Prox Doom

by Michael Penmore

  Rhys prepared for some stinging remark, but Hellraiser turned his back to him and walked toward the door to his own office and living arrangements. The Captain saluted like a machine, pivoted on one foot and marched out of the Colonel’s office. A frothing mix of powerlessness and burning rage propelled him out of the waiting room. He didn’t even notice that Major Burke was gone.

  * 3 *

  Rhys huffed and puffed and tried to find a non-violent outlet to vent his anger. He was failing and with each step becoming more brusque towards the few people he met on the way home. As an officer, he had a room for himself. He fumbled for his key at the door. Then he stopped and listened. Voices were coming from within. Someone had violated his privacy. Worked up, he pushed much harder than needed and presto, the door opened inside with a hiss of hydraulic hinges.

  “What in hell is this?!” he jumped into the room, ready to evict the trespassers forcibly.

  On his bed, with swollen feet exposed in their full glory, lay Major Burke. Gunnery Sergeant Welby sat in his chair and sipped hot chocolate from his favourite mug. Warrant Officer Foley was in the middle of ransacking his little cupboard for more supplies. “Hi Rhys, glad you could drop in. Care for some hot cocoa? I’m afraid you’ll have to drink from a jar. You don’t have much in terms of crockery.”

  Off-duty and without witnesses the pair of enlisted Space Marines acted towards Rhys as they were in life. Friends.

  “What are you doing in my bedroom?” Rhys closed the door and locked. He had a feeling this conversation required to stay secret. “Major Burke, I’d like to know why you’re occupying my bed. Am I under arrest?”

  “Arrest? Whatever gave you that idea? No, not at all. Absolutely to the contrary, Rhys. You’re free to go wherever you please.” The ailing superior officer lifted himself with a grunt. He went on to put on his boots, to Rhys’ considerable relief. “We’re just making sure you won’t do anything stupid.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Rhys crouched before his footlocker, opened it and rummaged for a bottle of gin which he tossed to the Warrant Officer. “Here, Ken. That’s what you’re after?”

  “A man after my own heart.” Foley grabbed the bottle poured out the contents. True to his word, he gave Rhys a rinsed jar of tomato sauce. Four soldiers raised their glasses for a toast.

  “To the quick end of this infernal mission, and the move to a hotter place,” Major Burke offered. Everyone drank to that.

  “Will you be retiring the Corps after this one, sir?” Holly asked. They all heard the chatter; with the war going well and expected to be won in a matter of months, a year at most, Burke was finally getting his honourable discharge due to age and health.

  “Don’t you siree me, Holly,” Major used his catchphrase. “Hopefully so. That means I can afford to be a fool. I’m ordering you and Officer Foley to head out on a recon run. You can pick whoever you chose as the third member of their squad.”

  “We pick you,” Holly said to Rhys. “If you’ll agree.”

  “You’re out of your minds.” Rhys shook his head, but he was relieved and grateful, and a little concerned too. “You’re going against the Colonel, sir. He explicitly forbade me from going.”

  “Don’t you siree me, Rhys. Hellraiser will get royally pissed when he finds out, right? That’s almost a reward in itself. I’ve been dreaming of a way to blow up his tyres, now you’re giving me the chance to do it and for a reason too. I should be thanking you. You crazy kids want to go out there and play in the snow. Don’t worry about me. Whatever Hellraiser comes up with for me, it can’t get any worse than that spine-wrangling curse of gout universe deemed appropriate to cast upon me. I think it’s time you call me Tom, by the way. I always liked you, Rhys.”

  “I like you too,” Rhys said. He had not seen this coming; soft and disabled old Marine going against battle-hardened, bone-crunching superior officer. “I appreciate what you’re doing here, Tom.”

  “You will soon regret it. This is the worst freaking storm in history. So are you going, or have I made a fool out of myself?”

  “You’re not a fool. At least not this time.”

  “I like your honesty, Rhys.” The Major stood up, tried stretching his back, gave up halfway and stumbled to the door. “I’ll leave you three kids to talk things through. Good luck out there.”

  “Another drink before you go, sir?” Ken poured his glass smilingly.

  “Don’t you siree him, Ken,” Holly and Rhys said in one voice. Everyone shared a laugh.

  * 4 *

  They set off in relative order, Una first, then Major Remorra, Selnov walked third and Nadie closed the rear. Three of them held their firearms at ready. The fourth dipped his hand in a pocket and retrieved the golden glow of a force blade.

  “Shut that thing off,” Major Remorra turned and gave him a piece of her mind. Nadie leapt in close like a feral cat, swiped the knife from Selnov’s hand and pressed the off switch. The glow died and darkness swallowed them with appetite. “What’s wrong with you, Private? You’re raising our visibility to a supernova.” They were making their way through a cave. Scant light worked its way down from shafts in its natural ceiling. Stealth and surprise were their biggest asset in this environment. Selnov was ruining the approach. “Nadie, keep it safe till we need it.”

  “Wait a minute, that’s the one thing I have to defend myself,” Selnov moaned.

