Lori screamed as a hand, coming from behind, gripped her shoulder. She turned to see it was Carlo. Relieved, she shot a quick glance down the ramp; his guards had scampered off.
“We have to get out of here!” Carlo yelled, pulling Lori up to her feet. Horrific, desperate sounds were emanating from Prime Strength. Between LOP’s five remaining legs and the Wikk’s six legs, all of which were gyrating and clawing at one another, exactly who was getting the better of the battle was hard to tell. Then LOP must have cleaved an artery. Blood spurted forth from a torn-away wing and fountained into the air. One of the insect’s bulbous, fist-sized compound eyes spiraled up and away only to drop with a wet plop on the deck, inches from Lori’s left foot. Mattie stole a peek over Lorie’s shoulder. “Kill that bitch!” the little girl yelled, with angry brows knitted together.
With LOP hanging on like a small jockey atop a Clydesdale, Prime Strength toppled over, her bulk carrying her halfway down the ramp. LOP, unrelenting, continued its ferocious attack. Articulating, multi-fingered claws dug and gouged. Within moments, all but one of the Wikk’s appendages remained. Eyeless, mostly legless, and with much of her head turned to a green-pea-soup kind of pulp, the insectile alien finally stopped resisting—stopped moving altogether.
Lori and Carlo watched LOP dismount and hop onto the inclined ramp. Covered in green goo, the spider robot skittered up toward them.
Maddie tensed. “Ahhh! Get away!”
“It’s okay, I promise,” Lori said. “That’s LOP. It’s on our side.”
Suddenly feeling tired, exhausted really, Lori had to put the little girl down. She noticed Carlo wasn’t doing much better—he was struggling to breathe. Maddie looked sleepy, leaning her weight against Lori’s leg. “It’s the atmosphere,” Carlo said suddenly. “Or the lack thereof. We have to get to the Watcher Craft.”
“You’ll have to carry her, I don’t have the strength,” Lori said heading down the ramp and avoiding what was left of the alien commander. Prime Strength, it seemed, had ultimately been no match in strength to the little robot. “Careful, it’s slippery down here.” Then she turned around and looked at LOP. “Are you in communication with Hannig?”
The robot made an indecipherable noise, but she assumed it had answered in the affirmative. “Just tell Hannig we need a ride. We’re running out of air.”
Chapter 50
Dominic Moretti
My first impulse was to race toward the Dominate’s bridge, to pick up Lori and Carlo before they suffocated. According to Hannig, now in contact with LOP, the two, along with a young girl, were indeed alive and slowly making their way aft. But there were a lot of others in the same predicament—mostly human, some within the treatment plant, but many still confined within those holding cells on the lower decks.
Onboard the Watcher Craft were the six of us: Caputo, Gordo, Georgina, Garry and myself, with Hannig seated at the controls.
“That last shuttle in the flight bay. Has it left yet?” I asked.
“No. Its propulsion drive is winding up. Departure is imminent.”
“Can you stop it?”
Hannig pursed his lips, his mind working the problem. “Unsure. System has made further progress with interfacing with Dominate’s AI. To that extent, it is doubtful.” He tapped at the console before him.
Two of the overhead view screens came alive. Two separate feeds into the Dominate’s flight bay showed the lone shuttle.
“That’s a shuttle? Thing’s pretty big,” Garry said.
“What’s the seating capacity of that vessel?” I asked.
“Well, with the Wikkam 234456 Model Broad Carrier, there are no actual seats, keeping in mind the Wikk insectile anatomy does not require sitting—”
Exasperated, Georgina was the first to respond with, “Damn it, Hannig!”
The alien man raised an apologetic hand and nodded. “Certainly enough space to accommodate everyone remaining on board the Dominate. Of course, the current 830 Wikk crewmembers would need to, um . . . disembark first.”
“Get us into to that flight bay and right in front of that shuttle, now. Do whatever you have to do, just get us there!” I said. I kept my eyes locked to the view screens, watching as the wide-hulled shuttle vessel began to show signs of movement. Soon it was elevating up off the deck.
