The Battle for the Solar System (Complete Trilogy)

by Sweeney, Stephen

  “Show yourself, Rissard!” Enrique called. He thought he saw something move and fired off a handful of plasma bolts, all of which struck the far wall. Enrique swore. Where was the man? Had Rissard already left the hold, going after Kelly and the others?

  “Let’s rid ourselves of temptation, shall we?”

  Rissard was suddenly bounding towards him. Too late Enrique discharged his rifle, each bolt fired sailing harmlessly past the Imperial commodore. The next moment Rissard was beside him, and in flurry of limbs Enrique was parted from his rifle. Rissard retreated, a smirk on his face as he cast the weapon aside, the gun disappearing somewhere amongst a clutter of fallen crates.

  Hell! Instinctively, Enrique turned to run. Rissard was on him again in a flash, yanking him backwards and flinging him further inside the hold, blocking the entrance.

  “Don’t try and run,” Rissard told him. “You don’t want to miss out on the main event, not after all the work you did to get here.” He looked Enrique up and down. “No guns. I guess that leaves you with only your hands, eh, runt?” He made a show of flexing his fingers and balling his fists.

  “Stop calling me that!” Enrique flared.

  “Lose the jacket,” Rissard indicated. He had already discarded his own.

  So, it was going to be this way after all. With little else to do Enrique obliged, removing the body armour and letting it fall to the floor. He felt lighter, less restricted, and a great deal more vulnerable.

  “You’re injured, Mr Todd,” Rissard observed.

  “Makes it a little fairer for you, wouldn’t you say?” Enrique replied, inching forward to meet his opponent. He wasn’t sure how things like this began. It wasn’t exactly like being in a ring. This was going to be a dirty fight. Rissard’s guard was raised in a flash, Enrique’s own flying up in response. He’d pictured this moment in his head for years, though it had simply involved the fighting and not the part that led up to it. Small talk first, he thought. Not that he had ever been any good at it. “Ready for round two?” he asked.

  Rissard snorted at the comment, stepping forward. “Are you ready to die a traitor and a failure?”

  They were close now. In a few moments they would be within striking distance. Who would throw the first punch? Enrique wondered. “You know,” he said, as they circled one another, “now you mention it, I do remember the last time. You had to call in your boys. I was winning up until then. Did I embarrass you?”

  Rissard snarled.

  “I did. And not only that, but you got a real dressing down from your superior after that little incident. Have the scars healed? The ones on the inside, I mean, not just on the outside. All mine have. I even got my teeth back.” He emphasised his point with a grin.

  “I should’ve killed you back then,” Rissard retorted. “I won’t make the same mistake again.”

  “Prove it,” Enrique beckoned.

  Rissard came at him, throwing the first punch, Enrique ducked under it, shifting to the side to avoid the follow-up, before hopping back and out of range of the next. He swept for his opponent’s feet as Rissard came at him once more, the commodore leaping clear. Enrique came up on one knee, successfully deflecting the kick that had been meant for his head, getting back on both feet in time to defend against the second, predictable kick from the other leg, and finally landing a punch to Rissard’s face.

  One-nil. It hadn’t been a powerful punch. Having just returned to his feet, Enrique had put the wrong kind of weight and power behind it, too slow to shift his balance. Not a mistake he’d have made when he was younger. He scolded himself for the thought. He obviously wasn’t as young as he had once been, but he wasn’t an old man, either.

  He wondered how old Rissard was, or, rather, how old he should have been. He must’ve been in his mid to late fifties by now, though it was clear that he was fighting like a man half his age. He wondered if and how the nanomachines had affected the commodore. Had they slowed Rissard in any way? Made him a little weaker …?

  Rissard refuted this with his next move. Coming for Enrique, he made to swing a kick to his midsection, before pulling back and grabbing hold of Enrique’s arm. He twisted fast and sharp, Enrique yielding to the move lest it break his arm, and finding himself close in to his opponent. Several quick, hard punches to Enrique’s chest followed before he managed to break free of Rissard’s grip.