  “No, Private. You’ve got us. No more delays.” Major Remorra resumed the march. Selnov whispered and mumbled to himself. Nadie didn’t try to stop him; she’d just provoke an outburst. They turned a bend in the rock and found the signal’s source.

  “It’s a speeder,” Selnov said.

  “Thanks for noting the obvious. Let’s join the others.” Una and Remorra were already on the lower ground. Nadie crossed deftly down a long rocky slant to the bottom of the cave. She thought Selnov would trip and slide down on his butt, but he made the trip without misadventure. No cheap entertainment then.

  The speeder was an all-terrain winter camo eight-seater with marks of the Space Marines daubed on its sides. Two persons could sit in front, the rest loaded up from the rear. Sergeant Una confirmed there were no booby traps and jumped in the trunk. “Clear! Just a computer.”

  “Wowee,” Selnov clapped his hands. He had finally found something he was good at.

  “Selnov, take a look. Nadie, you ride shotgun,” Remorra commanded. Nadie accepted a fusion pellet weapon from her Major and sat in the passenger seat. Remorra put her hands on the wheel. Ignition was open and ready to engage. Messenger had gifted them a vehicle. He was truly an inside man. Did they need Selnov at all?

  “Wowee, this is loaded with schematics of the base.” They heard the scientist’s excitement as he booted up the files.

  “Load it up on your handheld,” Major Remorra said.

  “Already on it.”

  “Permission to speak, Ma’am,” Nadie said in a hush.

  “Speak your mind.”

  “Secret communications, coordinates to a speeder, schematics of the base. Messenger makes it simple for us. Why?”

  “Perhaps he had a change of heart. Not all Earthers despise our cause.”

  “In my experience, this kind of thing is done for personal gain.”

  “My sentiment exactly.”

  “So did he tell you what he wants from us in return?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Point of entry! This is gold!” Selnov shouted out before Una curbed him a notch.

  “Do you think it’s a trap?” Nadie asked the Major, even quieter than before.

  “Likely. But we have no choice. If Ender’s real, it has to be destroyed.”

  “Or taken over.”

  Major Remorra observed her Corporal with grim interest. “Would you use a killer like this?”

  “No. Of course not.” Nadie retreated hastily into her shell. She had been thinking about it. The jury was still out on whether she would find a secret stash of compassion her
commander appeared to still hold under that abrasive soldier’s exterior. They sat in silence for two minutes while Selnov downloaded the files.

  “Done,” he said at last.

  “Then let’s go.” Major Remorra punched the starter button. The speeder purred softly, then roared loud under Major’s heavy foot. They were away.

  * 5 *

  Rhys was driving with Holly at his side. GS was gazing into binoculars and fruitlessly trying to spot something amidst the snowy soup. The storm was not letting off. There were no roads and the ride was bumpy. Their only means of navigation was the signal locator Holly had whipped up and mounted on the dashboard.

  Ken Foley sat in the back with their stash of bland but hot coffee. He attempted to keep them entertained with outlandish songs, stories and games. After a funny but short run of eye spy (I spy with my little eye something starting with the letter S. Snow! I spy with my little eye something starting with the letter M. More frigging snow!), he chose another ancient classic.

  “What would you take with you on a desert island? Holly, you start.”

  “Earth or outer world?”

  “Duh! Outer world of course. No holovid transmitters to call for a rescue.”

  “You know me too well. I guess it would be my music then.”

  “Music? I thought you’d chose some oversized gizmo to tinker with, like a custom-made space communicator.”

  “You don’t know everything about me. I’d take a player with orbital boost. The set would be so compelling first passing ship would come down to see where it’s coming from.”

  “Uhuh, so a space communicator of sorts.”

  “Of sorts. Rhys, how about you? What would you take to a desert island?”

  “I’d take that ship you mentioned. Then I could either stay to get my tan or go wherever I please.”

  “Smart.”

  “That’s why he’s a captain and we’re just two mindless drones.” Ken started to make a droning sound. It made Holly giggle. They teased each other, she asked him to stop, he did for a little while and then renewed it.

  Rhys felt like caught between two teenagers on a date. It made him smile. The kids should enjoy some good times while they lasted. Suddenly he put his hand in the air. “Stop.”

  “Zzzzzzz,” Ken buzzed like an insect, and Holly laughed and tsked.

  “No, seriously. Be quiet.” Rhys listened. Holly and Ken abandoned their foolery and listened too.

  “Sounds like a whistling,” Ken described the growing high-pitched sound.

  “It’s a rocket!” Holly blurted out.

  “Hang on to your seats.” Rhys stepped on the accelerator. Their speeder shot to the fore leaving a spray of snow and pebbles in its wake.

  “What’s going on?” Ken asked, being the least technical.

  “It’s a heat-seeking missile. I’m trying to shake it off our tail.”

  The whistling became a loud constant. Rhys made a sudden left turn. Ken lost his balance and fell to the vehicle’s floor. “Guys, take a look at this! Awesome or not?” He was first to see the light flare speeding from the back. It rapidly increased in size from a spot to a halo, painting the world behind them with pulsing yellows.

