by T. D. Wilson
The leader of the lake site was still clad in his Marine scout armor and he rolled his eyes at Sanchez’s question. “Oh come on, Commander. You know who I am.” He pointed toward Maya’s body. “She knew, but she couldn’t prove it, and that makes this all the more sweet.”
“Descherra?”
“Bingo! Give the man his prize,” Descherra applauded him. “You’re not that bright, are you, Commander?” he mocked.
Sanchez slid his hand down and activated his comm band again, but Descherra unclipped a small cylinder from his belt and waved it at him. Sanchez recognized it. It was a comm scrambler similar to the ones the security teams used to lock down frequencies aboard ships and stations.
Descherra wagged his finger at him. “I guess not. You know everything was going like aces until you arrived with your big ship and that...” his voice turned angry, “that woman in tow.” He glared in her direction again, and a deep raucous and coarse laughter erupted from his lips.
Aiming for surprise, Sanchez charged him, and the two men tumbled away from the tables. Sanchez freed himself from Descherra with a twist of his arms. He rolled to his left and came up in a fighting stance. His boots found a patch of firm dirt and he pressed down on the balls of his feet. Using his solid footing to spin around toward Descherra, Sanchez executed a tight jump that ended in the combat stance Maya had worked on with him over the past several days.
Descherra seemed impressed. “Well, you are full of surprises. I like that.” He waved to Sanchez in an obvious taunt and settled into a relaxed stance of his own. “You want to play hero? That’s fine. I’ll play your little game.” He rolled his neck, the tendons popping as he stretched. “Let’s go.”
Sanchez waded in while his eyes scanned his opponent for weaknesses. Descherra’s armor presented a definite problem, but not insurmountable. The Marine scout armor wasn’t designed for full-body protection and had a few small unprotected areas along the midsection and under the arms and legs to promote ease of movement. He took note of the areas. Striking that armor with a bare hand would be painful to say the least.
Sanchez started with a few quick jabs, hoping to feel out what Descherra would do. Descherra, the shorter of the two men by a few centimeters, had the same reach as Sanchez and knocked the jabs away. Sanchez launched a strong right hand at Descherra’s face that was again deflected, but Sanchez was expecting that and used the momentum to generate a spinning back fist. Descherra continued to stay on the defensive and backed away as Sanchez’s fist flew past.
Not giving up, Sanchez pressed in again this time with a left hand lead that he then used to start a string of strikes, but Descherra measured each one in sequence. For each attack, Descherra gave ground and prepared himself for Sanchez’s next blow. Frustration mounted, and Sanchez launched a powerful roundhouse kick to Descherra’s face. He hoped to gain an advantage with the kick by again forcing him backward and off-balance. It would be his best opportunity to then strike hard at Descherra’s midsection, but instead of dodging the kick, his opponent blocked it with an open hand, grabbed hold and threw Sanchez to the ground. Tucking into a roll, Sanchez managed to keep his distance and not let Descherra follow up. When he regained his feet, Sanchez noticed Descherra hadn’t moved. In fact, he taunted him in once more.
“Advanced combat training,” Descherra said. “Nice little perk for a long deep space sleep, don’t you think?”
Ignoring Descherra’s words, Sanchez wiped the sweat from his forehead with his forearm and moved in slower this time. He’d hoped to see an attack, even a counter from Descherra, something to gauge an opening, but the man had thwarted each of his attacks with ease. He needed an edge if he was going to get past him and help Maya. He decided it was time to try some good old-fashioned moxie.
Moving to his left, Sanchez started to circle Descherra, getting him to move. At the three-quarter point in the circle he lunged forward with a left hook. The attack was a ruse and as Descherra’s right hand moved to block, Sanchez shifted on his hips and delivered a sharp right toward his opponent’s unprotected face. Already prepared for his next strike, Sanchez planned to put his training from Maya to good use. However, centimeters from impact, Descherra’s left hand intervened and caught his fist, stopping it cold.
Sanchez tried to follow with another attack, but Descherra turned his captured hand to the left, forcing him down to the ground. Excruciating pain washed over his forearm and he began to feel the edge splinter of the bones that occurred just before the break. He grabbed in desperation with his other hand, trying to free himself, but Descherra’s grip was incredible.
