by J G Cressey
“You need to shut your damn mouth,” Becker said. She was on her feet and moving toward Durron.
Cal stopped her with an outstretched arm. “Ease up, Sergeant.”
“Is this true, Lieutenant?” Campbell asked. Her tone was sharp, and the question cut into Cal like a knife. “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but the suggestion is that you put your drones in priority over our lives.”
Making sure he retained a hold on Becker, Cal turned to face Campbell. He was aware that this could turn ugly very fast. But there was no avoiding the truth now. “I’m afraid it is. My orders were clear. I was to secure the drones before coming to your aid.”
“My God.” Campbell’s expression quickly became one of incredulous anger. “I’ve never heard anything so bloody…amoral.” She shook her head, disbelieving. “To put a lump of technology before human lives. Do you have no conscience? You expect us to trust you now? To put our faith in you?”
“Ease up,” Franco said, stepping forward into Campbell and Ebner’s line of sight. “The lieutenant wasn’t the one making the orders. And he risked harsh consequences breaking them after the first drone. There’s no one you should trust more. If anyone else was in charge, the ship would have crashed on the other side of the planet. The only reason we’re here is because he was willing to defy his superiors.”
“And a damn lot of good it’s done us, you being here?” Campbell replied, her face now red with anger. She seemed not in the least placated or convinced by Franco’s words.
“Jesus, lady,” Franco said, struggling to keep his own temper in check. “Have you already forgotten the situation he saved you from when he arrived?”
This turned Campbell from angry to seething. “Let me assure you, Corporal, that neither myself nor my colleagues will ever forget that situation, not for as long as we live. But I’m wondering how much better that situation would have been had your Lieutenant found his conscience as soon as he’d entered the planet’s atmosphere? How much sooner would you have arrived if you hadn’t been seeing to your precious drone and then had to walk here?”
Shaking his head in disbelief, Franco was about bark a reply when Cal stopped him. “It’s okay, Corporal. I appreciate your support, but she’s right. I made a huge mistake, and the consequences are on me.”
Franco shot him a look that made it clear he disagreed, but he backed down nonetheless.
“Finally, some honesty from the fearless leader,” Durron said in a clear attempt to poke the fire.
Cal ignored him and kept his attention on the civilians. His admission of guilt didn’t seem to have dampened Campbell’s anger a great deal, and Ebner just looked worn to the bone.
“I realize that trusting me is a big ask,” Cal said. “I should have been honest with you from the start. I wish I could turn back the clock, but the situation is what it is. I’m afraid that putting your faith in me and in my team is—”
Cal’s words caught in his throat as a deep boom rippled through the air, causing the floor to quite literally shake beneath his feet. There was a stunned silence as if no one could quite believe what they’d heard. Then Cal turned and ran to the viewing panel, his heart thudding against his chest. He was quickly joined by the others. Peering through the glass, his eyes were immediately drawn to distant flames that were tearing a hole in the featureless darkness. Amid the blaze was a downed craft.
“Christ, that's our ship,” Franco said. “Sinclair and Malloy.”
“You’re not wrong,” Wilson answered. “And it looks like a nasty crash.”
Cal swallowed the dread that was trying to rise up from his gut and quickly scanned the surrounding landscape for signs of snakes. He spotted a few in the gloom but nowhere near enough to discourage him. Turning away from the window, he quickly picked up a bolt rifle for himself and threw the other to Franco. The corporal deftly snatched it out of the air. “Franco, Becker, you’re with me. Orisho, Wilson, I need you by the entrance. Poots, Couter, mind the civilians.”
“Request civi duty, sir,” Becker said quickly.
