by Chris Fox
Even as they began raising their weapons, Fizgig was firing. She let off two bursts of plasma, each catching one of the waiting Tigris in the chest. They toppled to the deck screaming, their armor turning molten from the shots. They struggled to remove it, but the armor had melted too much to allow them to release it. It was a horrible way to die.
Before Fizgig could fire again, Khar was pushing up the corridor, firing repeatedly. Two more enemy Tigris dropped, but several others took aim and fired. Khar staggered back, his armor catching the worst of the shots. One caught him on his unprotected forearm, and he gave a roar of pained rage. He charged forward, igniting his plasma blade as he came down on the Tigris who’d shot him.
The shorter female brought up her rifle to block, but Khar’s weapon sliced through the metal. His humming blade continued, slicing through the flesh where her neck and shoulder met. She collapsed to the deck in a spray of blood that drenched Khar.
Two more Tigris shot Khar, and he fell to the deck. Fizgig began moving to intercept, but Izzy was already there. The snowy white Tigris darted forward, a plasma pistol in each hand. She let off a flurry of shots, dropping the two Tigris seeking to pounce on Khar.
The battle dissolved into chaos, as Tigris on both sides closed to melee. Screams and roars sounded all around Fizgig as she glided into combat. She gave in to her feral instincts, cutting down foes as quickly as they appeared. She had no idea how much time had passed by the time the battle haze faded.
Fizgig looked around, panting heavily. Several of her new crew were down, but most were still up. Over a dozen enemy bodies littered the deck around them. Now it was time to advertise their presence, to let their enemies know that death approached.
“Look!” Fizgig roared, pointing at the corpses littering the corridor. “They are the best Leonis have to offer. They carry the honor of the pride. Yet you, prideless a day ago, have slaughtered them on their own vessel. We. Are. Mighty.”
The warriors around her took up the cry, howling their fury until it echoed down the corridor, and through the rest of the ship. Fizgig let it go on for long seconds, long enough that every last Leonis would hear. Then she raised a fist. Silence took longer than it should have, but it came after a few moments.
“We make for the bridge,” Fizgig said, turning to face her people. “It is time to end this.”
63
I Don't Think So
“Listen up,” Hannan snapped, in her best drill sergeant voice. Annie, Delta, the captain, and even the Judicators snapped to attention. “Keep five feet between you and the next person. Move quickly and quietly. No speaking unless we’re about to be attacked. Any questions?”
“Nah, but since I can’t go make sure you bring me a souvenir,” Edwards said, waving with his remaining arm. He’d taken up a defensive position, and Hannan felt a little bad for anyone that stepped into his firing arc.
Everyone else shook their heads, so Hannan strode into the docking tube. She pressed the button on the top of her belt buckle, wincing as the itchy feeling settled over her skin. Moving at a fast walk, she hurried up the corridor and away from the entry point.
Since their vessel had been cloaked when they’d attacked, the enemy soldiers would have been caught off guard. They’d have no way of knowing where the breach point was, and it would take a squad of Marines at least two more minutes to locate it. By then, she wanted to be far away from here.
Hannan hugged the aft corridor, circling along the outside of the ship. It wasn’t the fastest way to the bridge, but it was also a whole lot less predictable. Hopefully, Chu’s Marines wouldn’t even know they’d been boarded until Hannan’s squad burst onto the bridge.
They made their way slowly, eventually reaching a lift. Hannan paused beside it, looking down one side of the corridor, then the other. She moved over to the shimmer she was sure belonged to the captain, then breathed softly in his direction. “If we take the lift to level A, they may see it coming.”
“Do it,” the captain whispered back. “Speed matters as much as stealth.”
Hannan tapped the button next to the lift, filing inside when the doors opened. Other shimmering figures pressed in behind her, and she frowned as the doors slid shut. The cloaks were potent, but in an enclosed area like this they wouldn’t matter. This was basically a kill box, and when the doors opened it was quite possible Chu would have soldiers waiting.
