by JE Gurley
Ivers tapped the screen with his finger. “I guess we fight.”
Dax was incredulous. “Six or seven Ravers. With what? Sticks and stones? Your disruptor is almost out of power. The lasers aren’t very effective. In this dust, maybe not at all. We keep killing them, and they keep coming. These things conquered a planet and wiped out an entire species. What chance do we have?”
“What do you suggest, give up? We can’t run and we can’t hide. We can’t do anything from inside the ship, but if we stay here, they’ll make it inside eventually.”
“Are you suggesting we meet them outside?” It sounded too much like certain suicide for him. He had tempted fate too often in the last few hours. He was sure once more would be the last one.
“You, me, and Romeo. The rest remain inside. Dr. Adar is no help, and Tish can help Plia. Plia keeps working on the gimbal; then, we protect her while she installs it.”
“That means taking the fight to the Ravers. The lasers are like big flashlights to those things. Unless, we got in a lucky shot, they’re useless.”
“I’ll see if I can make some adjustments. With Plia’s help, I think I can recharge the power packs from ship’s power. We’ll get fewer shots, but they’ll pack more punch.”
“What if we’re separated from the ship?”
“It goes without us. Plia can reach orbit, can’t she?”
Dax nodded. “I insisted all my crew be able to get the ship off the ground. It doesn’t mean I’m ready to hand her over.”
“I can try this alone, but I doubt I would last long.” He shrugged. “It’s your choice.”
“It quit being my choice when I decided to continue to Loki instead of turning around. Since then, I’ve been rolling with the punches. This sounds like the final KO.”
Ivers grinned. “Afraid of dying?”
“No. I’m afraid of being eaten alive, and then dying.” He sighed. “Damn. I guess I don’t have any choice. I think I can rig a few bombs from some items from ship’s stores and fuel from the grasshopper. The suits have a small torch in the tool belt. It might be difficult lighting a fuse in that wind. They might go off immediately and blow our asses up, but I guess it doesn’t really matter that much does it. I’ll get started.”
Ivers nodded. “After I recalibrate the weapons, I’ll suit up and wait outside in case they move faster than we thought.”
“Thirty minutes.”
“Dax, I’m sorry how this turned out. From the beginning, I didn’t want you or your crew involved other than getting me here. If there were any other way …”
“Believe me, I’ve been mulling every decision over in my mind and can’t see a way I could have changed things. My crew is my main concern. My job is to get them off this damn planet in one piece. You and I … well, we’re collateral damage.”
“I’ve had a good run.”
Dax looked at Ivers and saw the pain in his eyes. Ivers had been closer to the flash of the mine than he had. His skin was bubbly with blisters. “You had better apply some salve to those burns. It helps.”
“I’ll take care of my wounds later. They help me focus. I don’t have time to hurt.”
I hope you have time to die. Dax tried to shake the feeling of gloom and despair descending over him, but for once in his life, he saw no rosy side. We’re going to die.
14
Dax was no ordinance specialist, but he knew enough about chemicals to know which ones were dangerous in the wrong combinations. He filled thermos bottles with hydrazine from the grasshopper, a mixture of corrosive cleaning solution, bits of magnesium metal shavings, and then added ball bearings to create simple fragmentary grenades. For fuses, he used cotton yarn impregnated with gunpowder from .338 caliber shells. He tested a couple of fuses and got a wide range of times from three seconds to ten. He didn’t have time to refine them. His half hour was up. In the end, he had six bombs of dubious reliability.
He stopped by the machine shop to speak with Plia and found Tish there as well. He didn’t have time for teary goodbyes. “As soon as the thruster is in, take off. You can try to use the com to let us know, but in this dust, it will be iffy. When we hear the engines, if we can get back, we will. If not, you’re in charge. We came here to save lives. Don’t waste any more.”
Plia nodded, but kept her eye on the turning gimbal.
“Tish, it’s been fun. I guess it won’t hurt to tell you I love you.”
“Oh, Dax.”
“Don’t go all teary-eyed on me. We might just win, and you’ll be stuck with me.”
“Please, Dax.”
