Slipspace: Harbinger

by P. C. Haring

  The tablet found its place in Schrider’s belt holster as the light glinted off the metallic cargo canister. This too had been marked to be taken aboard the Mjöllnir and returned to Surahan. The agent slid a tracking beacon, identical to the one placed on the Mjöllnir, out of a coverall pocket and switched it on. The unit, blinked as it came to life. Schrider opened the lid, dropped the device into the container, this one actually marked as machine parts, and re-secured the container.

  The private came back into the hold, his sled now empty, having delivered his load to the transport ship. Under the guise of the Alias, Schrider turned at the friendly greeting and made a show of retrieving the tablet, checking the manifest, and highlighting the next set of canisters and containers to be loaded, including the one just tagged. It was loaded without question and once the sled was again full, the Private maneuvered it out the door, down the corridor and to the transport. From there, it would be loaded, returned to the Mjöllnir, and taken back to Surahan.

  The Tablet beeped indicating a new message. This one from Ares on secure protocol. Schrider opened it.

  Signal locked. Request instructions.

  Schrider tapped in a short message.

  Relay to Vanguard.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  November 5, 2832

  10:00

  Remali Convoy - Recovery Team 1

  COLONEL MARCUS FOSTER spat as he cleared his throat. Between the stench of the dead, the decay, the creeping growth, and the burned smell from the damaged power systems, he was surprised he hadn’t started gagging long ago. To his right, Valeer looked at him, a frown chiseled into his forehead.

  “What? Did I make a mess?” Foster asked, motioning to the holes in the deck and debris strewn about.

  Valeer gave no response other than to walk away, eliciting a grunt of satisfaction from Foster.

  As he turned to head back to the drop ship, his ear piece crackled to life.

  “Charten to Foster.”

  He pressed a button on his gauntlet, opening up the communication line.

  “Go ahead, Major.”

  “Sir, I’m over here in section twelve.” His voice sounded tentative, frustrating Foster. “I think you’d better come up here, sir.”

  “What’s the problem, Major?”

  “It’s hard to put into words, Colonel. It would be easier if I could show you.”

  Again, with the tentativeness. As the Battalion’s second in command Charten had no reason to be as nervous as he sounded. He was a good man: skilled, disciplined, and loyal. But there was always this nervousness in his voice that led Foster to consider, not for the first time, whether or not he ought to replace him. If something happened to Foster, Charten would take over and the men would not follow an insecure CO. Foster heaved a sigh. This was a topic for a different time.

  “This had better not be a waste of my time.”

  He closed the comm line before the response came.

  When he arrived, Charten and his fire team had formed a half circle around a hole in the debris. Their weapons all pointed towards that hole, allowing the barrel lights to illuminate the area.

  “This had better not be some pissing match, Major. I guarantee I can whup all of you.”

  The team turned and snapped to attention. “Sir, no, sir,” Charten responded. “We thought we heard something, sir.”

  Foster did not respond. Instead, he lifted his head listening intently, but the moment passed in seconds.

  “I can hear things, too, Major. But I have yet to hear why this hole is so damned fascinating to you and your fire team!”

  Charten turned back to the hole. “Sir, it came from down there. But I don’t think it was one of our crews. It sounded like something scuttling along the deck.”

  Foster straightened. Why the hell had he wasted his time with this? Why the hell he was even questioning whether Charten should be replaced? If he got spooked by every little thing...

  “Major, are you a marine and my second-in command, or are you a snot nosed recruit?”

  To his credit, Charten did not flinch in his response. “Sir, I am a marine and your second-in-command. But that does not...”

  “Then I do not want to hear your whining. Get back to work!”

  Charten shot bolt upright. “Sir, yes, sir.”

  With the nod of his head, Foster ordered the team to move out. They fell in as he led them through the corridor of the ship. Creaks and groans in the decking were commonplace with severely damaged ships and these convoy freighters were no exception. But a sound echoed and reverberated across the halls.

  This sound was more than just a creak or a groan, rather more of a growling snarl: as if it had echoed through the corridors. This was something guttural, something living, something angry. The sound died down, leaving a scuttling sound of movement across the ceiling, coming from multiple directions and joining together above them and continuing down the path.

  Foster’s eyes rose to the deck, followed by his weapon.

  “Major, I may owe you and your fire-team both an apology and a drink.”

  Another sound resonated from above drawing their attention again. Foster’s hand waved forward. “Double time back to the command post, quiet as you can. Let’s go,” he whispered.

  They picked up the pace. Despite the desire for silence, their heavy boots banged against the deck. Behind them, the deck groaned and Foster turned to cover the rear. The ceiling collapsed in a crash. Dust and debris flew into the air, obscuring the field of view.

  From within the dust cloud, something rose, scratching against the decking. No more than a silhouette, this thing rose taller than Foster by at least two meters and stretched out a pair of arms, each of which ended in a claw like appendage.

  The creature moved forward on four thick legs and roared.

  Foster opened fire.

