by T. D. Wilson
“Captain!” Kree’s synthesized voice seemed almost shrill now. “What is happening?”
“The Chi’tan have launched some type of energy sphere at the planet,” Hood answered and he stood in alarm. “Helm, bring us about, flank speed.”
“No. Even they would not do this,” Kree synthesized voiced trailed into a hiss. “Captain, you must destroy it now. It cannot reach the planet!”
“Aldridge! Target all port rail gun batteries and the particle cannon on that sphere. Fire when we’re in range,” Hood ordered. “Kree, what is that thing?”
“It is a weapon that should not be,” the Cilik’ti explained. “The sphere contains the remains of one of the power cores from the Chi’tan vessel. If it reaches the planet, the field will collapse and its energy will ignite the atmosphere. The resulting firestorm will blanket the planet surface and kill everyone and everything.”
The Armstrong, in trying to gain more distance from the Chi’tan mother ship, was skirting the edge of its weapons’ range.
“Weapons firing,” Aldridge announced.
The blast of the particle cannon was first, but the energy from the cannon’s blast dissipated due to the range and passed just underneath the sphere. The rail guns opened fire. Two of the rounds struck the exterior of the sphere but were absorbed by the energy inside and failed to detonate the weapon.
Nothing seemed to stop or slow the sphere down. The particle cannon was Hood’s best chance, but it was recharging, and the sphere was approaching the edge of the planet’s atmosphere. Nonetheless, he wasn’t about to stop and witness the destruction of the planet and, quite possibly, the future of Earth.
Without warning, several energy weapons struck the surface of the sphere in rapid succession. The sphere contorted under the stress, and red ribbons of energy leaked from long thin seams in the containment field. The seams expanded until the sphere exploded, scattering the energy inside into space. A portion of the energy reached the atmosphere. An approximate twenty-kilometer area glowed with an intense orange light for a few moments but soon dissipated.
“We didn’t hit it,” Aldridge said. “The weapons fire came from the N’lan mother ship. She took out the sphere.”
Hood was dumbfounded. The N’lan had saved the colony, and he was in their debt. He supposed he should thank them, but he wasn’t sure how or even where to start. Hood enlarged the area of the atmosphere affected by the sphere’s energy. “Do you have any sensor readings on the damage to the atmosphere?”
“Negative, Captain. The energy is clouding any readings.” She tried a few more times, but it was no use. “We’ll have to wait until the energy cloud dissipates.”
New flashes and explosions lit up the main view port as the Armstrong continued to close on the planet. The Chi’tan had opened fire on the N’lan mother ship. Even in its weakened state, the Chi’tan mother ship scored several hits across the N’lan mother ship’s superstructure. The N’lan responded with a volley of particle energy blasts. Some of the weapons impacted on areas damaged by the Armstrong, penetrating deep into the Chi’tan ship. Atmosphere leaks and fires were spread out along its hull.
“Sir, do we assist the N’lan?” Aldridge asked.
“Do not intervene, Captain,” Kree’s voice informed him. “The Chi’tan have violated the terms of the K’rveen and are being dealt with.”
Honor. Hood figured the Chi’tan had crossed the line. “This is their fight now. Helm, pull us back to a safe distance but close enough to shoot anything else they might try to send down to the planet.”
The Armstrong moved higher into the planet’s orbit, and everyone on the Command Deck watched the N’lan weapons pound what remained of the Chi’tan mother ship.
“Captain, the Chi’tan mother ship’s power cores are going critical,” Aldridge said, continuing to monitor the battle. “She’s going to blow.”
A few moments later, a massive internal explosion fractured the Chi’tan ship. Several large pieces separated along jagged cracks in the mother ship’s hull, and more explosions sent them tumbling away into deep space. The surviving pieces fell into the planet’s atmosphere and disintegrated on reentry.
