by JE Gurley
No one could have believed that the creatures were not dead, were indeed merely hibernating. There was no doubt now. The same creatures that had murdered his colleagues and now hunted him had driven the Huresh to extinction – Ravers. At least that was the closest translation the linguists could derive from the few scraps of writing that remained. After having seen them in action, Ravers was an apt name for the creatures.
His flashlight grew dimmer as the batteries died. Without it, he would never find his way to the surface in the maze of ruined buildings and toppled walls. Though the creatures could not see the beam of light, he hesitated to use it lest it mark his position more than did his reeking body odor. He had heard nothing for several hours; otherwise, he would not have risked leaving the sanctuary. The tunnels were an oven. He felt as if the stifling heat had wrung every drop of moisture from his body. His brushed his hand across his cracked lips wishing he had a cup of Myles’ wretched hot English tea, although even a sip of proper Southern sweet iced tea would taste like sweet nectar. He had cowered in the tunnels for almost two full days without rest, food, or water. If he did not make it to the radio to call for help before the Navy ship Skipped out of range, everyone on the ship would die. If he didn’t find water soon, he would die.
His empty stomach growled. The sound did not carry far, but to him it sounded like a raging beast. He crouched lower behind the wall hoping the Ravers had not heard. He waited a full minute but heard nothing. Moving as carefully and as silently as possible, he reached the upper level of the ruins. He avoided looking at the twisted and shattered remains of his friends along the way, cut down by a nightmarish creature before they could fully comprehend what was happening. He tried to quell the terror rising in his chest, but it was like stuffing a cork into an erupting volcano. Each small sound loosened the cork ever more slightly. He was not a strong man. As a chemist, he was more at home in his lab determining the composition of Lokian metals and native building materials. He was not suited for playing hide-and-seek with two-ton monsters from hell.
He fought a moment of panic when his flashlight flickered. He had sat in the dark as much as possible to conserve batteries, but it was failing. He recognized where he was, the main cavern near the entrance, the Atrium. A mound of fallen rock, rusted metal, and clouded glass lay beneath a hole in the cavern roof where a skylight had once illuminated the city. The gloom of night outside extended into the darkness of the cavern. Dust sifted downward from the last dust storm.
Less than twenty meters away, the open elevator they had installed to avoid the long, dangerous stone ramp the Lokians had installed from the surface entrance rose to the roof inside a steel girder framework. The elevator door was open, inviting. He knew that once he pushed the button, he was committed. The noise would echo throughout the city. If the creatures were close by, they could kill him before the doors closed. If they were on the surface, they would be waiting for him. He would be a snack on a revolving sushi bar conveyor.
He edged along a wall until he was less than five meters from the door; then, rushed across the intervening open space. His heart pounded so loudly he could not hear anything else. He hit the button and held his breath until the door closed. The elevator rose with a loud groan. He released his breath slowly. Through the steel mesh of the cage, he looked out over the cavernous space that marked the outermost edges of the Lokian city. Movement in the shadows caught his eye, but it was too far away to reach him.
Twenty meters up, the elevator shuddered, stopped for a moment, and then began climbing again. “Loose cable,” he whispered. Ten meters more, and the elevator stopped. This time, it did not move again. The shudders became rhythmic, the sound of wrenching metal louder. A deafening roar above him almost shattered his eardrums. Something heavy landed on the elevator roof. It swung like a pendulum inside the open shaft. With a sound like ripping paper, three long gouges appeared on one side of the elevator cage. He lunged to the far side, as long claws pulled the rip wider. His heart froze, as he looked into the face of death incarnate.
The Raver’s nasal flaps fluttered as it caught Gregor’s scent. The mouth opened, revealing hundreds of 300-centimeter-long teeth. Thick saliva dripped from its lipless mouth and splashed onto the elevator’s metal floor. The creature’s overpowering breath reeked of rotten flesh.
The door of the elevator opened. Gregor stared out into space. He knew he was a dead man. His last decision would be how he met his death. He decided that plunging to his death would be preferable to sharing the ghastly fate of his colleagues. He lunged for the door.
He did not make it. The creature moved too quickly. Halfway out the door, a long claw skewered him through the back. He dangled outside the car, high above the ground, impaled on an ebony spike. He looked down at the claw protruding from his chest amid a fine spray of blood. He remembered insects he had pinned to display boards in a similar manner as an inquisitive teenager and regretted his actions. At least, he thought, I consigned them to the kill jar beforehand. The intense pain faded quickly, leaving only a dull ache and shortness of breath. He grew inexplicably cold. He almost enjoyed the absence of the ubiquitous heat. He barely heard the thunderous roar emerge from the Raver’s throat, as the creature yanked him back inside the elevator car. He looked up at the rows of black teeth descending on him and closed his eyes. Death came quickly after that.
The creature, engineered to kill, instinctively knew no more of the enemy remained in the vicinity. It joined its brother and returned to the dark lower levels where it had spent two thousand years in hibernation. This time, it would not sleep. It would wait. It knew more of the enemy would soon come, and it could slake its blood thirst once again.
