by Tripp Ellis
Zack
The customs agent launched the missile. It blasted from underneath the sub-wing pylon of the patrol vehicle and rocketed across the star field.
“Brace for impact!" Rex shouted.
The missile was rocketing straight toward them. Within seconds, it would slam into the hull and explode in a brilliant amber glow, scattering bits of the old rust bucket into space. But Ash engaged the slide-space drive in the nick of time. The bulkheads rippled and warbled, and the Spitfire vanished.
The rocket sped through the Spitfire’s quantum wash and continued into the inky abyss of space.
Zack's stomach clenched like a fist. The quantum jump was more abrupt than with modern ships. It exacerbated the sensation of vertigo. Zack clutched his safety harness and took a deep breath. He tried to straighten out his sense of balance and fight the queasy feeling in his gut. His heart was thumping in his throat, and his skin was slick with a fine mist of sweat. All the color drained from his face.
“Are you all right?" Diesel asked.
Zack mustered an unconvincing nod.
"That was a rough one, wasn't it?" She grinned.
Zack carefully nodded again, attempting not to jar his compromised equilibrium. He was hanging on by a thread. He had the look on his face of someone who wasn't sure if they were going to hurl or not. He prepared for the worst.
Diesel grabbed a bag from underneath the seat and handed it to him.
Zack was ready to fill it, but after a few moments the uneasiness began to fade. His heartbeat settled. He leaned back in his chair and tried to relax. “Just when I thought I was getting used to quantum jumps.”
"Nothing to be ashamed of. It happens to the best of us. I know guys who go their entire career without so much as a twinge in their gut, then one day, out of the blue, bam, spew time. Something just hits them the wrong way."
The mere mention of spew made Zack’s stomach rumble again. He clutched the bag, anticipating its imminent usefulness. But he took slow, steady breaths and was able to maintain equilibrium.
Fester snickered. "Guess you guys aren’t so tough after all."
Diesel glared at him.
“Oh, baby, keep staring at me like that,” Fester said. “You're turning me on."
“Now I feel nauseous," Diesel said.
Fester lost his grin. "I bet you wouldn't know a good time if it hit you in the face."
“Shit, when have you ever shown a woman a good time?" Cyclops snarked.
Fester scowled at the big guy.
Diesel chuckled.
Rex stepped into the cargo hold, his face stern. He was all business. "Alright, listen up. We’ve got 12 hours until we reach Dracarta Major. And when we hit the ground, we hit the ground running. Everyone needs to be prepped and ready before we emerge from slide-space. Is that clear?"
There were nods of agreement amongst the crew.
"How are we going to avoid detection?" Zack asked. "We can't just jump into the middle of Tarvaax territory and expect to be left alone."
"That's why Ash had to carefully plot jump coordinates. We’re going to have to come out of the quantum jump within the planet’s atmosphere.”
Zack's eyes widened. There were incredulous gasps among the crew.
“Whoa, hang on a minute," Fester said. "Did you say within the planet’s atmosphere?”
“You heard me," Rex said.
“That's suicide," Diesel remarked. "Do you have any idea how accurate calculations have to be in order to pull that off?”
“I don't. But Ash seems to think he does."
“If he's off by a fraction, we could materialize within the mantle,” Diesel said. “I don't know about you, but that would put a damper on my day."
“Well then, he better not be off on his calculations." Rex didn't seem concerned in the least.
The air was thick with uneasy tension.
“Look, if anybody else has a better idea, I’m all ears," Rex said.
The compartment was silent for a moment.
“It's settled then." Rex spun around and marched back into the cockpit.
“Has anybody ever successfully made an in-atmosphere jump?" Diesel asked.
"I was aboard an old Vantage that did once," Sergeant Cole said.
"Well, you're still around," Zack said. "How did that work out?"
Cole had a look on his face that implied it wasn't all sunshine and roses.