I felt my stomach lurch as the Watcher Craft gained tremendous speed in just a few seconds.
“Think I’m going to hurl,” Gordo said, staggering aft. The view out the window portal was little more than a blur of motion. And then we were there within the flight bay. The lone shuttle, which had to be at least the size of a Navy battleship, was thirty feet above the deck and gliding forward toward the now-open bay doors. Some kind of energy field shimmered as it maintained an atmospheric barrier between the flight bay and the dark, cold space beyond.
“How much time before it reaches that energy field?” I yelled.
“Thirty seconds,” Hannig, said, his expression one of defeat.
“There has to be a bridge or control center, right?”
Hannig nodded.
“Well, get us in there!”
Hannig didn’t hesitate—we were all thrown backward as the craft accelerated. Forward and up we went, moving through the shuttle’s outer hull. A blanket of green filled both portal windows as we moved through countless Wikk crewmembers. They were piled high, one upon another, like cords of stacked firewood. They just lay there—still and unaware of our forward progression.
On the view screen, I tracked the shuttle’s forward momentum. It was nearing the open bay doors.
I barked, “Hurry, Hannig!” then realized we had already reached our destination. Outside the starboard portal window, the countless Wikk bodies were gone. Instead, five individual tall insects were standing at consoles.
“Open the back hatch, Hannig. Come on, everyone grab a weapon!” I rushed aft, squeezing past a pasty-faced Gordo within the narrow passageway, and snatched up my M4. Reassessing, I tossed it back down and grabbed one of the Wikk red-band energy rifles instead.
I turned to the now-open rear hatch. There, peering into the Watcher Craft, were five bewildered-looking Wikk crewmembers. I stepped down and entered their control center—a compartment that was easily three times the size of the Watcher Craft. Speaking Wikkam, I commanded. “Halt this vessel. Do it or die!”
Looking stupefied, no one moved. No one spoke. Three rapid-fire, bright blue plasma bolts whizzed past my right shoulder. One of the Wikk crewmembers staggered and then dropped to the deck, dead.
I turned to see Gordo holding an energy rifle. “Sorry man, guess I’m a bit trigger happy.”
Hannig moved past me and wedged himself in front of one of the Wikk officers. He began working the controls. Immediately, I felt the deck beneath our feet began to rumble. The shuttle’s forward momentum slowed, then smoothly came to a complete stop.
“I’ll need to back us up some,” Hannig said, grimacing.
Caputo was next to enter the compartment. He said, “How we going to get all those bugs off this ship? To make room—”
“Hold on, Hannig,” I said looking at one of the Wikk view screens. I saw that the shuttle was already halfway out into space. I almost felt guilty asking my next question. “Hannig, is this bridge compartment sealed off from the rest of the shuttle?”
He thought about that. “Yes, it is.”
“Hypothetically, let’s say we strategically open several outer hatch doors . . .”
Hannig stared back at me, realizing my intent. “You want to . . . vent the main cabin to space. Is that what you are suggesting?”
“Would there be sufficient atmosphere held in, um, the reserves, I guess, to compensate?”
“Flush them like a fucking toilet,” Gordo said obviously liking the idea.
“Don’t see we have much of a choice. Any other ideas?”
Georgina looked uncomfortable, but she seemed to think about it and then shake her head. “I guess not.”
“I say we do it,” Caputo said. “If it’s possible.”
All eyes turned to Hannig. “Yes, there are adequate atmosphere reserves held separately from the compartments holding the Wikk. And yes, this compartment will remain unaffected.”
I turned to see if there was consensus all around. Caputo nodded. Gary shrugged and then nodded as well. Georgina joined in but was clearly still a little disturbed. I looked over to Gordo. “Fuck yeah, let’s vent the shuttle. Blow the bugs right out of here.”
I nodded to Hannig. “If you’d rather, I can do it. Just show me what buttons to press . . .”
He considered that. “No, Dominic. As you humans like to say, I’ve made my bed, now I must take a nap in it.”
Gordo screwed up his face, “Yeah, that’s not quite—ah well, close enough.”
“Do it. We’ve still got a lot of people to save.”