6
Dax pushed Fortune’s Luck’s worn engines as hard as he dared to extract every erg of energy. He did not think it proper to be late for his own funeral.
“That’s it,” he said aloud to the empty engine room. He pocketed a magnetic induction wrench and wiped his hands on his greasy coverall as if symbolically wiping them of the entire affair. “If I open the governor a millimeter more, the power coupling relays will fry, and we’ll be stuck out here until someone finds us. I saved us a few hours. I hope it’s enough to make a difference.”
He usually didn’t talk to himself, but Nate’s absence made the engine room seem dark and empty. It was a sad day when even his own voice didn’t cheer him. He patted the starboard engine housing as he had witnessed Nate do so many times in the past. The engine room bore traces of Nate everywhere from an extra coverall hanging from a hook by the door to a trade magazine on his desk with the page of an article folded over. The coffee mug with his name emblazoned on it still sat atop his desk, half-filled with long cold coffee. He could smell Nate’s aftershave mixed with the odor of lube oil and ozone from the coils.
Nate did not share his OCD, but every tool was stored in its proper place, and he had labeled every cabinet and drawer with its contents. The engine room was always neat and tidy. The Skip Drives in the three nacelles were so clean a surgeon could perform an operation with no risk of contamination.
“She’ll need some serious downtime to replace the relays when we get back to port. I’m sure you could have done a better job of it.” He shook his head. “How could I let Ivers convince me that a lone Marine sergeant and a cargo ship’s crew could accomplish what a Navy frigate couldn’t? No matter how much he trains them, they won’t be Marines.”
Having made his decision to go to Loki, however reluctantly, Dax had allowed Sergeant Ivers to instruct his crew in the basics of weapons handling. If more of the creatures existed on Loki, they would need their new skills to survive. He, Nate, and Plia were the only members of the crew with any experience with weapons, and that was limited to occasional practice at the range or flashing a pistol when negotiations with black-market clients fell apart.
“We’re just delivering Ivers, picking up any survivors, and lifting off that dirt ball. He can do the dirty work. We’ll drop back down an
d pick him up when he’s finished, if he’s still alive.”
Said aloud, his words rang hollow to him and sounded equally unconvincing. Was he making another big mistake? Just as he removed his cap to scratch that familiar itch in his scalp, the door to the engine room creaked open. Needs some oil, he thought, as he added it to his mental repair list. I’ll get to it later. Tish stood there wearing shorts and a sweat-stained T-shirt, wiping her face with a towel. She did not look happy.
“Ivers is a real bastard,” she announced, groaning.
Dax grinned at her discomfort while noting her hard nipples through the shirt’s thin material. Keep your mind on the job. “Working you hard?”
She made a lion snarl face and swiped one hand at him with fingers curled like a lion’s claw. “You don’t want to piss me off now that I know how to fire a laser rifle.”
“You were dangerous enough before, especially in the sack.”
Her features softened. “I’m sorry I talked you into this,” she said. Her voice held a note of contrition Dax had never heard from her before. Like him, her motto was ‘Live life, take no prisoners, and never apologize’. He wondered what had brought about this catharsis in her.
“You didn’t talk me into anything. I still have some moral scruples rolling around in that big hollow spot most people call a heart. Not many, but a few.”
She edged closer to him. Even the smell of her perspiration was enticing, but by the look on her face, Dax knew sex wasn’t on her mind.
“What … what did it look like?” she asked. Her voice held equal amounts of anticipation and concern.
He knew what she meant. The creatures had been at the forefront of everyone’s mind, especially his. The suit camera video never clearly showed the creature. For that, they should be grateful. “Like a demon from hell,” he replied with conviction.
“You don’t think anyone’s still alive on Loki, do you?”
He didn’t mind stretching the truth when the need arose, or when it suited his purpose, but he had never outright lied to her. He wouldn’t start now. “No. I saw what it did to a ship full of trained, armed sailors and Marines. We can’t raise Loki on the com.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t look good for them.”
“What are they?”
He shuddered inwardly as an image of the dead creature flashed through his mind. He had given the creatures considerable thought. “Picture a monster from your worst nightmare and double its size. It had black scales like pointy armor plates and claws as sharp as diamond drill bits. Laser didn’t seem to do much damage. It can breathe vacuum and survive in deep space cold. According to Ivers, it can hibernate for thousands of years. If I wanted to invent an organic killing machine, it would look like those creatures.”
Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times in surprise. “You think they’re artificial, that someone made them?”
He watched the color drain from her face and realized he had gone too far. Dangerous wild creatures were difficult enough to comprehend. Creatures deliberately manufactured by an alien race were beyond the pale. “I don’t know what I think anymore. I’m just rambling to keep from thinking about them.”
“And Nate,” she added. “We all loved him, Dax. We’ll all miss him.”
Her words brought him no comfort and only reinforced his guilt. “But we didn’t all kill him. I did.”
Ivers walked in with an unlit cigar dangling from the corner of his mouth. He wore a pair of pants and T-shirt that Dax had loaned him while his clothing went through the laundry unit. The pants fit, but the shirt was tight in the chest and arms. Unlike Tish, he had not broken a sweat. He leaned against the bulkhead and crossed his arms over his chest. If the intimacy between Dax and Tish bothered him, he said nothing.
