Starship Desolation

by Tripp Ellis

The engine spun up again, choked, sputtered, then conked out.

  It had to be the Verge gunship—he had shot that bastard down, after all.

  Walker rushed back into the cave and grabbed his gear. He told Bailey to stay put, the dog was very good at listing. He could sense the urgency, and he wasn’t about to miss out on any of the action.

  The cold of the night was brutal. It felt like your bones turned into icicles. Walker jogged through the canyon toward the sound of the troubled engine. It wasn’t long before Bailey was shivering. Walker bundled him up in a blanket and put him in the pack, as he had done before.

  Bailey huddled over Walker’s shoulder, his eyes and ears at full attention. Walker’s heart pounded as he ran, and the exertion kept him warm within his armor.

  At the end of the canyon there were a sea of dunes that spanned a few miles. Walker could see the gunship. It had crashed and plowed through one of the dunes, but didn’t look to be in bad shape—other than its engine problem.

  He saw the pilot working on the engine.

  Walker grinned from ear to ear—that ship was his way off of this planet.

  He lined the Verge pilot up in his sights. It was maybe 1000 yards. He had a clear shot. He had made plenty of kills at a greater distance.

  He flicked the safety off and wrapped his finger around the trigger. He clenched his jaw and frowned. He was conflicted. He wanted to kill that bastard for shooting him down. But he wasn’t an expert in Saarkturian technology—Walker might not be able to get those engines up and running on his own. He needed the Saarkturian alive. At least until the ship was repaired.

  “I’m going to need you to be really, really quiet. You got me?” Walker whispered.

  Bailey let out an almost imperceptible whimper.

  “Absolutely no barking.”

  Bailey licked Walker’s ear.

  The sun was just edging up over the horizon. Walker’s plan was to sneak through the dunes and ambush the Saarkturian. Take him prisoner, make him fix the ship, then leave him stranded on the planet. That seemed like a fitting retribution. After all, these aliens were on their way to annihilate the human race. They deserved no compassion.

  Walker used the dunes as cover and made a wide arc around to the far side of the ship. He crawled on his belly to the ridge of a dune and surveyed the craft. The Saarkturian was on the other side of the gunship. Walker had a clean approach to the vehicle. The Saarkturain wouldn’t be able to see him from this angle.

  Walker took off his pack. Bailey crawled out.

  “Stay here. If anything happens, head back to the cave. You got me? I don’t want any heroics out of you.”

  Bailey just tilted his head. He didn’t understand.

  Walker scuttled to a rock formation and took cover. Bailey started to follow, but Walker waved him off. Bailey reluctantly crouched down and hid behind the ridge of the dune.

  Walker readied his weapon and dashed to the craft without making a sound. He rested his back against the bulkhead. He could hear the alien working on the other side.

  The sun rose over the horizon, bringing the first rays of dawn. The bright light had to be difficult on the Saarkturian’s sensitive eyes. And his pale skin probably burned faster than the average human’s. The alien had probably been working on the ship that night, avoiding the daylight. He’d most likely be calling it quits soon.

  Walker crept to the rear of the ship. He turned the corner by the port side thruster, then swung around the starboard thruster, taking aim at the alien. “Don’t move,” he said in Saarkturese. “Drop the tools. Put your hands in the air.”

  The alien didn’t comply.

  “I know you understand me,” Walker said.

  “Oh, I understand you,” he replied in English. “I just don’t take orders from sub-level life forms.”

  Walker scowled at him. “Well, this sub-level life form is going to put a high-level projectile through that thick skull of yours. Drop the tools and put your hands up.”

  A woman’s voice behind him derailed his plans. “Looks like you’re the one who needs to put their hands up. Drop the weapon. Now!”

  Walker sighed and grimaced. He was furious with himself. He had forgotten that gunships typically flew with a two-man crew. He hadn’t accounted for a second Saarkturian.

  Walker deflated, and lowered his weapon. He could tell from her voice, that the woman behind him was standing close. The barrel of her weapon was likely inches away from the back of his head. It was a rookie mistake. It was an opportunity Walker felt was worth taking advantage of.