Zack shrugged with resignation. “I guess materializing in the middle of solid rock might not be all that bad. As it stands, we are guilty of several felonies. We have a ruthless mob boss pursuing us. And I'm sure we’ll be AWOL Monday morning."
“Welcome to the life of a mercenary, kid," Cyclops said.
26
Zack
It felt like jumping off a skyscraper. Zack's stomach was once again in his throat. Coming out of slide-space within the planet’s atmosphere was far more jarring than a typical re-entry. But somehow it didn't make Zack nauseous. Just terrified.
The Spitfire rumbled and shook. A proximity alert blared through the klaxon. It was a grating intermittent sound, warning that the planetary surface was fast approaching. At least they hadn’t materialized inside a mountain, or in scalding molten magma.
The Spitfire was quaking enough to cause brain trauma as gray matter rattled around in Zack’s skull. At least, that's what it felt like. To make matters worse, the engines had stalled out during re-entry, and the dropship was plummeting like a stone.
The system diagnostic said everything was normal. No fault found. Ash rebooted the system. The controls went blank. An instant later they flickered back to life as the system came back online. Ash tried to start the engines again to no avail. He cursed and banged on the dash, but it didn't help.
In a frenzy, Ash flicked switches and pressed buttons. Panic washed over his face, and the color drained from his skin. He and his crew had been in a lot of tight scrapes, but if he didn't get the engines cranked up, this was going to be the last one.
"Next time you recommend a team of contractors, remind me to ignore you," Zack muttered to Cole.
“At this rate, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that." Cole was as cool as a cucumber. They were either going to smack into the ground, or they weren't. There was no sense worrying about it.
Zack heard the starboard engine sputter and cough, then spin up. The whine of the engine increased in pitch, filling the cabin. It was a welcome sound, and Zack breathed a slight sigh of relief. Though, they weren't out of it yet.
Ash pulled hard on the controls, trying to level out the vehicle. The spitfire was plummeting toward the ground at a slightly less disastrous angle. But the craggy mountain range ahead was going to cause problems. Ash’s eyes widened at the realization that they might not clear the ridge-line. He made a desperate attempt to fire up the port-side thruster. It choked and spit a few times, but wouldn't power up.
Rex's typically calm demeanor began to evaporate. The concern in his eyes grew as he fixed his gaze on the approaching mountain range. The reddish jagged rock stabbed into the sky. "I'm going to say we should probably brace for impact again." This time there was an audible unease in his voice.
“I'm going to say you're correct," Ash said. He cringed as the Spitfire plowed toward the mountain. His biceps flexed as he pulled hard on the controls. His skin was dotted with beads of sweat. He kept trying to start the port thruster, but it was still non-responsive. He fired the landing thrusters to give a little additional boost.
Sparks flew and metal squealed as the Spitfire scraped the ridge, narrowly clearing it. The sound was horrendous, like nails on a chalkboard, only a thousand times worse. The Spitfire quaked. The fuselage pitched and yawed. Then the starboard thruster clipped another peak.
The engine exploded in a brilliant ball of flame. Bits of metal and debris showered down. Wiring, conduit, hydraulic fluid, and machined parts erupted. The impact sent the Spitfire spiraling.
There was no controlling
the vehicle now. They were spinning like a roulette wheel. Where they were going to land was anyone's guess.
The Spitfire careened down the side of the mountain, slamming into the slope. Metal twisted and crumpled. The heavy dropship carved a groove into the rock, then began to roll. It was like being inside a tumble dryer, only there wasn’t a delicate setting. With each impact, Zack’s safety harness dug into his shoulders, collarbones, and pelvis. It was spine jolting.
If the Spitfire wasn't a hunk of junk before, it was now. It tumbled and rolled, finally crashing to a heap of twisted metal at the base of the mountain. It had set off a small avalanche of gravel and boulders that followed behind. The debris trickled down the mountainside and piled up against the carcass of the Spitfire.
If anybody survived this, it was going to be a miracle.