“Switch your stealth field to shield,” Hannan ordered, turning a dial atop her belt buckle. She shimmered back into view, and the others did the same. “Captain, Annie, take a knee. Delta and I will fire over you.”
Everyone took their positions, two ranks ready to fire the instant the door opened. They waited tensely, and Hannan realized she was holding her breath. She forced herself to breathe normally, resting her index finger on the plasma rifle’s trigger guard as she waited for the doors to open.
Ding.
The doors slid open, and a thunder of automatic weapons fire began. Bullets filled the tiny elevator, and Hannan was knocked back a step from impacts. She recovered quickly, firing wild bursts of plasma into the mass of UFC soldiers standing about twenty feet back from the elevator. Fortunately, they hadn’t had time to erect any sort of cover. Hannan wasn’t sure it would have mattered, given how lethal the plasma fire could be.
Her first shot caught a man in the leg, spilling him to the deck with a screech of agony. She fired again, conscious of the others doing the same. Their shields protected them from the slug-throwing weapons, providing an unfair advantage. They were gunning down opponents quickly, and Hannan couldn’t help but feel like it was a little too easy.
“Grenade!” the captain roared, rolling out of the elevator. Annie scrambled out as well, and Delta vaulted over them.
Hannan was right behind them, but moved a second too slowly. The black, fist-sized grenade detonated, hurling her into the air. The concussive force carried her into the waiting soldiers, and her wild flight knocked two of them prone. Thankfully, her shield protected her from the worst of the blast. The landing knocked the wind from her, but she was still mobile.
Hannan flipped to her stomach, then pulled herself into a crouch. Most of the remaining soldiers were trying to deal with the captain, who gunned them down as quickly as he could take aim. A few turned toward her, just in time for her to raise her plasma rifle and start firing. Tap, tap, tap. Three more soldiers dropped.
Just like that, all opponents were down. “Well done, all.”
“There goes the element of surprise,” Nolan said, helping Annie to her feet. “Getting to the bridge is going to be tough.”
“At least we don’t have far to go,” Hannan said, gesturing at the corridor running along the stern. “They’ve probably got one more line of defense waiting, and after that we’ll be onto the bridge itself. We’ll have to move quickly, though. I’m sure word is going out to every fire team on the ship to converge on the bridge.”
“Then let’s get moving,” Nolan said, starting up the corridor.
64
Dryker
“Move us closer to the 11th,” Dryker ordered, pacing back and forth as he studied the battle. “Order all the ships joining us to cluster behind the Primo, and have your vessels form a line. Move them slowly toward the battle.”
“As you wish, Admiral,” Celendra said, but there was a note of dissent in her voice.
“You have a comment on my orders?” Dryker asked, probably more defensively than he should have.
“The Primo are not here to get involved in your war, Admiral. Asking us to approach the battle is dangerous,” Celendra said, mouth turning down into a tiny scowl.
“Put me on an open channel to all races,” Dryker ordered. He didn’t bother addressing her comment, because she was right. He was risking the Primo. It was the last card he had to play.
“Done,” Celendra said, looking away from him. She stalked to the far side of the dais, barely within earshot. It was the angriest he’d seen her.
“Attention, vessels of the 11th fleet, and vessels of the Leonis Pride. Disengage, or you will both be fired upon,” Dryker ordered. He paused, then added a bit more weight. “You all know what Primo weaponry can do. The vessels of the 14th have been outfitted with plasma cannons. Cease. Fire.”
Now all Dryker could do was wait. He stared at the sea of triangles and squares crawling across the screen. The Tigris and the humans were in the thick of it, tearing each other apart. It would be difficult to disengage, and even if captains were willing, they might not have a choice but to continue fighting.
He straightened, staring hard as he saw new movement. Seven ships in the 11th’s backline were breaking off and heading in his direction. That was nearly a quarter of the remaining human vessels.
“Dryker, is that you?” a friendly voice called. It called to mind late-night poker games in the Johnston’s officer lounge.