Crew members from every station on the Armstrong’s Command Deck celebrated and cheered. While they celebrated their victory, Hood was still seated in his chair. Exhausted and relieved, he leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to find a moment’s peace that had eluded him for the past several days. It was over. The cheers were but whispers around him now. The stress began to ebb from his body and his hands relaxed their grip on the sides of his chair. The pain in his cheek and residual soreness across his midsection reminded him that he was still alive. His arms and legs went limp. Hood was certain that if he tried to stand, he would collapse.
His theory was shattered when he was yanked to his feet by someone pulling on his left arm. Hood managed to catch his balance and was about to reprimand the person responsible when he realized it was none other than Jillian. The strawberry blonde beauty lifted his arms to the ceiling with hers and howled in celebration. Unsure of what to do, Hood was about to join her when she moved closer and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was awkward and closed-mouthed at first, but as he relaxed, the fullness and warmth of it deepened. Their embrace lasted for several seconds at least, but to Hood it was an eternity. Finally, she pulled back and gazed into Hood’s eyes. Her eyes held hope, joy, excitement and passion. All the things he’d admired in her since the day they’d first met. He smiled, and she returned it with no sign of shyness or shame. For Hood, his dreams of her coming to recognize him as a man and not some young boy from her past were coming true right before his eyes.
“Oh, James,” she whispered. She laid her head against his chest and wrapped her arms around him. He held her tight and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, praying this one moment of joy, his chance at true happiness, would never end.
Chapter Fifteen
Magellan colony site
Cygni 4
Saturday, February 1
Earth Year 2155
McGregor stepped out past what remained of the forward bunker positions, flanked by a platoon of Marines. Despite a structured word of caution form Lieutenant Searcy, he insisted on leading the mop up team to search for survivors, be they friend or foe. Medical teams fanned out behind them. When new wounded were discovered, the Marines would move up and allow the medical team to treat and remove them from the battlefield while providing protection from any threats.
McGregor frowned and his eyes soaked in the devastation before him. He could smell both burned metal and flesh all around. It had been a long time since he’d seen a battlefield like this, not since the latter part of the Cilik’ti invasion of Mars. Bodies of the fallen were everywhere. His daring strategy had worked, but the cost was high. Based on Searcy’s initial readings from online health monitors, his companies had suffered over 60 percent casualties, and that number didn’t reflect the number of colonists who’d given their lives. Lieutenant Carney was still in critical condition back in the command center, but his prognosis was good. The lad was a glorified pain in McGregor’s ass, but his heart was always in the right place.
As the Marine scout group passed an upended Shredder tank, McGregor heard something—a brief crunch, followed by a muffled gnawing. McGregor held up his fist in warning, and the Marines stopped and readied their weapons. He waved two of the Marines to the far side of the tank and led the rest around the corner closest to him. Taking cover on the edge, McGregor leaned around the corner.
What he saw made his old Scottish blood boil. Tucked under cover of the wreckage of the tank was one of the elite Chi’tan warriors, its back toward McGregor. The warrior’s dark armor was cracked along the back of its carapace, and pieces were missing. Black blood oozed from small wounds under the armor, but there was no sign of the warrior’s deadly lance. He heard the so
und again and knew what was happening.
McGregor motioned his men to move around the warrior. They crept to positions at a safe distance, weapons trained and ready. McGregor moved along behind them until he had full view of the Cilik’ti warrior’s face. The warrior’s foreboding helmet was missing. The Cilik’ti’s faceted eyes scanned the other Marines then settled on him. More grievous wounds covered its long torso, and one of the warrior’s arms had been reduced to a stump. The other four-fingered hand held a long piece of what McGregor recognized as a piece of another Cilik’ti warrior’s leg. Without breaking eye contact with McGregor, the warrior brought the severed leg up to his mandibles. It cracked another bite of the carapace, spraying ichor over its face.
Not impressed with the warrior’s stare down, McGregor studied the alien, and it didn’t take long for him to see what he expected. The warrior’s stump of an arm began to grow, a few centimeters at first, but after a few seconds, McGregor could see new definition of the regenerating arm take shape.