27
Zack
The cockpit was painted with crimson blood. It speckled the dials and gauges. Ash slumped forward in his harness. Red goo dripped down his chin, splattering on his shirt. A sharp piece of steel had punched through his forehead and was protruding through the back of his skull. Bits of brain matter clung to the shard of metal. It had a pinkish, spongy consistency.
The Spitfire creaked and hissed, settling after the calamity. The gauges were still lit up, powered by the battery. But the Spitfire had seen the last of its flying days. Dracarta Major was going to be the old rust bucket's final resting place.
Rex began to stir. He winced with pain from muscle stiffness and soreness, but he checked himself over and didn't seem to have any life-threatening injuries—a few cuts and scrapes here and there. Some bruising. He took a groggy glance over to Ash. His face tensed when he saw the brutal injury Ash had sustained. Rex looked crestfallen at the loss. They had been a close-knit group for a long time.
In the cargo cabin, Zack and the others were coming around. Zack's shoulder and neck ached. It was that deep, dull kind of pain that you just knew was going to get worse later on. His heart was pounding, and his veins coursed with adrenaline. His worried eyes found Diesel. "Are you okay?"
She nodded tentatively, not quite sure if she was okay or not. She unlatched her safety harness and tried to stand. She moved like an old woman, clutching her back. She finally straightened out and stretched, and didn't seem any worse for the wear.
“Don't worry about me," Cole said. "I'm fine."
"Remind me to take public transportation next time," Cyclops said. “Anything’s gotta be safer than this.”
"Well, I know I'm not dead…” Fester said as he glanced around at the ragged survivors, “all you assholes are still here.”
“I got news for you,” Cyclops said. "When you die, you're going to have a lot of company in hell."
Fester's face crinkled up. "What are you talking about? I'm damn near a saint. When I die, I'm going to paradise. And there will be margaritas waiting."
"Knock it off," Rex said. His agitated voice filtered into the cargo area. "Ash didn't make it."
Fester and Cyclops deflated. Their gaze snapped to the cockpit and they cringed.
“Man, that just ain’t right," Cyclops muttered in a somber tone.
"Get ready to move out," Rex said. "We're Oscar Mike in five."
Zack glanced around the compartment. It was in shambles. It was hard to imagine that this group of individuals could be an effective fighting force in this condition. They looked like a haggard bunch of refugees, not the knights in shining armor that they had hoped to be.
28
Zack
Black smoke billowed into the amber sky from the smoldering wreckage. Rex glanced up at the plume and shook his head. "We should have just notified the Tarvaax that we were coming."
“How far are we from the compound?" Zack asked.
Cole looked at his PDU and studied the map. “We're about 30 klicks out.”
There was a slight groan amongst the squad. The last thing anybody wanted to do right now was hump 30 kilometers across rugged terrain. The planet’s surface was craggy and inhospitable. The flatlands were an uneven mix of spiky rock formations and loose sand. There wasn't much for vegetation, but there were these angry looking thorn bushes. The base resembled the exterior of a cantaloupe. Sharp quills like a porcupine jutted skyward. They seemed to grow mostly near the rocky outcroppings. They didn't look inviting, but in a bind, you might be able to wring a few drops of water from the root system—if you could get to it.
"Let's get a move on before the Tarvaax send someone to investigate the crash site," Cole said.
The squad loaded up with gear, water, and MREs. Rex led the way, marching down the base of the mountain to the flatlands. The rest of the team followed behind. The ringed planet of Faazev was cresting on the horizon.
The binary suns baked the surface of Dracarta Major. Combined with the atmosphere’s lower oxygen density, it made for a grueling march. It didn't take long for Zack's fatigues to become soaked with sweat. His chest heaved for breath, but it was never quite enough. It left him a little lightheaded. It was like marching around at 9000 feet back on Crylos 9. Just enough to give you a headache.
The Tarvaax needed relatively the same concentration of oxygen as humans, though they were slightly more adaptable to fluctuations.