“Don’t. I have to do this. For you. For all of you.” He turned to leave.
“I love you, Dax,” she said.
He paused for a second; then joined Romeo in the cargo bay. “Let’s suit up.”
A few minutes later, he and Romeo joined Ivers outside. The wind-driven dust slammed him like a sledgehammer. Visibility was less than five paces, and he had to wipe his visor constantly to keep it clean. Ivers stood, legs spread wide for better stability, with his ion disruptor held down beside his waist. Dax handed him one of the bombs.
“No guarantees. Light it and throw it fast.”
Ivers stuffed it into a utility pocket on his suit. “I figured we would spread out on this side of the ship where we can watch over Plia. We can’t protect the whole ship. If we separate too far, a Raver might slip by us.”
Dax didn’t think a Raver would ignore them to go after Plia. It might go through them, but it would not ignore them. “Sounds good. I linked the satellite image to my suit screen for a heads up. The ship sensors are at maximum range, but in this dust storm, they’re practically useless.” He didn’t really think the lack of visibility would give them much warning, but every second counted against a creature as large and a quick as a Raver.
He paced along the length of the ship keeping his eye to the west, the direction from which he thought the Ravers would attack; although, it was equally likely they would use the storm moving in from the north as cover. Romeo stood nervously near the rear of the ship. Ivers, like him, paced, but his circuit took him farther out into the storm before returning to the ship. There was a slim chance the Ravers would pass them by and continue to the station, but he doubted they would be that lucky. Whatever senses allowed the creatures to locate their prey or a station two thousand kilometers away would easily pinpoint a ship in the desert and humans standing around it like mobile snacks.
He almost pissed his pants when the proximity alarm began beeping in his earphones. He stopped moving, peered into the blinding dust, and raised his laser rifle.
“We’ve got company,” Ivers warned.
Dax’s senses went on high alert. Glad they still work. He peered into the blinding dust storm hoping for some indication a Raver was there, a familiar shape, a moving mass too dense for dust, anything he could shoot at. Knowing their speed and their capacity for leaping, he knew one could attack him from nowhere before he had a chance to defend himself, and there were at least six out there in the storm. Behind him, he heard Plia and Tish pounding to force the new gimbal bearing into place. He didn’t worry about the sound they made; the creatures knew where they were.
“I see something about your two o’clock,” Ivers said to him.
His voice sounded high pitched over the com link, as if the prospect of a fight excited him. Dax shared none of his enthusiasm. Dax looked in the direction Ivers had pointed out and saw a dim shape through the swirling dust haze. He raised his rifle and waited. Ivers had adjusted the output of the lasers to produce twenty percent more power. He hoped it was enough.
The Raver was on him in a blur or motion. He fired one shot and rolled away. The creature screamed in pain. The bolt had struck the creature in the throat, a less protected area of its body. It had not expected the strength of the laser. It would be more cautious now.
“There’s another amidships twenty meters out,” Ivers reported. “No two.”
Dax heard the whine
of the ion disruptor and another loud scream from a Raver. He saw motion toward the rear of the ship. “Watch it, Romeo,” he warned. Seconds later, a large explosion ripped the air, the sound quickly ripped away by the wind.
“I think I got one,” Romeo reported. He sounded half-excited, half-afraid.
Sharp chirps and growls came from several different points, as the Ravers compared notes. Maybe it’s a pep talk, Dax thought dryly. Bastards are smart. A Raver rushed at him. This time, Dax held his ground. He continued to pour blasts from the laser into the Raver. Chips from its ebony armor flew in all directions, but it did not slow. He knew he had waited too late to run. He held the trigger and aimed at the creature’s face, hoping to confuse its senses. Seconds before it reached him, the side of its head exploded in a spray of blood and flame. It hit the ground, bounced, and struggled to rise. Dax walked up to it and fired point-blank into its head, killing it. He looked over and saw Ivers standing there with his disruptor.
“Thanks.”
“That’s two down,” he replied.
“We’re finished, Dax,” Plia said over the com link. “We’re headed in.”
“Great. I’ll guard the door.”
