Drop Team Zero

by Jake Bible

  “Hole? We can’t let them get eaten,” Wanders said.

  “We can’t really help them either,” Cookie said and gestured around the bridge. “Tin can of crud, remember?”

  “We stick to our plan,” Hole said. “They were sent because Fleet probably thinks we are either somewhere else, as we were ordered to be, or we are dead, which to Leguin is probably the more likely scenario. Three will give us the cover we need to get to the Syndicate’s base and moltransed in so we can do our jobs.”

  “Makes me a little sick not to help another Team,” Wanders said.

  “That’s the mites talking,” Cookie said. “Hole is right, we stick to the plan.”

  “Yeah, Hole’s right,” Geist said.

  “I know, I know,” Wanders said. “It just sucks.”

  “No argument there,” Hole said. “Alright, Zero, let’s move our asses!”

  Zero moved their asses.

  Thirty-Two

  “We have a Fleet ship heading to the base fast,” a bridge tech stated, her eyes watching the readings from the scanners. “It is being pursued by four of the System’s creatures. Any orders, ma’am?”

  “Stay the course,” Z said. “Keep us hidden. Let the Fleet ship draw the base’s fire.”

  “And the creatures, ma’am?” a weapons tech asked from his station. “Should I lock on and be prepared to fire?”

  “You should always be prepared to fire,” Z said. “But do not lock onto any target without my authorization. Those creatures are still a mystery and we do not know if they can sense a target lock or not.”

  The weapons tech laughed then shut up as Z turned her Skrang glare on him. “Sorry, ma’am, my apologies.”

  “Accepted,” Z said. “But don’t be so flippant next time. I certainly won’t be so forgiving.”

  “Yes, ma’am, of course,” the weapons tech replied.

  “Any sign of activity from the Hoonnaann base?” Z asked.

  “No, ma’am,” a second bridge tech replied. “They are on full alert, obviously, but they have not deployed any ships or brought weapons to bear on the approaching ship.”

  “Give me a full visual,” Z ordered. “I want to see this ship.”

  The holo in front of the second bridge tech was projected into the center of the bridge at ten times the size. Z approached it and swiped her hand left and right, checking all the angles the view provided. She pursed her lizard lips and flicked out her tongue in irritation when she saw exactly what ship it was.

  “Borgon Eight-Three-Eight stealth incursion ship,” she hissed. She liked the feel of the hiss in her lizard throat and did it a couple more times, just for the fun of it. “That’s a Drop Team ship.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the first bridge tech acknowledged. “I am running its identity through the Grid to see if we can get a ping as to which Team it belongs to.”

  “No need,” Z said. “It’s Drop Team Three. I’ve had dealings with Lieutenant Queshor before. He’s a hard man and his Team is not one to take for granted.”

  “I would think none of the Drop Teams should be taken for granted,” the weapons tech said.

  “You would think correctly,” Z replied. “The Galactic Fleet may be a bureaucratic nightmare half the time, but they are still a military organization, despite their political and civil protestations otherwise since the War Treaty. They bungle the administration of the systems under their protection constantly, but one thing they do not bungle is the training of their Marines and especially the Drop Teams. We tangle with these sons of gumps at our own risk.”

  “Should Mr. Tnort be alerted?” the first bridge tech asked. “He is down with our incursion squads right now.”

  “No need to tell him,” Z said. “I’ll contact him over the com once we know that the Team will actually become an issue. Right now, they are running for their lives and it does not appear they will win the race to the Hoonnaann base.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the first bridge tech said.

  Z studied the Drop Team ship closer and her eyes widened slightly then narrowed quickly as she noticed something. The ship was not alone. Yes, it had four massive monsters on its tail, but it also seemed to have a hitchhiker on its belly. It was almost impossible to see, but Z found her Skrang vision could be switched to multiple spectrums she normally didn’t have access to when just in simple Jirk form.

  Not that she was ever in simple Jirk form. For Jirks, that would be the equivalent of walking through the streets stark naked with a sign pointing to their genitalia. A Jirk always took skin. Always.