McGregor knew it would take more than that morsel it held to heal itself, and he looked at the ground in front of the warrior. Two bodies of fallen Marines were in arm’s reach of the Cilik’ti. He was positive they would be next on the menu.
McGregor took the grenade launcher and ammo belt from the heavy weapons specialist standing nearest to him. After loading a shell into the launcher’s breach, McGregor snapped it closed and walked three steps toward the Cilik’ti. The warrior continued to dine on the leg still in its hand but never took its eyes off McGregor. In a daring move, it dropped the leg and reached out for one of the bodies of the Marines. Its hand dragged the body closer until the corpse rested next to its legs and then it fumbled with the Marine’s armor. The armor proved to be a difficult task to remove with one free hand, and that made McGregor smile. He raised the launcher and aimed it at the warrior’s head.
The warrior stopped and stared in silent fury at the weapon. In a vain act of defiance, it jerked on the arm of the dead Marine, forcing a loud crack as the shoulder dislocated.
McGregor grit his teeth and placed his finger on the trigger of the launcher. In his mind, he remembered Garrett and all the other fallen friends he’d lost and the vow he had made. “Say ahh, Tiki!” he snarled and pulled the trigger.
* * *
The last wounded Marine was loaded into the shuttle, and Sanchez closed the door. Once the engines started up, he stepped away from the shuttle and joined Maya and one of the corpsman by a set of tables set up as a makeshift triage area near the bunkers. The shuttles had been packed to the gills with wounded. The more serious ones had been sent first once they were stable, but from the look of things they weren’t going to lose any more. He’d seen plenty of combat today and now he did what he could to piece the wounded back together. One of the corpsman supervised him with several of his patients and to his credit he didn’t vomit or pass out no matter how bad the injury. Well, except for that arterial leg wound that sprayed his face. He’d turned green and felt woozy for sure, but that didn’t count.
With the shuttles gone, there was just the three of them remaining near the lake. Toronaga had the remaining Marines on a sweep of the surrounding area, searching for Cilik’ti survivors. Their search didn’t turn up anything, and Toronaga had declared the area secure. As the last of the shuttles were prepped, McGregor had called them back to assist his people. Once the next shuttle returned, it would be Sanchez’s turn to head back to the ship, but he was positive he would never forget what he’d experienced here. For now, at least, he was glad to be free of that constricting armor. The medics had to remove it from his waist up to treat his wounds. For Sanchez, it felt good to breathe deep again without getting pinched in the process.
“Commander, Lieutenant, can you help me with these?” the corpsman asked, and he placed his hands under a large scanner. The medical team that had arrived after the battle had brought three portable scanners along. The scanners had saved a lot of lives by improving the time to diagnose the extent of injuries. Despite being portable, the equipment was quite heavy and needed to be placed back into their protective boxes for the ride back to the Armstrong.
Maya, who’d been standing guard for most of the triage, set her rifle and sword down on the nearest table and joined Sanchez at the first scanner. Together, the three of them lifted the bulky and fragile scanner into the crate and sealed it for transport. After they sealed the second scanner away, Sanchez could tell that Maya hadn’t strained to lift the heavy scanner. His arms and legs ached from fatigue and he was surprised she showed no signs.
“Lieutenant, you could at least act like these things are heavy, you know,” he joked. He rolled his neck and tried to ease stiffness. “We wouldn’t be offended.”
Maya looked at Sanchez with her blue eyes awash in bewilderment of Sanchez’s meaning. “I am.” She paused. It was so unlike her to be unsure of herself, and Sanchez picked up on it. “I do apologize, Commander.” She shook her head and walked over to the last scanner. “For most of my life, I’ve trained myself to look for weakness, tells and idiosyncrasies. Anything to track, outwit and overcome even the most dangerous of adversary. As a strict practice, I forced myself to not show reactions that might be used against me. When dealing with criminals and even the aliens we encountered here, one detectable flaw could change the outcome of a contest or battle.”