Hannig reached out a long forefinger and hesitated above the control board. Then he tapped in the necessary commands. The shuttle shook. Loud sucking sounds emanated from beyond the compartment’s surrounding bulkheads.
The four remaining Wikk crewmembers watched the view screens in abject horror. I caught a glimpse of flailing bodies pouring from three open hatchways and averted my eyes. It was hard to watch, despite what they had done. I didn’t have to like what was happening, even though it was necessary. But then I looked back. I had to own my decision. Countless elongated green bodies continued to blow out from the three open hatchways like spewing projectile vomit. A thousand thrashing legs and wide-open mouths gasping for breath—breath that would never come. My stomach churned. But the Wikk had come here with the most depraved intentions imaginable. Karma’s a bitch.
Chapter 51
Georgina said, “Lori and Carlo—they’re running out of air. Maybe already have. For God’s sake, we need to get to them, Dommy!”
“I know. Give me a second.” I turned to the four remaining Wikk crewmembers. “You have a simple choice to make. Help us, or die, here and now.”
They looked at me, perhaps equally dismayed at my ability to speak their language as their actually having a choice in the matter. They stared at me and then looked to each other. Angular heads tilted this way and that as they conversed amongst themselves. Three agreed, choosing life. One seemed to hesitate. It used one of its spike-like legs to swipe at one of its bulbous eyes, perhaps cleaning it like a common housefly. I shot the bug where it stood—there was zero time for indecision.
“Now, which one of you holds the highest rank?”
The Wikk in the middle, who looked identical to the other two, raised all three of its right side arms at the same time.
“I am Mortal Breath . . . I am High Lieutenant, Order of the Lone Star Pilor 3—”
I cut the officer off with a raised hand. “Okay that’s fine. Hannig, watch what that one does. Ensure there’s no funny business.” I looked to the Wikk officer again. “That big Wikk ship out there. It’s about to fire on the Dominate. So you’re going to open a channel to them, tell them there’s been an emergency. A catastrophic hull breach or something here on your shuttle. Something that explains the sudden flood of Wikk bodies venting out into space. Undoubtedly they’ve already noticed. Tell them to please wait, that you need to take the shuttle back inside the Dominate’s flight bay to make repairs and save the . . . hundreds of Wikk remaining. Whatever you do, do not ask for permission. Just tell them what you’re going to do. That it won’t take long. Do you understand all that I’ve said, um, Mortal Breath?”
“Yes, human. I do.”
Hannig stepped aside, and the Wikk officer cozied up to the console. Within seconds, the insect alien was clicking and making cord tones. “Honorable crew of the Retribution . . . we have an emergency situation. Shuttle hull breach. Repairs must be made, but will not take long. Must be accomplished within the Dominate’s flight bay.” The Wikk looked to me for approval.
“Good enough. Hannig, get us back inside. And hurry.”
Within thirty seconds, the shuttle was back inside the flight bay. I left Caputo and Gary onboard to guard the two Wikk officers, while Mortal Breath came along with Hannig, Gordo, Georgina and me in the Watcher Craft.
“Christ! Can we get moving already?” Georgina scolded. “Lori and Carlo, they may already be out of air!”
Hannig was back at the Watcher Craft’s controls. “Atmosphere levels are indeed at critical levels. Yes, we must go.”
“You know their current position?” I asked.
“No, but System knows LOP’s position. It should be close.”
“Just get us there! Fast!”
Preemptively, Gordo put his hand over his mouth and hurried toward the head.
* * *
Lori and Carlo, who was now carrying the unconscious Maddie, were moving along the central corridor at a snail’s pace. They were taking small steps, barely shuffling. And they’d had to stop more often as of late to catch their breath. It dawned on her that she would never be able to fully do that again if they didn’t make it out. There was no breath to catch—the atmosphere within the Dominate had steadily, albeit slowly, all-but-vacated the ship.
Maddie murmured something. Carlo said, “We’re going to find her. Hold on, kid.”