“Hello, Captain Lang,” Dryker said, smiling in spite of himself. Sarah had been the only officer he’d ever seen escape the 14th. She’d been the reason there was an opening for Nolan. “I’m glad you and your companions are willing to see reason.”
“Command has had some pretty odd orders lately, and this isn’t what we signed on for. Might be we’re committing mutiny, but I can’t be a party to this, and most of the 11th feels the same way,” she explained over the comm. “I don’t know that they’ll be able to break away though. They’re getting pounded, and if you can’t get the cats to play nice, they’re going to slaughter most of my people.”
Dryker clenched a fist, looking at the beleaguered 11th. Their lines were collapsing, and the Tigris showed no sign of breaking off.
65
Mow
Fizgig kicked off the bulkhead, twisting in midair to deliver a quick strike with her plasma blade. It severed the unsuspecting male’s spinal cord, punching through armor and bone alike. He slumped to the deck as she landed on the other side of his body.
“Mowwwwww,” she howled up the corridor. They were closing on the bridge, and she knew he was close enough to hear her. “I’m coming for you. Tell your warriors to stand aside, or I will cut down every last one.”
The only answer was a shotgun blast from a single Tigris warrior sheltering behind the corner. Fizgig dropped prone, and the blast cratered the wall behind her. Before she could rise, Khar leapt forward, sprinting down the hall.
The warrior with the shotgun popped out of cover for another shot, just in time for Khar to plant his plasma blade in the warrior’s skull. The white-furred beast gave a brief cry, the smell of burnt fur filling the corridor as he died.
“Mighty Fizgig,” Khar called, peering around the corner. “The bridge is directly ahead. They are well fortified.”
Fizgig walked calmly to Khar’s side, aware of the cluster of warriors behind her. Only five were still with her. Five, out of the dozen who’d started out. Yet they’d killed three times their number, a full thirty-six of Leonis’ best warriors. It was a legendary assault, one for the annals.
“Leonis Pride warriors!” Fizgig roared, her voice echoing down the hall. “Mow is a coward. First, he cut off life support. When we escaped, he sent dozens of your brothers and sisters to die, all to avoid my challenge. All are dead now, at my hand. Are you Tigris? Do you not follow the strongest warrior? If Mow is your leader, then let him face me. Put down your arms, and we will accept your surrender. Let Mow fight, instead of cowering behind proud Leonis warriors.”
Khar gave her an approving nod, his tail rising, even as his chest puffed out. “Well said, Mighty Fizgig.”
“Mow has been challenged,” boomed a voice from the bridge. “We know Mighty Fizgig. Some of us have fought beside her. She is honorable, and it is not right that Mow has refused this challenge. If he is truly the warrior he claims to be, truly worthy of leading Leonis, then let him step forward and fight.”
She recognized that voice. It was Kallas. She’d served under Fizgig’s first command, three decades prior. Fizgig smiled, waiting for the inevitable. After several moments, a rhythmic stomping began from the bridge. Fizgig took it up, as did the the warriors around her. It spread from warrior to warrior, until the thud of a hundred feet echoed around them.
Fizgig stepped from cover, walking proudly onto the bridge. There was a chance that this was a trick, but she refused to believe it. No one would dishonor a formal challenge, except perhaps for Mow. She took a deep breath as she passed onto the bridge’s command deck.
A dozen warriors dotted the room, every last one of them stomping. The only one not stomping was the male in the captain’s chair. Mow’s eyes blazed as he stared at her. His mane had more white in it than the last she’d seen him. He rose slowly to his feet, taking a step down to the command deck. The stomping stopped, plunging the bridge into relative silence.
“You’ve endangered our race for the last time. Even now our world burns, yet you seek challenge? Very well,” Mow said, stalking toward her. “I accept your challenge. I will eat your heart, Fizgig.”
66
The Bridge
Nolan panted as he rested against the wall next to the wide hatch leading to the next room. He was less winded than he’d have been a few months ago, but the constant combat was still taking a toll. It just underscored how much more conditioning he really needed.