They lifted the last scanner and this time he could see a small glint of strain in her face, forced though it was. “That’s all right,” he said when they laid the machine in the crate. “We’re all human, you know. Besides, without those fantastic skills of yours, I would’ve been crocodile chow.”
Maya managed a small laugh and leaned against one of the tables.
“Now, you know I owe you one, and I don’t like to be in the hole on something like that.” He wagged his finger at Maya. “You’re going to have to let me get even.”
Maya put up her hands, “Oh no, Commander. What I did was part of my duty. You can’t possibly think that—”
“Eh, eh,” he interrupted. “Come on there must be something I can do. A movie?”
She shook her head.
“No, that won’t work. I can make you dinner!”
“No,” she said with too much emphasis.
“Yeah, I’d pass on the dinner option too,” he said, rubbing his chin and trying to find the best option. But he couldn’t place it. “Well, I’ll find it and I won’t take no for an answer.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Thanks for coming along. If I’ve learned anything down here it’s that you and I make a good team.”
Her eyes met his again and this time Maya smiled. Sanchez returned a bigger one. He could feel a connection growing with the beautiful security officer, he was sure of it.
He wanted to stay and be lost in those eyes a little longer, but Maya’s focus changed. She was looking past him now. Without warning, her eyes narrowed much like that of a cat zeroing in on its prey. Her lip curled in a feral snarl and her powerful hands grasped him by the arms.
Before she could throw him out of the way, he heard the whistle of the assassin’s bullet slicing through the air millimeters from his arm. His eyes captured it when it struck Maya’s left shoulder. The armor-piercing bullet penetrated her body armor, and the impact sent her backward. Her grip on Sanchez still held and they went tumbling into the triage tables.
Sanchez landed on his side and stars filled his vision. His head pounded. He must have hit it on one of the tables. After a few moments, his vision cleared and he searched in desperation for Maya. He found her a few meters to his right. A table had fallen over her.
The corpsman who’d remained behind ran over to the tables. The man called Sanchez’s name and his words sounded like deep-panned echoes to Sanchez’s ears. The young Marine started around the tables to reach him when he staggered. Blood burst from his chest as another one of the assa
ssin’s bullets entered his back and exited the other side. Dropping to his knees, the corpsman cupped his hands in front of him and then brought them up to his face. He stared in silence at the dark blood that coated them and jerked forward when a second bullet pierced his neck.
Sanchez froze. Whoever was shooting had a clear line of sight and if he moved, he risked being the next victim. He activated his comm band. “Armstrong, come in! This is Commander Sanchez. I need a medical evac at my location.” Static answered. “What’s wrong now?” He tried again and it was the same result.
He was a sitting duck. Fear and grief gripped him in a vise. He couldn’t save the corpsman, and Maya might be dying. He waited a few agonizing minutes and summoned his courage. Get moving, dammit! He scooted on his belly toward Maya’s position. He reached the table and peered underneath it. She wasn’t moving, but he did see the slight chest falls of her breathing. She’s alive!
There hadn’t been any more shots fired, and Sanchez counted himself lucky. He crawled around the table to Maya. The wound in her shoulder was serious and her blood was everywhere. Reaching back around the table, he grabbed a box of med-gel packs and bandages. He opened the box but stopped when he heard something behind him. He reduced his breathing to small, silent breaths and listened. Footsteps were coming closer. They were almost to him now.
Sanchez leaned closer to the fallen table for concealment and waited. It was a long half a minute before he noticed the barrel of a rifle come into view above him. He used his legs for leverage and thrust the table up into their assailant. The gun went flying, and Sanchez faced the person responsible.
“Tsk, tsk,” a male voice chided. “You know, I couldn’t believe my luck when I was given the opportunity to snuff out two birds with one stone, but alas, my aim just wasn’t good enough. Even with all that training.”
Sanchez stared in surprise at face of the man who’d just tried to kill him. “Kingston?”