by J G Cressey
Cal sighed. Becker was right. If they were to stand any chance of getting into the compound before dark, they were going to have to start the attempt soon. Unfortunately, he didn’t fancy their chances. The cutting lasers on their rifles were screwed. None of them had had any luck activating grenades or explosives. They could try and override the technical elements of some of the explosives, but that definitely wouldn’t be a quick job. Their best, and possibly only, chance was Max. Unfortunately, Max was fast becoming a hindrance rather than a help. Just before he and Becker had made their approach to the base, the big robot’s left arm had developed a twitch that looked far from encouraging.
“You could be right,” Cal admitted as he continued to stare through the panel.
“Won’t be easy,” Becker said. “These bases are tough, made to withstand nasty environments. Even this glass is—”
“Hold up,” Cal interrupted quietly. “There’s movement.”
Someone was emerging from the gloom, and another figure followed close behind. Cal was pretty sure they were both male. He couldn’t make out their features, but one thing that was clear was the shape of their rifles: old bolt rifles that Cal had no reason to doubt would be fully operational due to their exclusively mechanical workings.
“Two of them, both armed,” he mumbled to Becker. Then, he did his best to appear like a desperate idiot by waving at them erratically.
Soon, a face was practically pressed against the window, and it wasn’t a pretty one. The man was probably in his late fifties and had large, protruding eyes that jerked up and down as he assessed them through the glass. Cal mouthed a plea of help, but the man was barely paying him any attention, his gaze having become fixed on Becker. Despite this being what he’d hoped would happen, Cal was finding it hard not to slam his fist against the glass as the man continued to leer at his sergeant.
Despite the obvious lust in the man’s twitchy eyes, it still took him a long while before he decided to move to the door.
“Here we go,” Becker said as she helped Cal hobble over to the entrance.
Cal almost made his move straight away as the imbecile opening the door stuck the muzzle of his rifle through the gap before it was fully open. He could have easily disarmed him, but the second man was still out of view, and it was entirely possible he was a little less of a moron.
“Thank God,” Cal said once the door was fully open. “We need refuge.” It quickly became clear that he’d been right not to make his move; the second man had stayed well back, his bolt rifle raised and as steady as his gaze. This second man was a good ten years younger with long, jet-black hair; a pale complexion; and cold, calculating eyes. If looks could be relied upon to judge character, this younger man was a prize prick although perhaps one with at least an ounce of intelligence. But sure as hell, neither one of them was a scientist.
“Who the hell are you?” the older, bug-eyed man asked. His rifle was directed at Cal, but his attention was still dominated by Becker.
“I’m Callum Harper, a chief engineer from SanCorp. This is our pilot, Carley Becker. We were sent to fix the drones and check in here at the base, but our ship crashed three klicks back.”
The older man sniffed loudly and inched forward, raising his rifle toward Cal’s face. “Your ship still flyable? How many of you?”
“Please, there’s no need for guns,” Cal said, turning his head from the weapon. “Our ship’s a ruin. And it’s just us…at least it is now. We pose no threat; we’re just looking to receive aid…and give it if we can.”
“Where’s the rest of yuh?”
“Three died in the crash. Three more disappeared on our way here. We don’t know what happened to—”
“Please, just help us,” Becker interrupted in the most pitiful tone Cal had ever heard her utter. “It’s getting dark. Please don’t leave us in the dark. I think there’s something out there,” she said with a quick, anxious glance back. “Something horrible… Please protect us.”
Maybe next time, I should just let her do all the talking, Cal thought, doing his best not to smile. Becker had always been the better actor.
The man stared at her for a moment. Then, he sniffed a few times before his mouth split into a wide, gray-toothed grin. “Don’t worry, girly, we won’t be leavin’ you out here. We got some use for you.”
Cal noticed that the younger, black-haired man broke his steady gaze for a quick smirk.
“As for you,” the older man said, turning his attention back to Cal. “Chief engineer, eh. Good at fixin’ stuff, are ya?”
Cal nodded. “I am.”
“He can fix anything,” Becker blurted enthusiastically. “I’ve seen him do it…a miracle worker.”
This time, the man had the sense to back up before he turned to his comrade. “What you reckon, Durron? Both of ‘um?”
The man named Durron stared at Cal for a time, his gaze still unflinching. Then, without saying a word, he nodded.
“Okay, looks like you’re in luck, fella. At least for now.” The older man turned and headed for the door. “Come on then before we change our minds and unload a couple of slugs into the both of ya.”
With Becker’s aid, Cal hobbled toward the entrance. Durron watched him carefully, his pale face an unreadable mask. Then, he used his rifle to indicate for them to lead the way through the door. Cal hoped the man’s demeanor was simply a façade. He had known men like that before—able to appear shrewd and calculating, but in actuality, they were witless and incapable of any real skill other than acting.
Either way, Cal was looking forward to smashing his face.
CHAPTER TEN
The older, bug-eyed scavenger led the way through various rooms and corridors, kicking aside equipment as he went. There were a handful of lights that still had power, but most of those were faded and flickering. Cal could hear Durron behind him closing and locking doors after each room, the pneumatic locks hissing eerily in the dusty gloom. Eventually, they came to a closed entrance. There was a small, round window in its center through which a bright, steady light shone. The older scavenger banged on the door with the butt of his rifle, and within seconds, a man’s face appeared at the window.