  Enrique staggered back, seeing the grin on Rissard’s face and feeling soon after the extreme pain of the attack. One of his lower ribs had been broken, he was sure of it. It felt almost like being struck with a hammer. He gritted his teeth against the pain, hoping the injury wouldn’t impair him too much as Rissard came for him once again. He staggered, Rissard landing one blow to Enrique’s face, quickly followed by a second. Enrique managed to roll most of what was behind the second, but was sure he heard something break on the impact of the first. From the incredible pain in his face, he was certain it hadn’t been Rissard’s fingers, more like his own cheek bone. He managed to catch the third fist that came his way, gripping it tightly in both hands. He then twisted Rissard’s arm, intending to break it. For all the good that that would do. It would, at least, give him an advantage for a couple of minutes.

  The attempt was unsuccessful, Rissard leaping and twirling in the air, in tune with the motion. Enrique immediately let go and retreated. Rissard was on him in an instant, sweeping for his legs and attempting to take Enrique’s feet out from beneath him. This time, Enrique was faster and the two men separated from one another, circling around once more.

  A few mock advances were made, before Enrique went at Rissard again, charging heavily into him, intending on putting him to the ground. Rissard evaded, Enrique dodging the man’s counters as the fight took the two across the hold. They crashed into scattered equipment and containers as they went, each taking care to avoid the bodies of fallen soldiers, shrapnel, dislodged equipment, and other items that littered the floor.

  Enrique saw a chance and, having avoided much of the scattered debris, feinted a slip just as Rissard prepared to strike. The Imperial commodore corrected himself and lunged to take advantage of Enrique’s misplaced footing at such close quarters. At the same time, Enrique righted himself, darting to his adversary’s side. He took hold of Rissard’s arm, twisting it behind his back, before placing his other hand behind the man’s head, putting the commodore’s momentum to good use and slamming Rissard’s face into the wall behind him. There was a satisfying crack, and Enrique yanked the stunned Rissard back, before ploughing the man’s face into the wall once more. The crack wasn’t as loud this time around, but the blood splatter that accompanied the move was telling of the damage.

  Enrique sprang back as Rissard wrenched his arm free and lashed out him. Blood was running from Rissard’s nose and from the side of his mouth, coating his teeth and lips. He looked somewhat disorientated. Enrique took the opportunity to catch his breath. No, he wasn’t as young as he used to be. He couldn’t believe how much the exertion of the fight had already tired him.

  “You ever been to Sol, Rissard?” Enrique wanted to know.

  Rissard merely scowled and spat blood.

  “Don’t expect to, either,” Enrique continued. “Alpha Centauri is as far as you’re getting.” This fight was harder than he thought it was going to be. Hopefully, the same would be true of Rissard – the nanomachines not working as efficiently any more, failing just as they were in Zackaria. However, to Enrique’s dismay he saw the blood flow from Rissard’s nose already starting to slow, the red beginning to drain away into his skin.

  Rissard was recovering, and Enrique began backing up to find more space in which to fight the man. Rissard charged, Enrique catching him. A memory of Mythos flashed through his head, of how he had grounded his opponent back then. Even if he couldn’t kill him, Enrique could perhaps knock him out, and grant himself enough time to escape. But as Enrique rolled, preparing to bring himself on top of Rissard and pin him, he felt the commodore carry on through the moti
on, and then Enrique was airborne, tumbling over. He crashed down heavily, pain erupting in his lower back and around where he had felt the rib break.

  He felt dizzy and struggled to right his world and get back to his feet as soon as possible. He realised that Rissard had second-guessed his intentions to pin him and had instead rolled with the attack, throwing Enrique off as he had come out on top. Damn, and Rissard had thrown him far. The man’s strength didn’t appear to have faded in the least.

  “You were saying?” Rissard smirked at him as he lay on the ground. He didn’t even look as though he had broken a sweat.

  Enrique started up, when his fingers brushed against something. He glanced to his right, seeing the object resting on the floor just within reach of his grasp – a wrench. Would it be unsporting to use it? he wondered. No, he concluded. After all, Rissard had the machines. The only real danger was that he might lose it and Rissard would use it against him. It was a risk worth taking, Enrique thought.

