen steps and took cover. Soon they began firing at Teller. He pointed one blaster at the pair and the other at the rest of the mercs and fired when more attempted to move forward. They shied back when a blaster bolt fried the air between them. “This won’t last long,” Teller grumbled. He glanced up the incline where he’d last seen Ned and muttered, “C’mon, old man, before these guys bury me.”
. . .
Ned’s heart rate was appr
oaching maximum, at least it felt that way to him. Move a giant boulder. Easy in concept, not so in practice, he thought. The last few chrono units had been a period of non-stop activity. The evaluation of the practicality of getting such a large rock moving made Ned realize he would need help if it was going to happen as soon as possible, and Teller needed help soonest if the amount of fire being thrown his way was any indicator. The excavation of the ground on the downslope side of the large boulder was next, followed by a sprint up the incline and a hasty survey of the rocks above. The discovery of a rock large enough and of proper placement for his purpose was sheer luck, now it was simply a case of using his life’s knowledge and experience to fashion a landslide. Fence-slide is a more accurate term, he silently corrected himself. A simple case of rolling a rock of uneven shape and unknown weight down an incline of guesstimated slope and consistency into a larger mass of equally unknown shape and weight causing it to dislodge itself and roll farther down the incline with enough force to collapse the fence line into the cut, burying a mercenary force of unknown size. That’s all.
“No rest for the desperate,” he muttered as he used the shovel to lever the rock. Initial resistance gave way and soon the rock began its rolling, curving path down the incline, Ned slipping and following in its wake a short distance before he dug in his heels and stopped the slide. Is the energy gathered by its trip downward enough to move the stationary mass? he wondered. “If your aim was on…,” he whispered.
The crack of rock on rock was loud. The large boulder rocked ever so slightly, then appeared to settle back into place when suddenly the dirt underneath crumbled and slumped downslope. Soon after, the boulder slid, then rolled, bounding a little over the uneven surface as it picked up pace. Anywhere on the end section of the fence. It need not be any more precise than that, he thought. If you’re right, it will peel over the side like a pull tab from an instant food package.
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