He strode to the cargo door and saw Plia and Tish moving toward it. A Raver appeared as if by magic from the dust behind them. “Drop to the ground!” he yelled. He pulled one of his bombs from his suit belt, hit the switch on the torch on his suit, and lit the fuse. It caught slowly in the stiff breeze, but the flame raced down the fuse at an alarming rate. He tossed the bomb just as both Plia and Tish hit the ground. The Raver snatched the bomb out of midair and stared at it. It exploded, sending a dozen ball bearings and shrapnel from the thermos into the creature’s head. The Raver screamed once and fell dead, half its head torn away by the blast.
The cargo hatch opened. “Get inside,” he told them. He saw a figure in the open hatch and for a moment thought it was Andy; then he realized it was Cici in Andy’s suit opening the door for them. Director Rathiri walked up beside her. He was not wearing a suit. Dax wasn’t sure why the director was there. He still should have been under sedation. He was so weak he could barely walk, and the swirling dust would have blinded him. All of them failed to see the Raver on top of Fortune’s Luck until it reached inside and snatched Rathiri out of the cargo bay, as if picking a snack from a refrigerator. He hung suspended, struggling uselessly, until the creature raked its talons across his stomach, disemboweling him. He stared at his intestines falling to the dirt, mystified by what was happening. The Raver dropped him beside the ship in front of Plia and Tish. He was dead.
Dax fired his laser, but the creature leaped down to the ground and faced him. Its mouth hung open, baring its teeth. If it had eyes, it would have stared at him hungrily. Instead, its nose flaps fluttered in what he imagined was the Raver equivalent of licking its lips. Once again, Ivers saved him. He had no good shot at it because of Dax. Instead, he fired the disrupter at the ground at the Raver’s feet, giving it a hot foot. When it turned to confront Ivers, Dax dropped to the ground and fired his laser at the same time Ivers fired. At close range, the disruptor and the jacked-up laser were devastating. It fell with two holes drilled in its head. That’s four down.
Dax’s laser began to overheat. He felt the heat through his gloved hand. Supercharging the power output made it more effective, but overloaded its cooling capacity. He doubted he would get one more shot out of it before it exploded in his hands.
Another bomb exploded a few meters behind him. Ball bearings whizzed by overhead. He turned to see Romeo rush by him. “Missed,” he said. “There are two of them back there.”
Dax looked and saw that Plia and Tish were inside the cargo bay. They had accomplished their mission. The Luck could fly. “Back inside the ship,” he said.
Romeo rushed up the ramp ahead of him. Dax waited on Ivers. They walked up the ramp backwards, keeping their weapons trained on the Ravers lurking just inside the swirling dust but remaining carefully just out of range. Cici closed the door behind them. Seconds later, the Ravers attacked the ship, pounding and clawing at the door. It wouldn’t take them long to get inside or rip a new hole in the Luck.
“If we don’t go now, we might not go at all,” he said, as he rushed for the bridge. “Find a seat.”
He didn’t wait for anyone to strap in. He fell into the pilot’s seat and fired the thrusters. The ship shuddered and hopped along the ground on its belly until the new gimbal swung into position. The ship began to lift. He hoped he landed on one of the Ravers as the ship bounced along. He increased power to the thrusters and fired the main engines. The ship trembled violently before settling down to a dull rattle. The fuel flow to the thrusters was slightly misaligned, but they all worked. He lifted the nose and powered up the engines. Fortune’s Luck drilled a path through the blowing sand, sounding as if a dozen grinders were reshaping her exterior. He didn’t let up until the ship punched through the top of the storm. He leveled the ship, relishing the feel of sunlight on his face after hours underground or enveloped by the dust storm.
“Everyone strap in while you have the chance. It’s going to get rough when we hit the upper atmosphere.”
A surge of relief swept through him. They were off the ground, out of reach of the Ravers. They could sit in orbit and repair the Skip engines until the Navy arrived. If he and Plia couldn’t do the job, the Navy at least owed him the use of a Navy Skip technician.