  He jerked his head aside, out of the line of fire. He spun around, like lightning, and pushed the barrel away. A burst of gunfire exploded from the barrel—an involuntary reaction on the Saarkturin woman’s part. The spray of bullets almost hit the male Saarkturian.

  Walker simultaneously brought his weapon up, aiming at the woman. He was about to blast several holes into her body armor when he was tackled by the man. They crashed to the ground, and Walker got a face full of sand.

  The two struggled for a moment. This alien was around the average build for a Verge warrior—7’6”, 330 pounds. He was twice as strong as Walker. He had the commander in a chokehold. Walker would pass out soon if the situation didn’t change.

  The Saarkturian woman couldn’t fire without potentially hitting her comrade, so Walker and the alien duked it out on the ground for a few minutes.

  Bailey just couldn’t stay out of the fight. He ran up and was barking and snapping at the Saarkturian.

  Walker grabbed a fistful of sand and threw it into the alien’s eyes. It was enough of a distraction to cause him to loosen his grip slightly. Walker was able to slide out of the chokehold and twist the alien’s arm behind his back, inflicting excruciating pain. He grabbed the alien’s armor by the collar, and hoisted him to his feet. He used the alien as a shield, keeping the Saarkturian between himself and the woman.

  She didn’t have a clear shot at Walker. “Let him go.”

  “Drop the weapon, or I snap his arm,” Walker shouted back.

  Bailey was still yapping away, biting at the woman’s calves. She’d shake him off, then he’d come back for more.

  “Is this your dog?” she asked.

  Walker clenched his jaw and said nothing.

  “Let Malik go, before I decide to do something unpleasant to the little mutt.”

  “You hurt Bailey, it will be the last thing you ever do.”

  She grinned and took aim at Bailey. Saarkturians weren’t known for their compassion.

  “Alright!” Walker let go of Malik.

  The alien stumbled forward, shaking out his arm that had been stretched too far in the wrong direction. Then he picked up Walker’s weapon from the sand.

  They both took aim at Walker.

  “Get out of here Bailey.”

  But Bailey was stubborn and kept barking.

  “Go, Sergeant. That’s an order!”

  Bailey whimpered, then scampered away.

  “Do you want to kill him?” the Saarkturian woman asked. “He’s the one responsible for the destruction of the fleet.”

  “Not with a bullet. He should suffer,” Malik said. “Get the restraints. We’ll leave him in the sun to die.”

  23

  SLADE

  The water was freezing, and it smelled like ass. So much for sanitary conditions. Slade tried to slip her fingers between the grating and hang on, but Pemberton stomped at her fingertips. She had to tread water and keep her nose above the line.

  Pemberton kneeled down and peered through the slats of the grate that covered the pit. “That was a hell of a number you pulled on Tiny. But don’t get any funny ideas about who really runs the show here. It ain’t Tiny, and it ain’t the warden.” He had a slight grin.

  Pemberton stood up and walked off.

  Slade latched on to the grate and held herself up. There was no way you could get any real sleep in the hole. The minute you did, you’d sink into the water and get a mo
uthful of muck. It was going to be an exercise in sleep deprivation, among other things.

  After basic training, she had attended the Navy Fighter Weapons School. But she also continued her training at Ranger School. After that, it was Reaper training at the Navy’s Special Warfare Academy. She wanted as much advanced tactical warfare training as possible. And it payed off during the first Verge War.

  She had survived hell week during Reaper training—and if you could survive that, you could survive just about anything. It was a week of heavy drills and no sleep. You spent most of the time cold and wet, and wet and cold. But that was only a week, and it had pushed her to her limits. She was facing a month in the hole. She wasn’t sure if she would make it.

  Slade knew the key to surviving impossible situations was to never let doubt creep into your mind. The minute you opened the door to doubt, it would start to burrow its way in and grow. The mind is a powerful thing. If you believe you’re going to fail, you will fail. If you believe you’re going to succeed, you will succeed. She made up her mind. Come hell, or slimy water, she was going to make it out of this hole alive.

