A second projectile swept toward Kirby as she charged. Her attempt at a dodge was more successful, though it left a long scorch mark along her left shoulder. As she barged in she slashed the beast’s nearest wrist, which threw aside its aim. As a result, its third fireball glanced off the Shala it intended to hit and sheared off a corner of the chassis. The walker rocked back, but quickly returned fire with a spread of auto cannon rounds that struck the creature’s face. The monster was less injured than it should have been, bloodied but no less capable. The weapons of the Hover Fortress stitched rounds across its surface, causing it to twitch, but the guns were forced to be redirected toward a cluster of En-Rabisus threatening the left flank of their formation.
Burned and featuring a dozen new bullet holes, the monster was nonetheless forced to focus on Kirby as she left a deep gash in one of its knees. Even in her exosuit, the beast was at least a meter and a half taller than her. She blocked its first strike, but its claws were so long it nonetheless left scratches on her cockpit and armor plating. Her task became more difficult as the second and third arms descended, then a fourth rocked her chassis with a glancing blow and the shriek of torn metal. Between strikes, blocks, and feints, she would occasionally fire a shell into the beast to try and keep it off balance. She knew maintaining the four-armed terror’s full attention may be the only way to ensure the line held long enough to extract—the Sentinels had lost soldiers, and the Hover Fortress wasn’t well equipped to oppose the giant in melee should she fail.
Vort lay on the ground, his wing badly hurt and the armor around the joint melted and shattered. The flesh around the wound was burned and mangled, dripping globs of the translucent fluid that served as his blood. While his wings bore a minimum of pain receptors, he was still in an extremely unpleasant state. He painfully folded the injured wing inward in an attempt to tuck it close to his body, making a tinnitus-like sound of pain as he did so. A few Rabisu fireballs splashed on the ground around him. He had to get moving again, but with his wing unsecured it was difficult to do so without his vision being blurred with agony. Suddenly, a large shield was planted on the ground next to him.
The Storm Mother loomed overhead and, using the shield to cover them both, wordlessly wrapped a strong webbed material around the injury to hold the wing firm against his body. She paused a moment to watch him. Vort shook himself and rose, the stability making his wound far more bearable.
He did his best imitation of a nod with his trunk. “Thank you, Storm Mother.”
She nodded in her own way, a diagonal motion similar to an inclination of her head, before lifting her shield once more and darting off toward Kirby and the four-armed monster. Even without the use of flight, Vort’s ten legs could carry him at a surprising pace. He scuttled off, releasing lighting bolts into a cluster of Gugalannas approaching from his right. He darted to and fro to avoid the fireballs flying his way. Vort would need his wing to be treated sooner rather than later, but for the moment it was bearable.
Kirby registered a second full armor breach. Her left leg was damaged slightly—she could hear a rattle in the mechanism when she stepped to her right. Nonetheless, she left her fair share of marks on the beast despite its best efforts. The creature bore a debilitating gash on the left side of its torso, Kirby had sliced off half of one of its petals, and it had lost two fingers on two hands. For the third time she swept aside two of its arms with a vertical blade, then cut at a third arm and sliced the fourth clawed hand. This time, however, the beast did something a creature who could feel pain would likely not do. With its fourth hand it simply grabbed onto the sharp blade, leaking black fluids as it pulled the blade aside. Kirby tried to keep her footing, deflecting two clawed hands with her free arm. However, the advantage of the creature’s higher number of limbs had finally outpaced Kirby's ability to parry.
With a shaking impact, the beast’s fourth hand thrust its claws at the side of Kirby’s chassis. The armor was breached, a small bit of outside light visible through a several centimeter gap not far from Kirby’s ribs. She tried to pull her blade free of the beast’s increasingly mangled grip, removing all of the fingers left on the creature’s hand, but it committed a second hand to restraining her close to her fist. She fired shells into the creature, blowing off three fingers from another hand and leaving it four new gaping wounds on its body as they struggled back and forth over the blade. She swung her free blade, trying to both ward off the next attack and punish the creature attacking her. Another tight cluster of shells detached its upper left arm in a spray of sooty fluid, and a burst of energy bolts struck the creature’s head as the Storm Mother closed in.