“Can you mount wheels on your missile pod for transport?”
“Sure. Actually, we have a remote-controlled tracked sledge for transporting heavy freight over rough terrain. I think Plia can break it out of storage and attach the pod without too much difficulty. I’ll get her to add a seat. Does the weapons pod need to articulate?”
Ivers removed the cigar, pointed it at Dax, and grinned. “Now, that’s what I’m talking about. Yeah, if I can aim the pod quickly, it would make things easier.”
“Plia can have it ready in a couple of hours.” He looked at Tish. “Can you help her?”
She sighed, nodded, and slipped away from him. “Shower first though. I stink.”
“I’ve done all I can with the engines,” he told Ivers. “This ship is older than me and twice as temperamental. You’re really going after those things, aren’t you?”
“Damn right I am. You saw what they’re capable of. What if the fuckers breed? We search for survivors first, but I’m not leaving until they’re all dead – real dead, not just hibernating.”
“I won’t take my crew down into the lava tubes. We check out the base; then we pull back to the ship. You and I both know that we won’t find anyone alive in the tunnels, not if those things are running around loose.”
Ivers raised an eyebrow and chewed on his cigar. “Suit yourself. You can leave if you feel you must. Just don’t forget to send a message to a Navy outpost to come pick me up, or bury my body, whichever is appropriate,” he added.
Dax couldn’t disparage Ivers’ courage, but he did doubt his wisdom. “Too bad you didn’t bring another nuke.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t thinking far enough ahead of the game. I let that thing get to me.”
Ivers’ cavalier attitude outraged Dax. “Game?” he snapped. “You think this is a game? Did Nate die because of a stupid game?”
“All wars are a game, Captain Wyldd – strategy, attack, defense, move, countermove…” He stared pointedly at Dax. “Manipulation of forces. You play poker? The goal is to walk away from the table with all the chips.”
“Even a good player can’t win every hand. Luck plays a part in the deal of the cards, hence the name of my ship, Fortune’s Luck.”
“You make your own luck. It’s not the single game that counts; it’s the sum total. You win if you get up more times than they knock you down.”
“My crew is good at their jobs, but they’re not soldiers, or chess pieces, or poker cards. I have two women on my crew.” He knew he was just making excuses with the latter. Tish was as tough as they came, and Plia was as hard as cold-rolled steel. She could probably take him down in a one-on-one match.
“I’ve seen some hard-ass women grunts in the Corp.” Ivers pushed himself from the bulkhead and stood straight. “But I’m not building an army. I’ll do all the dirty work. I just think it’s important your people have a fighting chance.”
Dax softened his stance and allowed a little to tension drain from his body. Maybe if Nate had a fighting chance, he would still be alive. “I’m responsible for them.”
“Just get me down there and ferry any survivors off planet. That’s all I ask.”
He turned and left before Dax could form a reply. He didn’t know what he would have said. He had placed their lives in danger on numerous occasions during shady black-market deals for a few under-the-table credits. Was what Ivers proposed any worse? Certainly, the stakes were higher, but dead was dead, whether for a noble cause or a purely mercenary one. Were the lives of strangers worth the lives of his crew?
He slammed his fist against the engine housing. “Some days it sucks to be me.”
* * * *
Fortune’s Luck emerged from Skip Space a safe 120,000 kilometers from Loki. Loki’s smaller sister moon, Thor, a frozen snowball world, occluded most of Loki’s face. The system’s star, blue-white Asgard, shone through gas giant Odin’s rings like the sun through Venetian blinds, casting a series of parallel shadows over both worlds. It was a spectacular sight; one Dax didn’t have time to enjoy. As Fortune’s Luck rounded Thor, Loki came fully into view. A raging dust storm swept southward across a third of the desert world’s northern hemisphere. Dax was glad the storm had already passed through K124’s locatio
n. He would not want to attempt a landing during such a maelstrom.
Andy sat beside him in the co-pilot’s seat, but Dax handled the controls. Landing on Loki would be tricky with sudden wind shears and downbursts created by convections on the hot surface funneled down long, winding canyons, and broken by broad mesas. Ivers, chewing on another cigar, sat in one of the passenger seats staring out the forward view screen. Dax had not seen Ivers light any of his cigars in the two days he had been aboard the Luck. He noticed how tightly the Marine sergeant gripped the armrest. This was Ivers second visit to Loki in a week, and his inner turmoil marked his face with deep furrows and tightly stretched lips.
“Romeo, did you send another message to the Navy?”
“I sent the first right after we Skipped, a tachyon burst to the nearest relay beacon with all the info you gave me, including the sergeant’s helmet cam vid.” He glanced at Ivers. “That was some gnarly shit by the way. By the time it passes down the line of relay beacons, it should reach Kinta Station sometime today. Their transmitter is powerful enough to send a direct signal to U.N. Command. I’ll send another now, but it will have to go through the same channels.” He glanced at Ivers. “I wouldn’t count on any help for at least a week.”