“Genetic manipulation was my idea,” Descherra boasted and he applied even more pressure to Sanchez’s arm. “My contacts at Epherium weren’t sure it would work, but who knows, my little recipe could be the building blocks for a new type of soldier or even my own personal army for that matter.”
Sanchez looked up at Descherra and groaned. His face was met by a powerful right cross that stuck his cheek just below his left eye. He felt something pop when his head snapped around. It could have been his nose or his cheekbone fracturing, he couldn’t tell. All he knew was that it hurt like hell and he could already sense the swelling begin as he lay facedown on the ground.
Not giving up, Sanchez made it to his hands and knees but received a vicious kick to his side for his efforts, which sent him rolling away. He landed on his back, gasping for breath. He tried to sit back up, but the pain was unbearable. He was certain Descherra had broken a few of his ribs.
“Come on, Commander!” Descherra taunted. “Is that all you have? I expected better.”
It took him a few agonizing moments, but Sanchez managed to roll to one side. Something was jabbing him in his mouth and he spit a tooth, followed by a spray of blood, onto the ground. “Get it over with already,” he grunted, “but there’s no way you’re walking away from this clean. The Armstrong has bio sensors tracking us and they’ll have already sent a rescue team.”
Descherra walked over and kneeled beside Sanchez. “How stupid do you think I am? Of course I know they’re tracking you.” He checked his watch on his armor’s wristband. “By my estimate, I have twenty-two minutes before a rescue attempt can be made from the Armstrong. Now help would be faster from your friends at the Magellan, but I’m positive their communications gear is having severe difficulty at the moment.” He gestured back to the Cilik’ti lance by the table. “Oh, and uh, if you’re wondering about evidence that might lead to me. Well, I have our alien friends to thank for covering that for me. Those lances set on overload do a cleaner’s job proud. I can just chalk your deaths up to one of their survivors who just happened to find you all by yourselves. Tragic, wouldn’t you say?”
“Seems you’ve thought of everything,” Sanchez said, still trying to stand up, but Descherra pushed him hard back to the ground. Stars filled his vision again and he noticed the former criminal overlord draw his combat knife. Descherra traced his gloved finger over the sharp edge.
“Don’t worry, son. Your time is coming soon. I can’t promise that it’s going to be painless, but it’s nothing like what I’m going to do her.” Descherra flicked the edge of the blade and an evil smirk curled on his lips. “In fact, I’m going to let you watch.”
Anger swelled inside Sanchez’s chest and he reached out to grab Descherra’s boots as he stood, but Descherra stepped back and let him flounder. Out of breath again, he stopped and then glanced to where he last saw Maya. His left eye was swollen now and he struggled to see out of it. But what he did see made him freeze. Descherra noticed it too and followed his vision.
Standing behind the toppled tables was Maya, her right hand cupped over her bloodstained left shoulder. The Armstrong’s chief security officer seemed pale compared to her normal dark complexion and her blue eyes blazed as she focused on Descherra. “Let him go,” she said, emphasizing each word. Her voice was deep,
angry and full of venom.
“Somehow I knew one bullet wasn’t about to keep you down,” Descherra said, keeping his ill-placed wit into play.
Maya walked around the triage tables and let her hand slide away from the wound. Sanchez, swollen eye and all, caught sight of something falling away. He recognized it. It was the remnant of a med-gel packet. Even from where he lay on the ground, Sanchez could tell the bullet wound in her shoulder was bad and one of the packets couldn’t have healed it, but the bleeding had stopped.
“This isn’t about him. You want me,” Maya said.
Descherra crossed his arms in obvious contempt. “Of course I always wanted you. My organization was always in need of someone of your...talents.” The last words were a taunt at Maya, but she didn’t bite.
“You wanted a slave. That’s what everyone who’s ever worked for you was, just a slave to your sick and demented whims.”
“What do you think you are now?” Descherra responded, his voice raised, and he pointed his knife toward her chest. “Do you think serving in the ranks of your human masters is any freer than working for me?”