The thought crossed Kirby's mind that the beast had committed to taking her with it, and its next blow with its remaining left arm was its best attempt by far. The centimeters-long gap expanded with a sound like a car crash, and Kirby cried out as she felt a long, gnarled claw force its way into her side just below her rib cage. Her infantry armor didn’t stand a chance, the plate sundered with the ease of a knife stabbing a pillow. The thick claw tore a ragged hole in her, and Kirby collapsed in agony as the beast withdrew the claw.
As the Marduk toppled, the beast turned toward its newest assailant, the red-armored woman firing her shield and arm-weapon at once. The beast turned and stepped toward her, sweeping one of its remaining hands down at her. She stepped back, her shield gaining a trio of long scratches on its surface. Continuing to fire her weapons, an apparatus under her armored chin suddenly emitted a terrible sound directed at the monster’s face. The sonic assault caused it to pause and stumble, and this momentary pause allowed Vort to rush forward and strike the hulking thing with a wave of flame. The beast tried to move out of the way, but part of its leg and the flesh on the side of its body began to grotesquely slough off in large chunks. Roaring, it moved toward the winged alien.
As it stepped forward with one fingerless hand held up to try and ward off the Storm Mother’s attacks, it suddenly lost its footing and fell forward. Kirby had grabbed its leg below the knee and, using the momentum of its fall, pulled herself to her feet. She stepped over to the beast as it tried to recover, then with a pained roar fell upon it with her blades, both of them sinking into its back and pinning it to the ground. It thrashed as hard as it could but Kirby remained slumped over its stricken form, pressing hundreds of pounds of pressure onto the weapons-grade alloy blades. The Storm Mother ran to the struggling creature, and with several heavy chops of her sword finally took its head from its shoulders.
Kirby set the Marduk’s legs to stop mirroring her motions and revert to automated guidance. She grabbed a medical emergency spray canister mounted inside her cockpit, using it to fill her wound with a sterile foam to slow the bleeding and numb the pain. Still, she was hardly in the shape to fight. The Storm Mother put a hand in a sort of comforting gesture against Kirby’s cockpit glass for moment, uttering something in her native tongue before throwing herself back into the fray.
Vort spoke to Kirby through his mic. “Kirby? Kirby. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to leave soon!”
The Jockey was breathing heavily, and shakily pulled her blades from the ruined corpse. “Yeah. Y-yeah, I—know. I’ll make it, just make sure we … keep this goddamn pad clear!”
Vort scuttled off to strike a trio of En-Rabisus threatening the Qixing battle line, and radioed Bryluen. “Kirby is badly hurt. I am injured. How close are you? We need to leave.”
About then, Runner burst from the side hatch of the complex, seconds before Bryluen and Nicadzim exited through the main entrance. Their path had been a straight-shot devoid of the enemies that left the main corridor to pursue Runner, though Nicadzim bore a partial shoulder burn from an En-Rabisu ambush. The pair cut through the streaming horde as it passed them trying to home in on Runner, assisted by rockets from the Shalas. Bryluen went straight to Kirby’s stricken mechanical form as Nicadzim laid into the surrounding Dreaded with his ice wheel.
The Atet came in low as more orbital
rounds thundered into the surrounding Dreaded. Bryluen waved Runner up the ramp as he came to Kirby’s side. He paused a moment, a look of deep concern visible through his visor before turning and entering the ship with the mission objective in hand. Kirby limped upward covered by Nicadzim, Bryluen, and Vort, while the Qixing retreated into their ship along with the Hover Fortress, the Shalas, and the Storm Mother. The Qixing leader and Bryluen shared a look as the ramps on their respective ships closed. The Dreaded below began to retreat toward the other end of the island as one, knowing they had failed.