“Hurry up, Billy, you bloody idiot. It’s us.”
Billy looked to be in his early twenties, and once he’d opened the door, Cal could see that he was a tall, rangy fellow who stood awkwardly as if uncomfortable with his own physique.
“Nice. Nice one. What you found? Nice.” Billy’s voice was jittery. Just like the other two scavengers, his lustful eyes immediately settled on Becker.
“Like that, do ya, Billy?” the older man said. “She’s a pilot.”
“Nice, real nice.” Billy scratched skittishly at his face.
“God damn it, Billy, you been sucking on that dreamwitch pipe again? That stuff’ll pop your brain.”
“Just a little,” Billy replied, glancing nervously at Durron, who stood a few paces back. Then, his eyes locked on Cal. “What the hell d’you let the square jaw in for?” His expression turned to something between aggression and disgust.
“He’s a fixer,” the older man replied. “We might need him. Now, get your lanky ass outa the way, and let us in,” he said, practically barging Billy into the room.
After a nudge in the back from Durron’s bolt rifle, Cal followed, hobbling with Becker still under his arm. It was a large space, well-lit by numerous, chemically reactive glow-tubes that were strewn across tables and workstations. Other than Billy, there were three people in the room. One older man, possibly in his late seventies, and two women: one young, maybe seventeen or eighteen, and the other in her forties. Cal could see immediately from their attire that they were part of the research team. The older man was chained to the desk at which he sat, the side of his face black and blue and his lip bloody. The two women sat huddled together, the younger of the two clearly traumatized. From the state of their torn clothing, it didn’t take a genius to piece together what had happened here.
With Becker helping him hobble to a nearby table, Cal watched as the old man reluctantly turned his attentions back to the equipment before him.
“What the hell!” the older scavenger suddenly exclaimed. “Christ, Billy, only one chem-bomb made? Me ‘n Durron’s been scavenging the base for hours. What the hell you been doin’?”
“Don’t blame me; the old man’s slow as hell.”
“I’ll blame you all right. Got ya brain all popped up on dreamwitch.” the older scavenger thrust his finger toward the two women in the corner. “Probably been having a little fun too before it’s your bloody turn.”
“I ain’t touched them, not since you left.”
Cal braced himself against the table. Becker had moved away from him and now seemed frozen on the spot, transfixed by the two women.
“Okay, both of you shut the hell up.” The order came from Durron, who had remained near the entrance.
Cal turned to the man, surprised that he’d finally opened his mouth.
“Couple of witless imbeciles.”
Cal’s surprise bumped up a notch; this Durron sounded like an educated man. Or perhaps just more acting.
Despite his obvious irritation at his men, Durron appeared calm and collected. His rifle was still raised. “Pryce, get our irksome bomb maker back on track.”
The older scavenger acknowledged the order with a nod.
“And use force if required. I’ll trust you to deem whether it’s necessary.”
Definitely just an act, Cal decided. The man was seriously overcooking it.
“Billy, acquaint the new woman with the others.”
Billy looked toward Becker, his bewildered, drug-addled expression suggesting that he’d already forgotten she was there. “Right, yeah, nice.”
“And Billy, if you indulge in any more dreamwitch before sunup, I might just set you guarding outside for the remainder of the night.”
Billy paled, twitched a few times, then scratched at his face. Then, he waved a beckoning hand at Becker.
Becker didn’t move.
“Go on, doll face,” the older scavenger barked. “Don’t make him drag you.”
Cal gripped the edge of the table hard. “It’s okay, Carley,” he said calmly.
Becker turned to him, her expression as hard as stone.
Cal stared back and gave her a little nod. “Best do what they say and move over there.”
Despite her eyes only growing harder, she eventually nodded and moved toward Billy.
“I’m not sure I approve of what’s going on here,” Cal said, straightening up off the table. As he knew it would, this simple statement put the attention of all three scavengers on him. “If you want me to fix things, I’m afraid I can’t allow you to take advantage of these people the way you are.” This well and truly got their attention. The older scavenger named Pryce fixed his bug eyes on him and took a noticeably tighter grip on his rifle while his younger companion just loomed next to Becker and chuckled albeit nervously.
Durron, on the other hand, walked forward, each step as cocky and assured as the last. Taking up position directly in front of Cal, he raised his rifle. “You seem to be under the impression that you have the luxury of choices.”
Cal smiled at that and limped forward a little. “Oh, we all have choices, Durron. What’s life but one long, chaotic stream of choices?”
“Careful, Durron. This one seems reckless. A ballsy one,” Pryce warned. “And you’re too close,” he added, shifting in an attempt to get a decent line of fire around his comrade.