“They’re not my masters. I asked to serve. I could’ve chosen to go my own way, try to live a normal everyday life, but I wanted to go where I was needed. Do something that mattered,” Maya said. “What I found were people who cared about justice, integrity and honor.” She pointed her finger at Descherra. “Most of those things your petty excuse for a life could never understand. You think you know me? You haven’t even scratched the surface.”
Descherra waved the knife in front of him again and his telltale smirk returned. “Well then. Let’s find out.”
Not allowing him time to set himself, Maya sprinted at Descherra. As she neared, Descherra altered his hold on the knife with a more standard reverse grip, exposing the blade along his right wrist.
Descherra timed his attack with perfection and swept his arm across her path, aiming for her shoulder and neck, but Maya dropped low. She passed under the swipe as it whipped just over her head, severing several strands of her red hair in the process. Using her left hand to support her, she snapped her hips to the left and delivered a deceptive foot sweep that struck Descherra’s plant leg high on the calf. The move caught him off-balance and dropped him to his back. Maya rotated the same leg to bring down a vicious heel kick to his throat, but Descherra recognized it in time and rolled to his right. Her foot slammed into the ground beside him a split second later.
Sanchez crawled back to the table. He kept looking back at Maya and Descherra as he went, but his eye was swelling shut. He had to find something and help her.
Showing no ill effects from her shoulder, Maya launched into a handspring and landed in an even stance just as Descherra gained his feet.
“Nifty,” Descherra spat. “Won’t happen again.” This time, he charged in, leading with a deceptive left hand and following the strike with another slash of the knife.
Maya waited, almost too long. Dropping into a crouch, she stepped back out of the path of the first punch but used her crouch to spring into a reactive defensive attack against Descherra’s knife hand. A fast pair of open-hand strikes met the inside of his forearm, loosening his grip on the blade. Maya finished her combination when she stepped closer to Descherra and delivered a snapback fist to his jaw. The impact was solid, jerking his body to the right and sending his knife flying.
Maya used her momentum to continue her assault, but Descherra faltered as if stunned from her latest strike. She closed again with another fist to his solar plexus, but his move was a ruse to draw her in. He dropped his shoulder to block her attack and sprang forward, grasping her shoulders and unleashing a nasty head butt.
Maya stumbled and tried to keep her hands up to protect herself. Descherra’s first two punches were ineffective. Maya managed to deflect their force with her arms. The third struck the left side of her abdomen hard, almost crumpling her. She hopped away gingerly, trying to get distance, but Descherra refused to let her escape.
Two more punches rained in, but Maya seemed to regain her composure. She deflected the blows and managed to set herself low to block Descherra’s front kick. Her hands grasped his shin and pushed his leg sideways, throwing him off-balance. As he recovered, Maya crammed her right knee into his groin, staggering him amid a flurry of curses.
Maya hooked her foot behind his back leg and drove her elbow hard into his back. As Descherra’s back arched, Maya grabbed the inside of his right arm and then his hair, swung her body across his shoulders and used her momentum to whip Descherra into a powerful throw. He landed hard on the ground and then hopped to his feet as Maya charged in again. She ducked another right hand and whipped a kick into the side of his left knee. Descherra howled in pain but managed to stay on his feet.
Keeping up the pressure, she struck the knee a second time with a solid kick. Descherra, in obvious pain, bellowed and grabbed at his knee, dropping his defense. Sensing his weakness, Maya launched another kick, this time at his head. With unbelievable timing, he managed to lift his left shoulder and deflected the force of the blow. The redirection of her kick put her off-balance and she was forced to spring away just as he struggled to his feet.
Sitting at the tables now, Sanchez was amazed Descherra managed to stand, but even so, the man wasn’t faring well. He favored his left leg and grimaced whenever he tried to put any weight on it. Maya kept moving, forcing Descherra to move laterally. The tactic was effective and after a few steps he stumbled. Maya flashed in for another strike at the injured knee. Her attack was fast, but Descherra’s counter was faster. Using his uninjured leg, he jumped inside her kick and pounded his fist into Maya’s injured shoulder.