From the surveillance photos, Zack had noticed terraforming stations. They were presumably still operational, but the planet had a long way to go before it would become a lush, tropical habitat. For now, it made it the ideal place to house prisoners. Even if you managed to escape the compound, where would you go? The arid desert was hardly survivable for more than a few days.
There didn't seem to be much life in this dry desert. But Zack kept seeing small thorny lizard-like creatures around the porcupine bushes. They were probably feeding off smaller insects. And something larger was probably feeding off of them.
The lizards were a sandy rust color, and blended in perfectly with their surroundings. Zack would catch sight of them from his peripheral vision when they moved. But when they were still, you could look right at them and not see them. It made Zack wonder what else was out there that had such perfect camouflage.
29
Zack
The binary suns felt like a blowtorch blasting down on Zack's back. They were high in the sky and the shadows were short. There was no shade. No place to hide. Zack's PDU indicated the temperature was 129 degrees. But it had been sitting in the relative cool of his pocket. It hadn't been the subject of the intense hatred of the burning orbs in the sky like the back of his neck had been.
The sand beneath his boots was blistering. It was like walking on hot coals. This was a helluva march to make in full battle rattle.
The horizon shimmered like the reflection from a lake. It was a mirage. But there was no oasis in this desert.
There was a large rock formation ahead with an overhang. It was the first patch of shade that anyone had seen in several miles.
"Let's catch a little break here," Cole said. "Who knows when we'll find another patch of this stuff. It's like gold in this place."
The squad crammed under the overhang and took a seat. The relative cool was a welcome relief.
“Keep hydrated,” Cole said. “But don’t drink too much."
Zack took a sip from his canteen. His lips were cracked, and his throat felt dry again the moment after he swallowed the water down. It was like the atmosphere sucked all the moisture out of your skin and membranes. His eyes burned and felt like there were microscopic particles of sand underneath his lids. Every blink of the eye was like rubbing sandpaper across his cornea.
A small scorpion like creature emerged from the sand and crawled across the tip of his boot. He jerked his foot and kicked the creature away. The thing sent a shiver down his spine. It had four pincers and two tails.
The rest of the squad laughed at him.
“Go ahead. Laugh it up. You get bit by one of those bastards, don't come crying to me. Who knows what kind of venom they have inside of them?”
&n
bsp; “I think you just earned a new callsign, Scorpion," Diesel said, playfully teasing him.
“It’s better than Ice Pick." He chuckled. He unwrapped a leftover portion of a nutrition bar that he had been saving and scarfed it down. He had a couple of MREs remaining, and he was going to be conservative with those.
"How are we going to get off this damn rock anyway?" Fester asked. "I mean, what's the point of rescuing the prisoners if we've got no way to transport them?"
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Cole said. He grinned as he repeated the often used phrase when situations were less than ideal. "We'll improvise, adapt, and overcome."
"I'd like to adapt to a resort location poolside," Fester said. "You know, this place might be bearable with a swim up bar and a cold margarita."
There were nods of agreement amongst the squad.
“Does anyone find it odd that they haven't sent out an aerial patrol to investigate the crash site?" Cyclops said. "Surely someone noticed the tower of smoke billowing into the sky"
“Maybe shit crashes on this planet all the time," Rex joked.
“Count your blessings,” Fester said.
“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Cyclops replied.
“It's a prison camp. Not a high value asset. The crash was probably out of visual range. And we weren’t in the air long enough to be more than a blip on their sensors. They probably shrugged it off as a glitch. Who knows."
An ominous screech from high above echoed off the canyon walls. Zack had heard the hideous sound before. He figured it was some type of vulture or other predator circling in the air, waiting for members of the squad to drop dead. In a place like this, a human carcass would make a tasty morsel for the local wildlife. It was a disconcerting thought. The vision of some scrappy vulture picking your eyeballs out as your carcass rotted was motivation not to drop dead in the middle of this godforsaken desert.