Practically falling back into the Marduk’s harness, Kirby’s cockpit swung open as the ship automatically took off into a holding pattern. Runner caught the jockey as she fell trying to climb out of her cockpit. She forced herself to her feet, and began to walk toward the pilot’s seat in the next chamber with Runner under her arm. Runner was about to try convincing her to let Bryluen fly, but the Operative slipped under Kirby’s other arm and subtly shook her head at the vigilante. He let them go—a glance at Kirby’s eyes through her visor made it clear she wasn’t going to let her injury prevent her from bringing them home. She had faced death before and now was no different—she had a job to do. Runner then helped Vort into his harness and checked on Nicadzim, unmoved as always despite his wound. Runner glanced down at the object in his fist, hoping its value would equate to its cost.
17. Surgery and Salutations
The moment the Atet set down at Raven’s Landing Nicadzim rushed onto the small bridge. He scooped Kirby up in one arm like a child, and dashed inside to the med-bay in long steps. Runner, Vort, and Bryluen followed closely behind. The automated med-bay at Raven’s Landing was an advanced suite of medical equipment more than suited for stitching wounds, reattaching limbs, and performing organ transplants. The sterilized bay contained full medical scans, histories, the genetic composition of various organs, and a supply of blood for each member of Dread Naught.
Nicadzim laid Kirby on one of the beds in the stark, white chamber as gently as he could. A metal spheroid was suspended on the ceiling above the bed, and would be performing the operation. Nicadzim found the jockey’s damaged breastplate was unwilling to budge, but forced it apart with a brief flex of his gauntleted fingers. Beneath she wore a tattered tank top which Runner gently rolled up above the wound as Kirby groaned.
“Shit! Gettin’ holes put in ya never—gets easier!”
Runner quickly removed Kirby’s helmet, revealing her face to be a sweaty grimace. She smiled weakly up at him, as if feeling apologetic. Bryluen stood in the door leading to the corridor, confident in the med-bay’s abilities but watching with concern. A few drones deployed and begun to obsessively clean Runner, Nicadzim, Bryluen, and Kirby’s armor with wipes, sprays, and sponges as they moved about. Portions of their damaged armor suits soon became gleaming and clean under the attention of the machines. Nico detached one set of his own armor plates and sat on a neighboring table to allow his shoulder burn to be treated. The skin on his massive shoulder was a bloody patch of red flecked in black. Though painful, he paid it little mind. Vort climbed on a small medical table made just for him. Bryluen helped him unbind his wing and remove the neighboring armor, allowing it to be treated. Custom medical modules had been generated from the study of the alien’s physiology, and the custom table was loaded with an assortment of medical supplies engineered for Vort’s use. The wing injury would be no great danger, and the feathers in the afflicted area would grow back quickly once the skin was mended.
Meanwhile, the canvas of vivid artwork that made up the entirety of Kirby’s abdomen was marred by a grotesque patch of blood that had run all the way down her left leg, streaking her pale skin in a ghastly red-brown tinge. The mass of foam in the center of the wound—now tinged pink—had done its job, but needed to be replaced. She held her jaw tight, the piercing wound pulsing in pain even through the deadening foam.
Kirby was certain the monster’s claws had been covered in micro-serrations since, aside from the large hole in her side that had damaged one kidney and part of her stomach, Kirby felt as if a thousand paper cuts had been inflicted along every edge of the stab wound. This wasn’t nearly the first time she had taken a hit in battle, but she was agitated about the damage done to her tattoos. She tried to focus on that aspect of her situation rather than the blaring pain she was experiencing.
It was always disconcerting for a patient to watch the harmless looking hemispheres on an auto-med ceiling unfold into the tools needed for an operation. Cleaning, cutting, and sewing implements among other things emerged from the device and extended on actuated arms downward toward Kirby’s wound. Swiftly removing the med-foam, the machine applied a brief anesthetic spray that caused Kirby to instantly relax with a sigh. Simultaneously a number of other devices took diagnostic measurements of blood, heart rate, and other factors to check for poisons in her system. An additional arm fed some of Kirby’s stored blood back into her body.