  She hoped that her son, Cameron, was serving his time somewhere nicer than this place. If she ever escaped this prison, she was going to find him, and break him out. Then she would go after Rourke. It was still hard to believe he had sold her out.

  Slade spent the rest of the day clinging onto the grate, keeping her nose above the water. She never got another meal that day. Or the next. Or the day after that.

  She would doze off here and there, maybe getting a few seconds of sleep before her nose would plunge underwater. By the fifth day she was at her limit. Her body was chilled to the bone. Her fingers had seized up from clinching the grate. She was in a delirious state—not awake, but not asleep.

  She hadn’t heard hide nor hair of anyone. Not a guard. Not another inmate. It was a weird, sensory deprivation experience. She began to hallucinate. She lost her sense of space and time. It was almost like an out of body experience. Like she was looking down at herself.

  She needed food and fresh water. Drinking from the water that surrounded her in the pit would make her so sick, she’d wish she was dead.

  Water bugs scurried along the walls of the pit. There was no telling what else lurked in the murky water.

  She heard footsteps and a voice calling out to her. She wasn’t sure if it was real or not.

  “It’s your lucky day,” Pemberton said. “The warden wants to see you.”

  She stared at him a moment, dazed.

  “Did you hear me? You’re getting out of here. Let go of the goddamn grate.” Pemberton smacked at her fingers with his baton.

  She peeled them off and slipped them away through the grate. They were seized up and looked arthritic. She could barely keep her head above water as Pemberton unlocked the grate and flipped it open.

  “Get her out of there,” Pemberton commanded.

  Two guards reached in and pulled her out of the water and threw her onto the ground. She was weak and shivering.

  “On your feet, inmate!” Pemberton screamed.

  Slade staggered to her feet and almost fell down again. She could barely stand. Her knees wobbled and her body trembled.

  Pemberton’s face twisted up in disgust at the sight of her. “Take her, and get her cleaned up. She can’t go to the warden like this.”

  The guards hauled her away to the shower stalls. One of them turned on the faucet and the other pushed Slade into the stream of water. Hot water. She felt like she had died and gone to heaven for a moment.

  “Off with the jumpsuit,”one of the guards commanded.

  Slade scowled at him. She was too weak for a fight. She peeled off her jumpsuit and lathered up with soap. The two guards watched with lecherous eyes, but that’s all they did. Slade was sure they’d try something, but they let her be.

  One of the guards handed her a towel, and she dried off and covered herself. They led her out of the lockup to Pemberton’s office. “You can change in there.”

  She looked at the guard, bewildered.

  “Go on.”

  She pushed through the door to Pemberton’s office. It was a simple space—desk, computer terminal, two chairs, filing cabinets. On the desk was a black cocktail dress and a pair of high heel shoes.

  Now she was sure she was hallucinating. This had to be all a dream. A nice dress and high heels? She hadn’t seen a pair of high heel shoes in years. She hadn’t worn a dress in decades.

  No. This was definitely a dream. She was still back in the pit, probably on the verge of drowning.

  She reached out and grabbed the dress. It felt real. She slipped out of the towel and into the dress. It fit her perfectly. It hugged her sensuous curves.

  She slipped the shoes on. The stiletto heels accentuated her toned calves. Slade had nice legs. She had nice everything. She was a fine woman. All she needed was a little makeup and she’d be ready for an evening on the town.

  She figured they had gotten her sizes from the database. But why?

  Her heart began to fill with dread. Something was up. She had realized this wasn’t a dream. It was very real. The warden wanted her to look nice. But what did he have in mind?

  24

  WALKER

  Walker’s feet and ankles were cuffed. They were going to leave him to die in the middle of the desert, with the harsh sun rising in the sky. No human could survive exposed to the elements. If he made it through the first day, it would be a miracle. He’d surely die by the second. The vultures were circling overhead. They’d probably be gnawing at his flesh soon.

  “Just think of it as a little vacation,” Malik said with a grin. “A day at the beach.”