  “That’s the missile,” said Holly.

  “I changed my mind. I wanna sit in front.” Ken grabbed the backs of their seats and wedged his head and shoulders between them. “Cosy.”

  “Do you always have to be joking? Rhys, floor it.”

  “I’m doing it.”

  “No, you’re not.” Holly stomped on Rhys’ foot. Despite the protective boot, he felt his toes being squeezed between her rubber sole and the pedal. The speeder roared and went faster, zigging and zagging blindly between mounds and drifts looming in the snow storm. The flare shone brighter and brighter. It became so close, a stutter of rocket engine reached their ears above the whistling.

  “It’s still after us,” Ken commented.

  “Shake it off, Rhys.” Holly went to grab the wheel.

  “I’m trying.” Rhys slapped her fingers off.

  “How about a hug?” Ken offered to Holly.

  “Why do you always have to be so cheerful!”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s infuriating! Rhys, it’s almost got us!”

  “Hold on!” Rhys veered to the right and drove the speeder into a wall of packed snow. The vehicle punched through it. The missile did not. A powerful blast sent everything into the air including the speeder itself. The crew all cried out, Ken Foley sounded a bit more exhilarated than terrified. The vehicle flew in an arc thirty feet high. Then the force of the blow was spent and gravity took hold. The speeder dived into a pit and landed on its side, almost completely burying itself in the all-present snow. Rhys buried his head in his hands, but the impact of the steering wheel made his head swim and temporarily dumbed his hearing. Every move caused debilitating pain in his skull, so he stopped moving. He couldn’t tell the passage of time, whether it was minutes or hours until he could hear something scrape against the door in the snow. A glove appeared in his windshield, and then a helmet. A reflective black helmet.

  * 6 *

  “Got a live one!” Nadie shouted to Sergeant Una behind her. Together they had dug a tunnel by the side of the totalled car they saw fall from the sky. Nadie assumed no one had survived. As it turned out, all three passengers were alive, but only one was conscious, barely. They hauled everyone out of the snow and carried them into the back of their functioning speeder.

  “They’re Marines,” Una complained as they lugged the last body, a woman. Nadie understood her objection. They had toiled through wind and snow to save their enemies because that’s what the Major had ordered. She would just as easily have left them to rot. Remorra was the inquisitive one; she wanted to know why a speeder had sprung up on their path out of nowhere and why it lay overturned in deep snow; maybe that’s why she had reached the rank of Major while Nadie was just a simple, disinterested Corporal.

  Remorra inspected the haul using a flashlight in the dark rear of their requisitioned vehicle. “This one’s their leader.” She pointed to two small bars located on the conscious man’s collar. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Dazed. Concussed possibly,” Una said. She had a terrible bedside manner for foes, but for her friends from the unit she acted as the angel of mercy, the company’s medic.

  Nadie observed as Remorra knelt down and slapped the enemy leader on both cheeks, to little effect. She then abruptly shone a ray of white light into his shifty eyes. They closed, opened with regained focus, pupils constricted.

  “What-“ he croaked. His gaze followed Major Remorra as she stood up. If she had harboured any apprehensions about the man’s state, they were gone now.

  “Don’t speak. Listen. Your speeder has crashed.”

  “Missile... Holly! Ken!” He sat up abruptly and moved his head around. The sight of his two companions lying still on the floor next to him was no reassurance and he crawled on his arms and legs to check the status of the man lying nearest.

  “They’re fine, just a little banged up,” the Major said. She was talking now, so Nadie and others moved behind her and just listened to her exchange with the prisoner from there.

  “Who are you?” He squinted his eyes attempting to make out Major Remorra’s shadowy helmeted silhouette. She cast the light in a way which prevented him from seeing the Colonials clearly, while they could see him perfectly.

  “Major Remorra, Colonial Army Recon Regiment, Third Battalion, Second Company, Platoon One. You may call us Widows for short.” It was Second Battalion, Third Company last time she made that recount. It was bogus nomenclature, designed to proffer an illusion of some grand organisation, but in reality Colonial Army was nowhere as disciplined or numerous to fill in this imaginary structure she had mentioned. Nadie observed the prisoner’s reaction and had to give credit to the man - he flinched only slightly. Obviously, he’d heard of the Widows, all those real and exaggerated stories about their wa
r exploits. He’d certainly heard the most prominent lie - that they hated all men equally and killed them in droves by elaborate ways involving lots and lots of screaming and no mercy was given. Nadie didn’t care what the enemy thought of them, but she was kind of proud of the notoriety. It came in handy whenever she needed to intimidate opposition soldiers for intel.

  “Right.” The prisoner checked the unconscious man’s pulse. Then he crawled on all fours to the woman and made sure she hadn’t been harmed as well. Not by human hands anyway; her forehead bore a bloody gash, the result of their speeder’s crash. “I need a bandage.” He wasn’t asking, he was commanding.