Cal looked at her while Franco passed him one of the chem-bombs. He suspected Becker’s motivations were personal. She wanted to stay near Christie, to ensure her safety. With no time to delay, he turned to Couter. Perhaps it was time to allow his new young recruit into the fray. “Okay, private, grab that last bolt rifle. You’re with me.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Cal led Franco and Couter silently through the darkness, the distant flames from the crash acting as a guiding beacon. Their head protectors—which should have ejected from the neck of their armor with the touch of a button—had fallen foul of Capsun 23’s tech curse. This meant their night vision visors were also unavailable, making negotiation of the terrain tricky to say the least. Cal had brought a few of the glow-tubes but, not keen to attract unwanted attention, had decided not to activate them until it became absolutely necessary. As it stood, the light from the distant moons was giving them a small amount of illumination. Unfortunately, the clouds were thickening fast, bringing an almost complete darkness. The three men moved as swiftly as possible, relying mostly on the sound of each other’s the footfalls to stay close.
Cal tried not to think of what he might find in the ship. It had been a bad crash; that much was clear. He hoped to God that Sinclair and Malloy had been strapped in. His heart thudded almost painfully against his chest as his adrenaline surged him forward. His near-death experience with the snake a few hours earlier had set him on edge, and the fact he could barely see what surrounded him certainly wasn’t helping. The old-fashioned bolt rifle nestled tight in his grip didn’t fill him with confidence either. The weapon was fine for long-distance shooting, but it had very little stopping power when compared to a pulse rifle—better for shooting tins in a sunny field than aggressive man-eaters in the dead of night. The temptation to swap it with the spear-like weapon strapped to his back gnawed at him, but the familiar comfort of a trigger against his finger kept bullying the thought away.
As they neared the ship, Cal felt his heart slow a little; if Ebner was right, the heat from the flames should keep any snakes at bay. But those fires wouldn’t last. Quickly, he scanned the burning debris that lay throughout the gouged ground. It seemed the ship had come down hard and fast without functional landing gear or even emergency thrusters. What the hell were you thinking, Sinclair? Cal did his best to peer through the black, acrid smoke. Why risk it? His eyes began to sting from the assaulting fumes. Fortunately, their armor shielded them from the worst of the intense heat. All three of them called out, but no answer came. Seeing no obvious bodies, Cal picked up the pace. If Sinclair and Malloy had survived, it was likely they’d need urgent medical attention.
Nearing the rear of the ship, Cal put up a hand, ordering a quiet halt. There was something up ahead. Something tall and wide silhouetted against the flames. He knew that shape well. Max’s eyes were still glowing softly, but he stood as still as a rock and did nothing to acknowledge their presence. The robot must have been drawn in by the crash, but he was showing no signs as to his intentions. Cal paused for a moment, his mind conflicted. He suspected their malfunctioning teammate could just as likely hinder them as much as help. Shit, we really don’t have time for this. Unwilling to risk any issues with the big combat robot, he decided to lead Franco and Couter in a wide arc around. As they moved, he noticed Max’s domed head slowly turning, those lambent eyes tracking their progress like an inscrutable cat. He continued to observe them for some time but still made no move in their direction.
Satisfied that Max wasn’t going to be a problem, Cal searched for a way into the ship. It didn’t take long; a huge tear had been opened up in the belly of the fuselage, and the craft had come to rest at an angle, allowing relatively easy access. The interior was a twisted mess. Some of the lights were still active, but most were dim and flickering. Cal shouted again for Sinclair and Malloy. Still, no answer came. He waited for a moment to be sure then led the way as swiftly as he could t
hrough the bowels of the ship. It wasn't a particularly large vessel, but its mangled state and the fact that everything was at the wrong angle made the going hard.
“I’ll try and get us to the cockpit,” Cal said as he pushed aside a storage crate with his boot. “Strike up one of those glow-tubes, Corporal? That damn flickering’s giving me a headache.”
“With pleasure,” Franco replied.
Under the steady light of the glow-tube, the three of them crawled up through a lift shaft and pulled themselves into the main docking bay. Cal took a moment to call out again, but still, no answer came, and the near silence only served to feed their foreboding. His expression grim, he shook his head at his two teammates then began to negotiate a path toward the storage lockers.
“Hold up,” Couter said after only a few steps. “You hear that?”
At first Cal, heard nothing except the faint crackling of the outside fires and the occasional creaking of expanding metal.
Then, a dull clunking reached his ears. Once…twice…and a third time.