She screamed. The pain had to be excruciating. She grabbed her shoulder and backpedaled. Under her palm, fresh blood oozed from the reopened wound. The med-gel had only clotted the wound and now its work was being undone. Maya gritted her teeth and tried to raise her arm, but she couldn’t. She wheeled to face Descherra just in time to catch a hard left-handed backhand to the face. A loud crack sounded when his hand struck her, and the blow spun her sideways. Before she could recover, Descherra grabbed hold of her injured shoulder with his other hand and squeezed.
Maya dropped to one knee in agony. Blood no longer oozed from the wound, it flowed down her arm and the side of her body armor. Instead of a scream, a whimper escaped her lips. Helpless, her blue eyes gaped at her triumphant foe.
Still hobbling, Descherra kept his hand on her shoulder. “I told you before, you’d be mine someday. Sooner or later, I always get what I want.” She slipped toward unconsciousness, but Descherra grabbed her chin with his left hand. “Ah, ah, ah. Not yet. I want you lucid for your final moments.” His voice echoed his bluster. “Oh, how I’ve waited for this moment. To see you crawl.”
But in his moment of triumph, Descherra paused and raised his head skyward.
Sanchez cracked a painful smile. In the distance he could hear a familiar telltale engine whine and it was getting closer.
Descherra checked his belt. The scrambler was gone. He clenched his teeth in anger. Descherra turned his attention back to Maya. “Too bad I don’t have much time to savor this longer.” He reached down and pulled a small knife from its sheath on his boot. He waved the blade in front of her face. “Well now, where should I—”
He gasped and his body tightened. He looked down and tracked the edge of the long gray blade that protruded from his chest to its sharp point nearly half a meter in front of him. He released Maya and the knife almost simultaneously, allowing her to slip to the ground, still conscious.
Descherra wobbled to his left and his eyes locked on to Sanchez. Despite the swollen face and pain, Sanchez sported a determined grin. Descherra stared at the Armstrong’s XO for a few seconds and managed a choked laugh. “Cheater,” he said with a gurgle as blood trickled from the sides of his mouth. He w
as dead before his body hit the ground a few moments later.
Struggling to stand, Sanchez dropped to his knees and crawled to Maya’s side. He reached into a pouch on his belt and removed more of the med-gel packs he’d gathered moments earlier. Blood had stained the ground around her shoulder. He had to close that wound fast. He tore open one of the packs and squeezed the gel on the surface of her injury. As he spread it over both sides, Maya’s hand grabbed his wrist.
He stared at her face, still beautiful, despite the welts from her fight with Descherra. He cradled her in his arms as the shuttle landed. The sound of the shuttle engines was near deafening now, but it was a welcome ballad to his ears. He knew she was going to be fine. Her blue eyes found his, and he could feel the warmth in them.
“I know, Lieutenant. We’re even,” he said and winced from the pain in his jaw.
Maya smiled at him and for the moment, all the hurt melted away.
Chapter Sixteen
EDF Armstrong
Cygni 4 Orbit
Monday, February 3
Earth Year 2155
Official report, Captain James Hood, EDF ARMSTRONG to Admiral Tramp, Monday, February 3, 2155 6:30 p.m.. Sir, it’s been less than thirty-six hours since the hostilities ended with the enemy Cilik’ti forces known as the Chi’tan. Our status has improved with the arrival of the support fleet you’d dispatched earlier, and repairs to our ships have already begun. I believe the system is secure, thanks in part to the N’lan, but seeing our ships arrive was a grateful boost to morale.
As you’re already aware, our casualties have been high. Major McGregor’s forces suffered severe losses in both ground engagements and have been reduced below half strength. Most of the Marines’ armor and vehicles, except for a half dozen of the MACE units, were destroyed or damaged beyond repair. There were some civilian casualties. Several gave their lives fighting alongside the Marines, but the majority occurred in a cave-in near the MAGELLAN. It seems my Aunt Gina managed to save a lot of lives down there, including Dr. Caris Wilder. The latest medical report from Dr. Patton says he’s going to lose his legs, but he’s a prime candidate for cybernetic replacements. He’ll be transported to the medical ship DOVAN in the next day or so for the procedure.