  November 5, 2832

  10:10

  Remali Convoy - Recovery Team 1

  SCHRIDER FELT the embrace as throughout the freighter, the spawn awoke. As they pushed through the protective shell of their cocoons, the spawn reached out. For the first time since merging with the host, Schrider extended the quills out through the host’s flesh. Had anyone else been looking, they would have seen a dozen small metallic hairs penetrating from the back of the host’s neck and Schrider would have been discovered. The quills tingled as the charge built up between them until they discharged, arcing out into the cloud created by the open pores within the quills which amplified the discharge just enough for Schrider to meet the minds of the Spawn. Desperate for guidance, for coordination, the young spawn accepted Schrider and they began their communion.

  Their entry into the world remained quiet, secret. The young spawn could not know what environment they would find upon their emergence. Knowing of the Alliance presence, they hid, scouting their surroundings. But they could not have anticipated the damage their progenitors’ attack had wrought. The floor gave way under one scout, and the spawn fell through the collapse to the deck below. In the brief moment as it regained its bearings, it discovered five of them. Instinct took over and it attacked. Sensing the danger, the others awoke in response. Those who were ready emerged, clawing themselves out

  It did not take long for the Alliance fire team to destroy the wayward scout. But it’s death had revealed its presence. The rest of the Alliance crew were on guard and scrambling. The spawn called to Schrider, begging for instruction. The infiltrator was all too ready to give it:

  Attack.

  As if unchained, the spawn drew themselves up and pressed their cause. Rallying to the site where the scout had fallen, the spawn turned their collective sight to the murdering team and its leader: the one with the mechanical arm.

  Seeing through the eyes of the spawn, Schrider watched as Foster’s fire team withdrew, quills tingling as the electrical current facilitated the continued communion. Through the host’s communications ear piece, Foster ordered all fire teams to consolidate in the freighter’s co
mmand center. Schrider willed the host to move in response, while urging the minions on in their aggression. They swarmed forward and attacked, their claws and pincers thrashing. Three alliance marines fell in the onslaught, caught up as they tried to maneuver through the debris. Weapons fire echoed throughout the deck as the spawn kept coming, their thick carapaces allowing them to take many hits before falling. Even with armor piercing rounds, the Marines found themselves challenged to deliver sufficient deadly force.

  Foster’s team connected with his Remali and together they continued their withdrawal, the Remali wielding his own sidearm. He fired and its energy-based ammunition tore through one of the segmented joints of the creature’s claw arm, shearing the limb off in spray of blood and fluid. The spawn pulled back, shrieking in pain and leaving Schrider reeling through the communion. The infiltrator twitched. Soon they would all meet and Schrider would have to go back into hiding. Valeer took a shot, slicing a gash through the carapace of another minion and Foster followed with an incendiary round into the wound. Schrider watched the explosive approach through the minion’s eyes before feeling the pain of impact. A split second later the sight went black. Ahead Schrider heard the minion’s death scream as the creature exploded from within, showering both the deck and the combatants in a splatter of liquefied organs.

  The death earned the teams a momentary respite as the remaining spawn slowed their advance, but Schrider was not done with them yet, and sent one final instruction before pulling the quills back inside the host and leaving the communion.

  Kill them all.

  November 5, 2832

  10:30

  Mjöllnir - OpCom

  ONE MOMENT THINGS WERE SIMPLE: an easy cargo unload and transfer. Then the switch flipped and all hell broke loose. Firefights raged on board every freighter as creatures clawed themselves out of the walls and the organic formations that had overgrown the decks. From the reports, the gunfights were vicious. From the sounds of the fight over the communication lines, the reports had not been exaggerated.

  Cassie slumped forward, leaning on the console as the sounds of combat crackled through her headset, guttural scream of one of the creatures ripped through Cassie’s ears, tearing her away from the here and now. Instead, she was back on the surface of Earth and the insectoid creature approached on short crab-like legs as it snapped long claws. Her right hand tightened around the machete, her left around the grip of her side arm. The wound on her head screamed with pain as blood poured down the sides of her face. The monstrosity approached and she opened fire. The rounds ripped the creature’s chest into meat, giving it pause, but instead of retreating it reared back and charged forward. She threw the machete, end over end until it impaled the creature’s chest. It roared a hideous shrill scream just before she blacked out.

  The feel of a strong hand under her arms were all that kept her on her feet.

  “Cassie?”

  Cody helped her up and guided her back to her seat.

  She shook her head as the memory passed. Realization that it was in fact a memory struck, as did the ramifications of what she recalled.

  “Cody, get them out of there.”

  He shook his head, confused. How much clearer did she have to be?

  “Get them out,” she commanded. “They’re Ralgon!”

  Cody got the message this time. He gave no direct response other than to snap his fingers into a point as his communications officer on duty who relayed instructions to withdraw to the ground forces.

  Cody turned back, falling to his knee.

  “How do you know they’re Ralgon?”