“There.” Couter moved back a couple of paces and pointed through a gap in a twisted door to his left. “There’s movement.”
Cal stepped up to the gap and peered through into a dark corridor. A single light had been dislodged and was hanging awkwardly. Like most of the others, it flickered in a mild, strobe-like manner. His eyes struggling to adjust, Cal just about discerned a person slumped facedown midway along the corridor. There was a metal bar in the prone figure’s hand, which was rising and falling against the grated floor. Grasping the edges of the door, the three of them tried to force it open. There was a short, sharp screech as the door shifted an inch and then stuck fast. Handing his rifle to Couter, Cal quickly removed the top half of his armor and forced his body through the gap. Taking his rifle back, he made his way over to the figure.
“It's Malloy,” he said as he gently turned him over. Despite the poor lighting, Cal could see blood caked in the science officer’s hair and smeared across his face. His eyes were half open, his T-tech-enhanced corneas shining gold in the disturbed light. Malloy looked confused, a sheen of sweat mingling with the blood on his forehead. Cal laid a hand on his neck. “He’s conscious,” he shouted. “Pulse strong. I need a glow-tube.”
“I’ll bring it in,” Couter said as he began deactivating his armor.
Cal held up a hand. “No. Throw it. I’ll see to Malloy. You two head towards the cockpit; find Sinclair.”
Couter threw the glow-tube and wished him luck before following Franco. Their footfalls quickly faded.
“It’s okay, Malloy,” Cal said calmly as he squeezed the tube until its chemicals shone their brightest. “I’ll just check you over; then, we’ll get you out of here, okay?” The science officer didn’t answer, but Cal continued to assure him while systematically searching for injuries. After a few minutes, he found nothing but superficial cuts and bruises—a small miracle. It was entirely possible that the man had sustained less obvious injuries, but a more thorough check would have to wait until they were back at the base. “Okay, I think we’re good to get moving,” Cal said with as much optimism as he could muster.
Still, Malloy said nothing. He seemed unable to focus, head lolling aimlessly.
Probably just a concussion, Cal thought as he held the man’s head still and looked into his eyes. There wasn’t the slightest recognition. “Can you hear me, Malloy? It’s me, Callum. Try to speak to me.”
No answer.
“Okay…” Cal looked about, thinking through his next move. “Okay, don't worry about speaking. How about standing; think you can manage that?”
Seeming to snap out of his stupor, Malloy abruptly stared directly at him, eyes wide, the intensity of his golden gaze unnerving in the dim light. “You can’t sell me,” he said, his voice a harsh rasp.
Cal shook his head again, this time in confusion. “Sell you? I think you might have taken a bit of a knock to the head, my friend.” He forced a smile. “But if it makes you feel better, I promise not to hand you over to the highest bidder.”
Malloy pulled his lips back in a feral sort of sneer—a vicious look that instantly made Cal’s smile falter.
“Spicer, I see you, spicer.” Malloy hissed the words and, with a swipe of his arm, knocked the glow-tube from Cal’s grip. It skittered across the hard floor, where it fell through a gap in the grating. Once again, the dim, flickering beam overhead became the dominant light source.
“Calm down, Malloy. You're just in shock,” Cal said as gently as he could. Or just plain fucking delusional, he thought as he turned to see if the glow-tube was retrievable. “Damn it,” he mumbled. It must have fallen some distance or perhaps rolled under something. He couldn’t even see its glow. Leaning further forward, he tried to look from a different angle. Were the hell did it—
Suddenly, there was movement.
Already on edge, Cal reacted quickly and dodged to his left. It was a move that probably saved his life. Instead of caving in the back of his skull, the metal bar struck his shoulder, causing pain to sear down his arm. Ignoring it, he sprang up, twisting around as he did so. Malloy was on his feet, metal bar in hand and teeth bared in a fierce, almost demonic grimace. What the— Cal barely had time to finish his thought before the crazed man charged toward him in a rabid attack, his crude weapon swinging wildly. Dodging right, Cal managed to swerve out of reach. But Malloy came at him again, his augmented, golden eyes flashing in the flickering light.