  “Get up!” Rissard barked at him.

  “Gladly,” Enrique said, springing to his feet, snatching up the wrench as he did so and leaping over to where Rissard stood. He swung as he drew near, Rissard becoming aware only at the last moment. Enrique was rewarded with another satisfying crack as it connected with the man’s jaw, and again when he swung it back the other way. Another ringing crack, a cry of pain from Rissard and a lot more blood this time. The wrench felt good in his hand. Both the range it provided and the weight distribution were ideal, almost as if it had been made to break things, rather than fix them.

  Rissard staggered backward and Enrique swung again, seeking to add to the highly visible damage he had inflicted on the man’s face – bruising, what was clearly a broken jaw, swollen cheeks and the beginnings of puffy eyes. Just like what Enrique himself had suffered at Rissard’s hand.

  Rissard managed to avoid the third swing apparently only by chance, but the fourth swing struck him directly on the nose. This time Enrique heard a crunch and blood splattered across the floor, pouring from the wounds. It was too easy. Enrique was almost beginning to feel sorry for his opponent. But now the task with done. He raised the wrench in both hands, preparing to bring it down hard on Rissard’s head and knock the commodore out. Rissard caught it this time, yanking it from Enrique’s grasp. He tossed it far aside, Enrique hearing it clatter down somewhere far away.

  “That’s cheating, runt!” Rissard spat.

  Enrique found himself unable to hide the shock on his face. One second before Rissard had looked as though he had been involved in a terrible accident and the next he was close to returning to normal. There was little wrong with the man – the blows Enrique had delivered had been shrugged off as easily as when he had slammed Rissard into the wall. Had he not hit hard enough? Or had Rissard actually grown more resilient over the years? A terrible realisation dawned on Enrique, and he began to back away. He wasn’t going to beat Rissard. This fight had only ever had one outcome.

  “You’re not going to win this time, Mr Todd,” Rissard smirked, seeming to detect his frustration. “You can knock me down as many times as you like, and I’ll only get back up. And once I’m done with you, I’ll deal with the others.”

  Enrique knew he was right. Though it had taken longer than he remembered or would’ve expected, the blood from Rissard’s mouth and nose was already gone from his face, reabsorbed into his body. Anything that Enrique did to this man other than shoot him would have little effect. The most he could ever hope to do would be to knock him out and then run for it. But for how long might Rissard actually remain unconscious? Judging by the speed of his recovery from the strikes with the wrench, clearly not long enough.

  Should’ve shot him the moment I saw him … Enrique began backing up, trying to think of a way out of this. His rifle was still somewhere in the hold, where Rissard had tossed it. The fallen soldiers would also still have weapons. If he could get to any of those then he could finish this. He was looking around for them without making it obvious, when he caught the back of his foot on something behind him and began to topple over. One of the dislodged crates!

  “Playtime’s over!” Rissard called. The man came at him, the smirk gone from his face, the look in his eyes giving every indication that the fight was done and he was coming in for the kill.

  Enrique bent at the knees, preparing to roll over the crate that had unbalanced him and come out upright on the other side. It was as Rissard closed that Enrique saw a chance, one that had been staring him in the face ever since the fight began. If only he could seize it …

  Rissard struck him, attempting to hit Enrique with the very same takedown Enrique had tried, but failed with, earlier. No chance that Enrique was going to let him do that – he’d never get out of that one. Enrique wasn’t sure how he managed it, whether it was a combination of wriggling, the angle as he went over the crate or Rissard’s own failure to pin him effectively, but Enrique managed somehow to escape. He struggled to his feet, seeing Rissard already leaping over the container to finish what he’d started.

  “Okay, okay,” Enrique said, holding up clenched hands. “You got me.”

  Rissard stared at him, quite unconvinced, clearly sensing the feint.