  She shook her head, her ears still ringing as a blur in her memory slowly pulled into focus. It had been there all along, tormenting her for years in her sleep – a memory she had blocked out. Until now.

  “I’ve heard that scream before.”

  November 5, 2832

  10:35

  Remali Convoy - Recovery 1 Team

  FOSTER SPUN BACK behind cover as his weapon indicator showed the additive had run empty. His thumb flicked the ejection switch as his free hand pulled the replacement vial off his belt and within two seconds the weapon was once again deadly. He turned to fire, keeping the target at bay and buying more time for the rest of the teams on board. He ducked behind cover as the target swung at him and became aware of the beeping at his gauntlet. His hand slammed to respond to the call.

  “Foster!”

  “Recovery 1, this is Mjöllnir. You are ordered to withdraw your forces to the transports and return to base.”

  Behind him, the wall of the corridor blew inward as a second creature burst forward, its pincers snapping and lashing out as it knocked debris out of its path. Foster dove away and twisted, turning back to face the enemy. Blue-white electric light arced between erect spines clustered on the creature’s back before discharging towards its companion. Arcs coursed between the two of them. He hadn’t seen anything do that in a while. Not since...

  The second creature reared up and let out a roar. When it returned back to its crab-like feet, Foster squeezed the trigger. The three-round burst from his battle rifle hit home, forcing the target back in a new scream, this of pain. Its head thrashed from side to side as yellow orange spittle flew from it’ mouth. Foster sighted again and pulled the trigger, sending another trio of shots into the creature’s eye. The thing turned away from him in surprise, showing Foster its side and allowing him to see the rows of quills. He fired again, forcing it back in a scream of pain. It pulled back even further allowing Foster to switch to the explosive functions and put the creature out of his misery. Foster ducked back behind cover.

  “What about the cargo?”

  The radio crackled but the static resolved. “You are ordered to bring what you have already loaded and abandon the rest. Mjöllnir Actual believes you are engaged against Ralgon forces. Fall back immediately.”

  “Tell me something I don’t already know,” he muttered.

  His lightly armed recovery team was ill-prepared to deal with the Ralgon. The ship had stronger munitions, but there was no way to get them here. On top of that, these juvenile warrior minions were putting up far too good of a fight. Everything they knew of the Ralgon said that newly emerged minions were uncoordinated at best. It had certainly started that way, but something had happened and they had found coherence. On their own, the crab-like workers and the giant gorillas that were the warriors were fast and deadly with no weapons other than their legs, claws, pincers, and teeth. When they moved as a coherent force the sheer destructive power was a sight to be seen. More emerged every minute and Foster had no love of these ever-worsening odds.

  “Acknowledged!” He switched over to the intra-team communication channel. “All units, fall back to the transport. We’re pulling back. All units fall back immediately!”

  He stepped out from his cover and laid down weapons fire to buy the rest of his team as much time as possible. Dust and debris obscured his vision, but he used the wreckage to his advantage. Throwing caution to the wind, he opened fire in full automatic. Each round tore through the debris, their miniature explosions reverberating inside his chest as he fought to keep his weapon steady. Dust and smoke obscured his vision. As the deck fell silent, he hoped carnage he had caused would be enough to force the Ralgon to hold back. A double tap on his shoulder indicated the last of his team was clear and after five more seconds of continuous fire, Foster took a step back, covering the rear as he retreated.

  His back butted up against fallen debris obscuring the corridor. The assault rifle tried to jump out of his tired trigger hand as he squeezed off another volley, but was held firm by the mechanical prosthetic that supported the barrel. More mini-explosions caused more chaos. If this Ralgon wanted them it would have to go through hell. The deck beneath him buckled, collateral damage from the explosions. His weapon grew silent as he checked his footing. The deck would not hold for much longer. His team was through and waiting for him on the other side. Holstering his weapon,
he stepped through the first gap.

  He heard the roar from behind and looked up to see his fire team raise their weapons and rush towards him from their side of the obstruction. He did not scream or cry out at the pinch and squelching as the Ralgon claw drove into his back, crushing his bones and penetrating out his chest. His mouth filled with the warm copper taste of his own blood as time drew to a grinding halt. Pain tore through his body as he was lifted and pulled away. On the far side, the muzzle flashes of his team’s weapons lit up like a light show but it was all for naught as they ricocheted wildly in the debris. He did not hear the bullet strike his replaced arm, but he felt the impact to his shoulder. The least of his worries. Hot, corrosive Ralgon saliva dipped onto his neck and his skin erupted in an intense burning as it melted and bubbled. In reflex his hand tightened on the rifle. He might not be the first this creature would kill, but as long as he drew breath, ragged and short as it was, he would do whatever he could to ensure he would be the last. His vision had gone hazy and spotted, but he could still tell up from down, front from back. Back. Yes. The Ralgon was back there. Behind him.

  In one last act of sheer defiance, Foster’s mechanical wrist bent and the weapon barrel pointed down and behind him. Good enough.