A blinking light on the instrument panel caught his eye. He frowned when he saw the temperature spike in the engine power relays. The engines cut out for a millisecond before kicking in again. The ship dropped sharply. He swore at himself. His adjustments to the relays to tweak the engines to reach Loki faster, coupled with all the jarring of the rough landing and takeoff, had knocked the power relays out of alignment, causing them to overheat. Modern ships had a secondary system to allow repairs while in flight. Ships as old as Fortune’s Luck did not. Nate had suggested he spring for one, but he had seen no reason for the added expense, an oversight he now regretted.
He wasn’t overly concerned. Once they reached orbit, he could cut the engines and make the necessary repairs. All he needed was five more minutes. He kept a close eye on the temperature panel as he pushed the engines harder to compensate. As the red temperature bar continued to creep higher, the power level in the starboard engine dropped. He had to ease back the port engine to maintain balance. The Luck struggled to gain altitude. He knew the ship was in trouble. The engines had a built-in failsafe to prevent an explosion. Before the temperature reached critical stage, the engines would shut down, not much of a problem in space, but on takeoff, it could be fatal.
He checked the altimeter. They were not going to make orbit. He calculated he had less than three minutes before the engines shut down completely. If they weren’t on the ground by then, they would wind up a permanent part of the landscape. The storm still swirled below them. He could see no ground features, and the radar was useless. He could slam the Luck into a five-thousand-meter-high mesa or plunge it into one of the kilometers-deep canyons.
If he had a functioning Skip Drive, he would have been tempted to attempt a Skip in the atmosphere. As far as he knew, it had never been tried and for good reason. The odds of it succeeding were slim to none. Without a Skip engine, he had no choice. He slipped into his seat harness, pushed the yoke forward, and brought the Luck into a steep dive. It was a risky maneuver, but it got them on the ground quicker. He reentered the top of the raging dust storm. The dust was as dense as porridge, almost thick enough to float the Luck. He prayed he spotted a place he could land. They had travelled less than two hundred kilometers. He tried to visualize the topography from memory, but it became a jumble of peaks and valleys in his mind. He had paid little attention on the four previous trips he had made to Loki. He recalled there were no good places to set down. The engines began sputtering as the relays overheated and reached the critical point. He held his breath, fighting the urge to level off. Doi
ng so too quickly would leave them too high above the surface.
At two thousand meters, he broke out of the dust only to see a jagged peak directly in front of him. He fought the steering yoke to veer away, brought the Luck in a tight banking turn to kill speed, and lined up with a narrow canyon below him. The terrain one either side was too broken for a landing. The deep canyon offered a flat, kilometer-long stretch of sand and packed earth. He saw no large rocks or outcroppings, making it as safe a landing site as any he was likely to find. He could not bring the ship in for a vertical landing; he had too much momentum. As the ship dropped below the rim of the canyon, the engines died completely.
Cursing, he fought to keep the nose up. It was like flying a brick. He waited as long as he dared before firing the thrusters. They would dampen his forward momentum, but not enough for a soft landing. He lowered the landing skids hoping they would act as skis on the hard-packed sand. He checked his air speed. 450 kph – too fast. He lifted the nose to stand the ship on its tail, facing the thrusters forward perpendicular to his flight path. He had to be careful; too far and the Luck would flip over and land on her back, and like a turtle, she would never fly again.
He dropped the nose again. The ground rushed at him, but his speed was now 320 kph. He had run out of tricks from his bag. Fortune’s Luck was going in hard no matter what he did. He braced himself for impact. The ground rushed up at him. The ship hit and bounced; then bounced again, eating up more of her momentum. She hit a third time with a bone-rattling thud, staying on the ground this time, losing speed as the skids dug deeper into the sand.
190 kph – they were going to make it. Just as he began to relax, his scalp broke into a frenzy of itching. Ahead, he saw a small protrusion in the sand in Fortune’s Luck’s path. He tried to will the ship to veer aside but to no avail. Ship and rock were inexorably doomed to meet. He braced for impact. The shrill screech of ripping metal reverberated through the ship. The Luck lurched drunkenly, as the sharp rock protruding from the sand ripped open her exposed belly. So close was his affinity with Fortune’s Luck, his own belly felt as if it had been stabbed.