Lori didn’t have the energy to roll her eyes. They would not find the little girl’s mother. Hell, they would not survive another five minutes of this. Frustrated, anger flared inside of her. Why hadn’t Dominic come for them—come for her? Why had he just left them here to die? Was it too much to ask, to be rescued? To save their lives? I thought we had something special between us Dom . . . or was that all in my head? She knew she was being unreasonable. That she was just lashing out mentally because of the situation, that there were larger things at stake. But damn it, Dom . . . where are you?
Realization set in. They were going to die here within this cold and impersonal corridor. She looked over to Carlo and the little girl—their skin was taking on a bluish pallor. Lori struggled to take in another breath. Oh God, they really were going to die here. And this abandoned insect ship would be her tomb.
Lori had, at some point during this thought process, slumped against a bulkhead. She felt herself slide down to the deck in a heap. Then she felt a jostle, followed by a sudden weightlessness. Have I died? Am I being lifted up to heaven? She opened one eye, because two would have been far too much work. Lori saw LOP directly below her. Her legs and torso were held aloft by the small robot’s articulating appendages. She was being carried along. Like a useless sack of potatoes. Drunk with hypoxia, Lori let out a soft moan—thank you LOP, but it’s no use . . .
Sometime later, Lori felt several stinging slaps to her left cheek. She opened her heavy-lidded eyes. Her words were slurred. “Can you stop doing that?” She saw Dominic’s concerned-looking face staring down at her. She swallowed and tried to clear her fuzzy mind. Then she remembered, “Maddie!” She tried to sit up, but Dominic placed a retraining hand on her shoulder.
“The girl? She’s fine. In fact, she’s lying right next to you.”
Lori looked down to her left and saw Maddie there. Felt the warmth of the young girl’s body pressed up against her own. She too was awake and looking around the confines of the Watcher Craft. A small crease had formed between her thin, platinum brows.
“Where are we?” she asked. “And who are all these people?”
“Watcher Craft’s control center,” Dominic said, but not taking his eyes off of Lori.
Making her way toward them, Georgina said, “Good to have you back with us, Lori. This is pretty much what’s left of Alpha, Delta and Bravo teams. And who is this little angel?”
“I’m Maddie, and I can talk for myself. Where’s my mom?”
No one answered her.
Lori noticed Carlo slumped against the aft bulkhead. She waited and then saw his chest rise and fall. Hannig was at the controls, and Gordo was seated in the chair next to him.
Georgina sat down on the deck nearby to them. She
looked tired. Lori’s heart sank, realizing several of them were missing. “Oh no. Where’s Caputo? And that other guy, Gary?”
Georgina said, “They’re fine. Guarding a couple of Wikk pilots in a shuttle we’ve commandeered.”
Lori, not really comprehending, didn’t ask for clarification. She heard noises. The hum of too many people talking at once. And a sour smell was wafting in from somewhere. Her eyes went to the narrow passageway. “More of the human captives? From the lower-deck holding cells?”
Dominic nodded. “We’re already on our fourth run ferrying people to the shuttle.”
She looked at Maddie and then back to Dominic, questioningly. Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head. They hadn’t found a mother looking for a child.
Suddenly, rage coursed through her—a jolt of white-hot electricity. She wanted to scream. She wanted to strike out and hit something. So she did. Fists balled, she punched hard Dominic in the face. “What took you so fucking long to rescue us? We were minutes—seconds from fucking dying!”
He stared back at her, a mix of emotions conveyed in those big brown eyes of his. Sure, surprise was there, and also indignation, but mostly it was hurt.
“I’m sorry. My heart pleaded with me to find you, to help you before anyone else. But my mind pleaded with me to save as many of the hostages, hundreds of them, as possible. My mind won out. I figured that’s what you would have wanted me to do. But finding you still alive—I can’t tell you how relieved I am.”
She stared up at him. She saw the raw emotion in his eyes. She had just punched the man who had chosen to save hundreds over three. She felt like an idiot. It must’ve been the lingering effects of the hypoxia, though she knew that was no excuse. “I’m sorry. You absolutely did the right thing. Does your lip hurt? Where I punched you?”
He brought his hand up and touched his mouth. “Yeah, of course it hurts. Who taught you to punch like that? Let me guess, your dad?”
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