“These should be handy,” Hannan said, picking up a pair of grenades from one of the corpses.
She walked to the hatch where Nolan crouched, popped the pin, then threw the grenade. It pinged off the wall, clinked its way into the distance. There was a sudden scramble of footsteps pounding across the deck from that direction.
“Grenade,” someone yelled.
“Take cover,” someone else yelled at the same time.
By the time the grenade detonated, Hannan was sprinting around the corner. She slowed her advance when they reached the next corner, peeking around with her rifle. She fired a quick shot, then ducked back behind cover.
“There are at least eight of them, probably closer to a dozen,” Hannan said. “They’ve erected full barricades, and are using them as cover. Chu was expecting an attack.”
“Doesn’t change anything, unfortunately,” Nolan said, dropping to one knee and taking a quick peek around the corner. He ducked back, and an instant later a rifle cracked. The bullet glanced off the wall right next to where his face had been. Nolan glanced up at Hannan. “How do you want to approach this?”
“Well, we’ve still got our friends,” she said, nodding at the trio of Judicators. Thus far, the Judicators had mostly hung back, picking off targets of opportunity.
“Sounds like as good a use as any,” Nolan said, turning to the Judicators. “You three, move around that corner, and cut down all defenders.”
Hannan popped the second pin, lobbing it around the corner. Nolan held up a hand, and the Judicators waited. When the grenade detonated, Hannan motioned for the Judicators to move forward, and move they did. They faded from sight, their cloaked forms firing the instant they’d rounded the corner.
“Give it a three count,” Hannan said. “Then we’re going to rush in and pick up the pieces.”
The telltale plasma fire of Judicators came from around the corner, followed by automatic weapons fire. Nolan was relieved to be on this side of the Judicators, as he remembered how terrifying they’d been when they boarded the Johnston. He only wished he had more than three to work with.
Hannan leaped from cover, darting around the corner. The instant she disappeared from sight, he caught the bright flash of plasma as she engaged the enemy. Delta and Annie were next, each adding their weapons into the mix.
Then it was Nolan’s turn, and he leapt into the fray. He scanned the situation, the moment seeming to stretch as his mind catalogued targets. Seven Marines dotted the three barricades on the other side of the door leading onto the bridge. The barricades were waist-high, and each Marine was taking advantage of that cover. Hannan had moved to one side of the hallway, Delta and Annie t
he other. All three were lobbing potshots at the barricade, areas of white ferroconcrete flowing like lava where their blasts hit.
The defending Marines kept up a steady staccato of fire. The lead Judicator had taken the brunt of that fire, but made it as far as the first barricade before going down. It leapt forward, its body straddling the barricade. Nolan expected the Marines to scatter, but they seemed unaware of the danger in their midst. They’d never fought Void Wraith.
He raised his rifle, firing a trio of hasty shots as he dropped into cover behind Hannan. The remaining two Judicators went down under withering fire, leaving Nolan and Hannan untouched. More importantly, it left them in the comparative shelter of the hallway.
The first Judicator detonated, sending Marines, parts of the barricade, and metallic debris in all directions. A moment later the second and third Judicators went up, finishing the grisly work. Nolan stood up slowly, realizing none of the Marines were moving.
They’d reached the bridge. It was time to deal with Chu.
67
The Challenge
Fizgig studied Mow, watching the old cat circle warily. Mow moved like a younger cat, but there was an underlying tremor there. His golden fur had faded to a soft dun, and he didn’t look so much old as he did…unhealthy. There was something wrong with him, something lurking just beyond the edge of his scent.
“Mighty Mow,” a golden-furred male boomed. “You have been challenged. How will you fight?”
“Claw-to-claw,” Mow said, eyes narrowing as he met Fizgig’s gaze. “I want to feel your life fading. I will serve your blood to my kits in their milk, Fizgig. When I am done your name will be scoured from the sacred scrolls.”