Durron scoffed. “Shut up, Pryce. You don’t fucking presume to tell me—”
Pryce was right; Durron was too close, and the little lapse in concentration that Cal had been hoping for presented itself in that moment: a simple little glance over the shoulder that allowed him to spring forward and force the man’s rifle upward hard and fast. The scavenger’s face stopped the weapon’s momentum with an impressive crunch—one that Cal repeated just for good measure. Twisting the weapon out of the stunned man’s hands, Cal took a calm step back and looked over to Becker. It came as no surprise to see that the older of the two scavengers was already sprawled unconscious on the floor, his bolt rifle lying a few feet away. Young Billy, on the other hand, was on his backside, his nose bloody and his long limbs flapping erratically as Becker secured her arm around his neck and squeezed. Despite being in Becker’s company for many years, Cal was still astounded at her speed and efficiency when it came to beating the crap out of people.
Cal turned his attention back to Durron. Seeming confused, the man was stumbling about in the middle of the room, his nose badly broken.
“What… What…” was about all he managed to say.
Allowing his anger to finally reign free, Cal raised the bolt rifle and leveled it at him. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t put a bullet in you.”
“No… No…” The question seemed to act as an abrupt remedy for the man’s dazed state. He looked up and thrust out a hand. “No…” he repeated lamely, seeming to have entirely and spectacularly lost his love of words.
“No is not a good enough reason,” Cal said as he noisily activated the rifle.
Durron let out a kind of hiss and continued to hold up his hand. “Okay, okay…okay.”
“Okay won’t do it either.” Cal shook his head, not sure that his patience could endure another single-word answer. “Where are the rest of you?”
“We crashed,” Durron replied, his voice a frustrated rasp. “Only the three of us survived.”
Cal directed the muzzle of the rifle lower. “Lie to me again, and I’ll put a hole in your left kneecap.”
“Okay, okay, three others made it out of the crash, but they died on the way here. Something attacked them. I don’t know what it was.”
This, Cal could believe. Still, he gripped the rifle harder. Even when the scavenger told the truth, his rasping voice seemed to elevate his anger. “What brought you here?”
“To scrap the bloody drones. Why else would we fucking be here?”
For the sake of saving time, Cal let that one slide. “And other than terrorizing these people, what are you doing here at this base?”
Durron only offered a sneer in reply.
“They were waiting for a rescue ship.” This came from the old man who was chained to the table. “I overheard them yesterday. Their plan was to wait here for our rescue to arrive, and then they’d use us as hostages to commandeer the ship.”
Durron sneered again with a brief glance in the man’s direction. “You heard wrong, old man. We were going to ensure that we all made it off the planet safe and—”
Seemingly having heard enough, Becker denied the scavenger the end of his sentence. Having rendered Billy unconscious, she rushed at Durron and, without missing a beat, thrust her knuckles into his throat. The man’s mouth gaped open, and his eyes bulged as he stumbled back in search of some breath. Swiftly following him, Becker grabbed his wrist and twisted it in such a way that the man seemed to become weightless and flew into a nearby workstation. As he rebounded off it, she drove a punch into his gut and met his falling face with her knee. The scavenger hit the floor hard.
Surprised that Durron had remained conscious, Cal watched as Becker took hold of his collar and dragged him across the floor toward the two women in the corner. She said nothing, but it seemed she wanted them to have a clear view of what she was about to do. The younger of the two women seemed to stare straight through the violence, as if transfixed by something a whole world away. The older woman, however, watched without so much as a blink, her expression a strange mix of fear, anger, and fascination as Becker began to pound the man with her fist.
Feeling his anger wane, Cal moved swiftly over to them. “Sergeant.”
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Becker continued to rain down punches, oblivious and consumed.
“Sergeant, that’s enough.”
Still, she ignored him.
“Becker.” Cal grabbed her wrist, preventing the next punch.
Becker whipped her head up and glared at him, her eyes fierce and hungry for violence. Cal had never seen her so out of control; she was usually incredibly composed even in the heat of battle. “That’s enough.” He shouted the order in the hope that it would penetrate her rage.
Becker continued to glare at him, breathing heavily.
Cal did his best to soften his expression. “I’d rather you didn’t break your hand on this worthless prick.”
Becker seemed to calm ever so slightly at that, and Cal felt the tension leave her arm.
“We’ll deal with them,” he assured her. “But not like this.”
Becker didn’t answer, but her breathing slowed, and the fervent heat in her eyes began to diminish.
“Bitch.”
The word was barely audible. Cal looked down at Durron’s face and wondered if the man was even aware that he’d said it out loud.
Durron sniggered through his blood-caked mouth and glanced at the two women. “They both bloody deserved it,” he said. Then, he attempted a grin.
Feeling his blood boil, Cal let go of Becker’s wrist and let her fist fly one last time.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Doctor Heinrich Ebner had pleaded for the robot to be left outside. Cal hadn’t had long to consider his decision; darkness had been closing in, and ominous shapes were beginning to move in the gloom. In the end, he’d conceded to the doctor’s reasoning and had ordered Max to remain outside. It hadn’t been an easy choice. The big combat robot had been with him for years and was well and truly a part of his team. Cal felt his gut twist as he made the order and had almost changed his mind as they shut the door on those round, glowing eyes and sealed it shut. He couldn’t explain how he’d become so emotionally attached to a machine, but he couldn’t deny it either.