Cal blocked a swipe, almost breaking his arm in the process—in the heat of the moment, he’d forgotten about his lack of armor. Swiftly stepping in close, he head-butted Malloy just hard enough to stun him then shoved him hard with his palms. The science officer stumbled but managed to retain his footing.
“Malloy, it’s me, dammit,” Cal shouted. He stepped forward and turned his face toward the flickering light. “Lieutenant Callum Harper. Look at my face. I think your T-tech augment is compromised.”
Malloy shook his head.
“The augment’s messing with your brain,” Cal explained. “Try to think past it.”
Malloy shook his head again. He was breathing hard. “You’re a spicer,” he sneered. “I’ve dealt with spicers before. You won’t spice my brain…not my brain. I won’t let you.”
Cal gritted his teeth. Christ, he’s pretty far gone.
“Put down the bar, Malloy. I really don’t want to hurt you.” Malloy was a good fighter, but Cal was confident in his abilities to take him down should it come to it.
Malloy ignored the warning and lunged again.
This time, Cal didn’t let him get close. A surge of anger fueled a front kick that he planted in the center of the man’s chest. Malloy flew back and went down hard. But to Cal’s dismay, he scrambled back onto his feet in seconds as if barely registering that he’d been hit. Cal glanced at his rifle; it was a good few paces from him. He could make a grab for it, but to what end? He wasn’t about to shoot Malloy no matter how screwed up he’d become. And he doubted that pointing the weapon at the man would dissuade him from launching further attacks; he seemed too far gone for that.
Jerking his head erratically, Malloy began making weird guttural noises and fixed Cal with a deathly stare. If he’d seemed mad before, the kick to the chest seemed to have triggered a look of insanity the likes of which Cal had never seen, and he’d met more than his fair share of messed up folk. He looked nothing short of possessed to the point that Cal was finding it tough to look at him. They weren’t exactly close friends, but they’d both been on the team for years. I’m going to have to knock him out cold, he thought as he braced himself for the next attack. They’d just have to cart him back to the base unconscious and deal with him there.
Malloy began to shuffle forward like some kind of demented, golden-eyed zombie. After a couple of steps, however, he stopped, his gaze drifting up to the flickering light, which hung awkwardly above him. Then, his lips peeled back to create something akin to a smile. Cal had no time
to question the expression before Malloy swung his metal bar at the light, sending the room into a near complete darkness.
Fuck.
Cal couldn’t see a damn thing—something that possibly wouldn’t be a problem for Malloy. If his optic implants were still functioning, they would make the inky black corridor as clear as day. He heard a rush of movement and brought his arms up a fraction of a second before the metal bar pounded against his wrist. His adrenaline pumping, Cal barely registered the pain. Leaping back, he did his best to blindly defend himself while his mind sifted furiously through his options. He briefly considered making a dash for the gap through which he came, but it had been a tight fit, and it would take him time to get back through—moments that would leave him even more vulnerable to Malloy’s attacks.
Maybe the rifle would have been a good idea. The redundant thought was obliterated by the sound of Malloy rushing toward him again. Once more, Cal brought up his arms, but this time, the metal bar found its way through, its edge connecting with the side of his head. Cal felt a flash of pain that sent his dark vision into a popping matrix of color. He retreated again, but this time, it was more of a dazed stumble. He tried to stay on his feet, but the combination of the darkness and dizziness made it near impossible. Realizing that the fight would likely be over in a matter of seconds, he took a chance. Relying heavily on luck, he launched himself forward and felt a small amount of relief as he collided with his opponent. Wrapping his arms around him, he clumsily succeeded in dragging him to the ground and held on with everything he had. Unfortunately, the blow to the head had left his limbs feeling weak and unresponsive. Malloy, on the other hand, seemed fueled by madness, an unnatural strength coursing through him.
Twisting his torso, the crazed man managed to get the upper hand, forcing himself on top of Cal to press an arm against his throat. “Kill you, kill you, kill you…” The hissed words were brimming with corrupted zeal.