  Z pinched at the holo then spread her fingers wide, zooming in on the Drop Team ship’s hitchhiker.

  “Get me an identification on that thing,” Z ordered. She didn’t have to hear a verbal response since the sudden activity from half the techs on the bridge told her she’d have an answer in three, two, one.

  “No identification found, ma’am,” a tech said with some hesitancy. The man’s eyes darted from the scanner readings to Z and back. “I am sorry.”

  “Will everyone stop apologizing!” Z snapped. “Keep wasting them and then when you really screw up I won’t give a fo.”

  The bridge crew quickly acknowledged her, some even had to choke back snap apologies before nodding their understanding.

  “No identification, eh?” Z said.

  She zoomed in for an even closer look. The resolution of the holo turned grainy, since the distance of the scan was an issue, but she could see the creature well enough. It was an ugly thing, all warts and ridges with a slimy look to it. But, surprisingly, it had a humanoid form. A head on a neck, a neck on a torso, two arms extending from the torso, as well as two legs below. No tail, which didn’t mean anything, but was just something Z noticed. What she also noticed was that the thing’s hands and feet looked webbed.

  And it was much larger than most humanoid species.

  It had to be three meters tall, at least, with shoulders that were two meters across. Its arms were thickly muscled, giving it a top-heavy look. The legs weren’t exactly small, but they were out of proportion to the arms, for sure.

  “What are you doing?” Z wondered aloud. A few tech heads turned at her voice, but they returned to their tasks as soon as they saw she was lost in thought. “You are an ugly beast. Not as ugly as those hellish nightmares chasing the ship you are stuck to, but you will not be on the list of species any Jirks decide to take over anytime soon. Not that Skrangs will win beauty pageants. Except on their home planet of Skrang, maybe.”

  “Boss lady?” Tnort’s voice called over the com.

  Z pressed at her ear and cocked her head, but her eyes still remained on the hitchhiking creature. “What is it, Tnort? Problems with the troops? Don’t tell me they are arguing about who is on what incursion squad again?”

  “No, ma’am, I got that sorted out as soon as I stepped down here,” Tnort replied. “By the way, we’ll have to send some death pay to two families, as a result.”

  “The price we pay for order,” Z said. “Now, what’s the situation?”

  “I was going over the plan and it seems we may have overlooked something,” Tnort said, his tone telling Z instantly that she was not going to like what was overlooked.

  “Spit it out, man!” Z snapped. “I don’t need your Leforian reticence right now!”

  “Yeah, okay, here it goes,” Tnort said. “The Hoonnaann base has a scrambler shield. It’s fairly basic, but it means we can’t send all squads at once via the moltrans. We’ll have to send them squad by squad which really puts a kink in our show of force strategy. We moltrans the first squad in there and every alarm on that base is going to light up like rednecks firing blasters on Treaty Day. By the time we have the second squad set, there will be Syndicate thugs coming out of the woodwork to gum up our carefully violent plans.”

  “How were we not aware of this before?” Z asked.

  “Can’t answer that, boss lady,” Tnort said. “My guess is that Gorma Collari isn’t as dense as we thou
ght.”

  “It sounds to me like the Thin Man doesn’t trust his own organization,” Z suggested. “He’s not using the scrambler shield to keep forces off the base, he’s using it to keep from being taken off the base by a moltrans unit. The Syndicate uses them all the time for snatch and grabs in their ransom division. Snatch and grabs are hard for a moltrans unit, but put the right people on it and it’s a sure fire way to get your target and get the fo out of there fast. They have some great techs running those units, according to our intel. Almost as good as our techs.”

  “So, what do you want me to do?” Tnort asked. “We can compare tech dicks all day long, but in the end we still can only get squads in the base one at a time.”

  “Reconfigure the squads then,” Z said. “You put the best of the best in the first squad and go down from there.”

  “Gonna make the last squads kind of weak,” Tnort said. “Not just in skill, but in leadership.”

  “Don’t worry about leadership,” Z said. She rubbed her hands together and small sparks crackled between her fingers. That was new. “I’ll be down soon. I’m going in with the first squad to make sure we hit as hard as we can and finish this job properly.”