  Walker began laughing, which put a scowl on Malik's face. “What’s so funny?”

  Walker nodded and looked behind Malik. Three of the deadly giant arthropods had emerged from the sand. Malik's eyes went wide as they stood tall. Sand poured off their exoskeletons.

  “Looks like we’re all going to die out here,” Walker mused.

  Malik raised his weapon and took aim at one of the creatures as it approached. His finger gripped the trigger and squeezed off a flurry of gunfire. Muzzle flash sparked from the barrel. Bullets tore through the air. But they just bounced off the arthropod’s hard outer shell.

  The creatures retracted their heads into their shells. They angled their shells almost perpendicular to the ground as they charged, making it almost impossible to hit their softer flesh.

  Both Malik and the woman, Saaja, unleashed a torrent of gunfire—with almost no effect. The things kept charging closer.

  Walker struggled against his metal bonds. They were too strong to break, and his fists were too wide to slip through, no matter how hard he pulled. The metal gouged into his flesh, and blood began to ooze from his raw skin.

  Malik blasted at one of the creatures legs. The armor was thinner, and a barrage of fire severed one of the limbs. It slowed the thing down a little. Saaja and Malik cut through limbs with a hail of bullets. But the things were almost on top of them now.

  They dodged and weaved as claws grasped at them.

  “Watch out,” Walker said. “Those claws are loaded with venom.”

  Saaja lit up one of the claws with a stream of bullets. It erupted in a yellowish-green blast. But another claw stabbed into her from behind. Her body went limp. The rifle fell from her hands. She dropped to the sand, paralyzed.

  The creature pulled her limp body close and was about to feast on her flesh. Its ugly head jutted out from its exoskeleton. Malik blasted the monster’s skull, exploding it into a thousand chunks of goo. The carcass crashed to the sand, still twitching.

  Malik kept fighting off the creatures. But a few more were coming. Walker was rolling around in the sand, dodging claws that were stabbing at him. He was about to be monster food.

  “Looks like you could use an extra hand,” Walker shouted to Malik.

  Malik was outnumbered, and he knew it. Tryi
ng to fend off multiple attacks and protect Saaja’s motionless body was impossible. He couldn’t keep this up for long.

  He fired at a claw that was menacing Walker. The creature’s head protruded from its shell, and the hideous thing let out a screech. Malik blasted the creature’s exposed head. It exploded in a mess of goo.

  Malik dropped down and unlatched Walker’s restraints. His eyes found Walker’s, and without saying a word, they had a warrior’s agreement. They’d fight on the same side until the bugs were defeated.

  Walker sprung to his feet and grabbed Saaja’s weapon. The creatures’ tails split off like a wishbone into the claws. Walker began blasting at the tails, cutting them off at the base. Without the claws, these things were a lot less threatening.

  Round after round blasted into the horrid arthropods. Green and yellow goo coated the sand. Twitchy carcasses lined the desert. Six of them had already been downed. Three still remained. But Walker was out of bullets.

  He tossed the weapon down. “My sword. Give me my sword!” he yelled to Malik.

  An arthropod was bearing down on Walker.

  Malik unhitched the scabbard from his utility belt and tossed it to Walker, in between bursts of gunfire.

  Walker snatched it out of the air and slid the blade from its scabbard.

  An arthropod was storming toward Saaja’s motionless body. She was an easy meal. A claw reached out to grasp her. The beast was trying to sneak in for a snatch and grab, and whisk Saaja’s body away.

  Walker chopped down on the claw. The blade cut into the monster’s flesh. The claw dangled, hanging on by a few strands of muscle and fascia. Walker spun and hacked the other claw that was stabbing toward him.

  The blade sliced clean through the monster’s flesh. Its shrill screech pierced Walker’s ears. Then the creature charged him. Walker held his ground and plunged his sword into the thing’s brain.

  The massive creature bowled Walker over. Its heavy carcass pinned Walker against the sand. The thing’s legs twitched and scratched up the sand for a few moments. Walker tried to heave the carcass off him. But its crushing weight was too heavy. Walker could barely breathe.