  “Or rather, I got these …” Enrique unclenched his fists, letting Rissard see the pins that he had pulled from the two grenades that were tied to Rissard’s waist. To his relief, he could see that he had managed to activate both grenades, too. Five out of eight lights were illuminated.

  The sixth then lit, silently.

  Rissard’s face changed, the anger and hatred being replaced by one of disbelief. Lights flicked on both grenades again, one after the other. He looked from Enrique’s hands to his waist, making a lunge for the two explosives. Enrique moved instantly, seeking to get as far away as possible and hoping that Rissard wouldn’t find time to remove them from his be—

  The bang shattered Enrique’s eardrums, and he felt himself lift off the floor, sailing through the air. He crashed down hard on the ground, rolling over several times. It took him some time before he was able to pull himself to his feet, his entire body feeling battered. He then looked back to where Rissard had been standing. There wasn’t much left of the man.

  “Yeah? Let’s see you stand up from that,” he said. He then sought out his plasma rifle and began limping from the hold.

  *

  Parks snatched up his rifle, taking one last glance at the radar screen as he did so. They were only a few kilometres from Cratos now, and continuing to close that gap. Their journey from the Elpis would be nothing more than a short hop. The enemy starfighters were still chipping away at the dreadnought’s defences, though, and finally seemed to be pushing through. At least the winds were still causing them and their weapons problems. With their numbers, close to one hundred by Parks’ estimation, the warship would’ve been nothing but a smouldering ruin had it been caught in a battle in open space. Chimera was holding back, not daring to enter the fierce winds. That carrier could still prove an obstacle at the end of the day. No matter, they had what they’d come for. Time to leave.

  “Is the way clear, Mr Koonan?” he called over.

  “About as clear as it’s going to get,” Koonan shouted back.

  Satisfied that his work was done, Parks joined the big man by the entrance to the bridge. There were quite a few bodies there, soldiers who had either arrived by the lift or the stairwell. A good number of the soldiers had made their way up the stairs, some of their shots intended for Koonan flying all the way into the bridge itself, threatening to shatter the frontal viewport. Parks had switched to another console that wasn’t so directly in the line of fire and continued to work on navigating the Elpis over to Cratos. Koonan had done an incredible job of dealing with the invaders, at one point allowing one to get all the way up before dispatching them, then looting the body for supplies. He had then used two of the liberated stun grenades to flush out any opponents who were hiding in the stairwell, as well as using one to gree
t those arriving in the lift. A good thing the lift had progress indicators, Parks thought.

  He looked to his electronic map of the Elpis. They had a fair way to go to reach the shuttle – down the emergency stairwell (the lift couldn’t be risked), through the main cab itself, through the maze of the first container, and then to the airlock in the middle container. He was certain that they would find themselves needing to contend with several invaders along the way.

  “Admiral, we’re all set,” de Winter’s voice came in his earpiece.

  “Everyone accounted for?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir. Dodds has returned with Grace, and Todd has made it back from the rear container.”

  “Rissard?”

  “Dealt with.”

  “Any injuries?”

  “No extra ones.”

  Parks nodded to himself, pleased that despite everything that had stood in their way, they had managed to achieve their goals without any loss of life. “Got it,” he said. Then, to Koonan, “Right, let’s get the hell out of here.”

  The two men started off, moving as quickly as they could without running, Koonan taking the lead, Parks marking the rear. A flashbang tossed into the stairwell came up empty and the two men hurried down the flight of steps, keeping an eye out for the telltale sign of red eyes. The lower corridor, leading past the crew’s quarters and living facilities, to the first container, was empty, save for the body of a dead soldier. A woman, by the look of it, lying face down in a pool of her own blood. A blood trail led up to it, one that Parks had seen originating on the stairwell leading down. He pumped two extra bolts into her back, just to make sure.

  Parks then paused as he saw what now lay before them. The doors at the other end of the corridor were sealed by a blast shield, its thick structure offering no hint of what might await them on the other side. He had brought the blast shield down earlier, to guard against the continued influx of soldiers. He was certain he had lifted them all before he and Koonan had started out of the bridge.