  There was no response from Tnort.

  “I can almost smell your disapproval through the decks between us, Tnort,” Z said.

  “That Skrang sniffer must be good then,” Tnort said.

  “It is, but I know you,” Z said. “You never like it when I join a job personally.”

  “That is the Leforian in me,” Tnort said. “I always worry about your personal safety, boss lady.”

  “Well, don’t,” Z replied. “I have been pulling off jobs longer than BooshGon Security has existed. I have experience you don’t even know about.”

  “Yes, I am more than confident that you do,” Tnort said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that it would be more advantageous for you to stay on the carrier.”

  “I disagree,” Z said. “You know what that means?”

  “It means that’s the only disagreement allowed,” Tnort said. He let out a long Leforian sigh. Z smiled at the sound. “Fine. I will reconfigure the squads and save you a place in the first one. Would you like me by your side or with the second squad that comes in?”

  “What was my first order about the configuration of the squads?” Z asked.

  “Strongest in the lead,” Tnort said. “Then it is going to be an honor to go in and blast the fo out of some Syndicate thugs by your side, boss lady.”

  “Damn right it will be,” Z said. “Have my gear ready.”

  “It will be,” Tnort said as he cut off his com.

  Z kept studying the creature clinging to the underside of Drop Team Three’s ship.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  Then she smiled as she saw the creature make its move. It was the Skrang smile of pleasure.

  Thirty-Three

  Three didn’t need the breach alarms to tell them that something had made it through their shields and was cracking straight through the ship’s hull. They could see it plain as day as they stood in the corridor above the belly airlock door. Not only was something coming, but it wasn’t using any cutting tools and appeared to be punching its way through the floor’s carbon steel itself.

  Plasma rifles were at shoulders, fingers were on triggers, and Three was set to blast whatever it was right back out the way it had come.

  Then the punching stopped. It just stopped.

  “LT?” Jelly asked. “The ship’s schematics tell me it has entered the coolant ducts.” He raised his weapon to the ceiling and started spinning in a slow, cautious circle. “It could be anywhere right now.”

  “Yeah, my nose tells me it’s right above us,” Brogan said. “Do you smell that? Eight Million Gods, what is it?”

  “Whatever it is, it can survive the vacuum,” Hoops said. “LT? What’s the call?”

  “We’re right where we’re supposed to be,” Queshor replied. “We sit tight, keep guns hot, and watch our asses. When Jelly gives us the signal, we pop this airlock and get the fo off the ship. If whatever it is engages before that then we rip it a new one and get the fo off the ship.”

  “It already ripped our ship a new one,” Jelly said, his spinning coming to a sudden stop as he aimed his plasma rifle at a spot in the corner of the corridor. “Oh, snap, I think it hears us.”

  “There is no way you can know that,” Brogan said. There was a massive thud against the corridor’s wall. The steel buckled slightly. “Doesn’t mean I don’t believe you.”

  “We go now,” Queshor ordered. “Jelly? How far off target are we?”

  Jelly didn’t even hesitate. “Two kilometers. We leave the ship now and we’ll expend all of our suits’ thrusters just getting to the base. We will also be exposed and have lost the cover of chaos.”

  “They can pick us off one by one, LT,” Brogan said. “We could sneak out when they start firing on the ship and probably wouldn’t be noticed. But Jelly is right. If we leave now then we’re either committing suicide or surrendering.”

  “If we stay then what?” Hoops asked.

  “Then we kill the thing,” Begossian said. He took a couple steps towards the buckling wall. The stress to the metal grew as more pressure was applied. “Doesn’t look like we have much of a choice. It’s coming in whether we like it or not.”

  The metal continued to be warped by the thing that had made it through the hull and into the coolant ducts. Despite the fact that space was beyond freezing cold, the ship needed coolant to keep from overheating and cooking the living beings inside. The amount of raw energy produced to propel a ship through space, to navigate the wormholes, to operate shields and weapons and everything, was more energy than the vast majority of beings in the galaxy could tolerate. So coolant was needed to circulate throughout the ship.

  That coolant exploded out at Three as the thing finally ruptured the wall and came at them.

  Begossian fired. He was ready, his rifle clutched in his tentacles, one tip on the trigger while another guided his aim. The thing that came at him screeched with such a hideous noise that most of Three had to force themselves to keep from dropping their weapons to cover their ears, even with helmets on.

  The thing, a strange humanoid that was forced to stay hunched over as its massive bulk filled the corridor, rushed Begossian and picked the Groshnel up as if he weighed nothing. The thing screeched again, but was joined by Begossian as one of his tentacles was ripped right off.

  “Send it to Hell!” Queshor shouted. “Let the Seven Satans sort it out!”

  Three opened fire on the creature.

  Its screeches grew louder and louder as it flailed under the onslaught of plasma bolts. Begossian screamed as he flopped to the floor, two tentacles clutching the empty space where one had just been. He grabbed for his rifle, which was just a meter away, and brought it up with two of his other tentacles, jammed it into the guts of the creature, and squeezed the trigger.

  The thing’s belly exploded outward, sending vile organs and liquids down onto Begossian. The Groshnel screamed as those liquids began to eat away at his suit. The liquids bubbled and burned their way through layer after layer until they reached his skin. His screams grew louder and louder, his tentacles flopped around, the rifle quickly forgotten, his body jerked and convulsed.

  Then he was done. The life was dissolved right out of him. The liquids had won.

  Three stopped firing. Not because their teammate was dead, but because the thing that had killed it, the thing that had housed the vile organs and liquids, was still standing. And more than that, it was healing. Its midsection sutured itself back together. The places on its body where Three’s plasma bolts had hit it, all healed over. The pieces and chunks of bizarre flesh filled back in.

  The thing regenerated before Drop Team Three’s eyes. Then it came for them.

  “Fall back!” Queshor ordered as he stepped between the thing and his Team. “Get out a different way
! Whatever way you can! Just get out!”

  He emptied his plasma rifle into the charging creature then made to turn it around and use it as a club, but the weapon was yanked free from his tentacles and thrown aside. The impotent weapon hit the wall with such force that it left a rifle-sized dent in the metal. Queshor never got to see the rifle-sized dent because his head was ripped right from his fleshy body before he could even react to the weapon being torn from his grasp.

  The lieutenant’s blood spurted high into the air, coating the ceiling. Queshor’s body was tossed aside, impacting with the wall even harder than his rifle had. The thud and squishy noise it made echoed down the corridor as the rest of Three fled as fast as they could.

  The creature stepped over the two corpses and lumbered its way after them, its huge, round, fish-like eyes focused on their retreating backs. It wasn’t as fast as it had been before taking half an arsenal’s worth of plasma bolts to its body, but it wasn’t slow either. It stomped down the corridor, its webbed feet propelling it faster and faster as its wounds continued to heal.

  Hoops reached the corridor’s door first. She smacked the control panel with a gloved hand and the door slid away easily. She raced through, spun about, dropped to a knee, and opened fire as the rest of Three hurried past her. All of her plasma bolts hit their target, but they did little to stop the advancing creature. On it came, its many-teethed mouth wide open, that never-ending screech bellowing from its throat.

  “Come on!” Brogan shouted once he was past Hoops. He reached down and smacked her shoulder before he reached out with the butt of his rifle and slammed it against the door’s control panel. The door slid shut, closing just before the creature reached it. “Hoops! Get your ass up and come on!”

  Hoops stood and nodded to Brogan as the Tcherian spun about and followed Jelly. But Hoops never got more than a couple of steps before her forward motion was halted by a slimy, webbed hand that had shattered the plastiglass porthole window in the corridor’s door.

  The hand yanked her back by the neck, its fingers wedging themselves in the seam between Hoops’ helmet and suit. The woman shouted for help and threw her rifle aside as she yanked her pistol free from its holster. The grip on her neck tightened and she felt the seam tear and crack. Hoops brought the pistol up and blindly aimed it behind her helmet. She fired three times and the grip slackened considerably.