What followed was a series of remarkably quick motions designed for maximum efficiency as the machine cleansed the wound, spread specialized stem cell solutions across the damaged portions of her organs, and rapidly stitched together the organ wounds with bio-degrading thread. The machine filled the greater part of the open wound with a sort of sterile clay that would sit within and seal the injury as Kirby healed, reducing pain and slowly dissolving into chemicals that aided and sped tissue growth. The machine finished by sealing over the clay with a shaped piece of gauze, its edges adhered to Kirby’s skin so that it would maintain its shape and position as she moved.
All in all, despite the deep wound, she would be able to return to action in about eighteen hours with some discomfort and would be fully healed in about five days. As the arms withdrew to be cleansed inside the machine, it projected an image of flowers and rainbows in the air above Kirby with the message “All Better!”
Kirby snorted in amusement, the anesthetic spray and medical clay meaning she only faintly regretted doing so. The machine then provided a list of warnings and recommendations for the next eighteen hours of critical healing time. Kirby was rather certain Bryluen had specified that the med-bay be as sardonic as possible—Astral Marine auto-meds tended far more toward strident messages of discipline.
ACTIVITY WARNINGS DURING YOUR RECOVERY:
-ANY PARTICIPATION IN SEXUAL ACTIVITIES SHOULD BE TENDER AND/OR PASSIVE.
-DRINKING IS ALLOWED, BUT PLEASE DECLINE ANY AND ALL INCITEMENTS TO PROVIDE BELLY SHOTS, AS WOUNDS REACT POORLY TO ALCOHOL.
-ANY AND ALL SIT-UPS OR OTHER ABDOMINAL EXERCISES WILL BE REMARKABLY UNPLEASANT FOR OBVIOUS REASONS.
SUGGESTIONS FOR RECOVERY TIME ACTIVITIES:
-TRY TESTING HOW LONG YOU CAN BEAR TO REMAIN STILL STARING AT THE CEILING!
-ASK A FRIEND TO PROP YOU UP TO WATCH A MOVIE. THEY DON’T NEED TO KNOW YOU CAN DO IT YOURSELF: WIELD PITY AS A SOCIAL EXPERIMENT!
-THE IMPORTANT THING IS TO HAVE FUN WITHOUT YOUR ABDOMINAL MUSCLES!
Kirby turned her head toward Bryluen, speaking in exasperation. “What the fuck kinda’ rant does it do if you need a whole week? And Nico, honey, thanks for the lift, but I coulda just walked in.”
The big man shrugged. “Yet, it is far swifter for you to be carried. Thus you will suffer less.”
Kirby sat her head back down. “Fair ’nuff. Oh, hey, auto-med, am I due for maintenance?”
The machine projected a message indicating a date six days from then. Kirby shrugged. “We can just get it over with now while I’m here.”
Nicadzim looked perplexed. “Maintenance?”
Runner was tossing his helmet from hand to hand. “Yeah, h-h-her hormone reg-gulator.” He motioned toward Kirby’s abdomen.
The Jockey began to cross her arms behind her head before thinking better of it. “Yeah, still gotta get the rare checkup to make sure it’s doin’ its job and all. Hell of a lot less work than gettin’ a uterus put in woulda’ been.”
After another small anesthetic spray, a new arm
ature from the machine above—a flexible, thin probe—snaked into Kirby’s belly button.
Bryluen shrugged. “I always thought about getting a regulator swapped in for mine, but it’d be elective for me—having been born with the thing—and I’m a penny pincher. Anyway, now I’ve waited long enough it doesn’t do much to bother me anymore.”
After several seconds a message appeared confirming Kirby’s regulator was in working order, and the probe smoothly withdrew. Kirby slowly sat up. “Alright, good to go!”
“Take two hours, then come to the meeting room, folks.” Bryluen nodded, and then turned about to put her armor on its stand.
After the tender ordeal of showering her own blood from her body without bending too much, Kirby sat wearing a towel in her massage chair. She let the vibrating protrusions convince the muscles in her back and neck to relax. With the sweat and blood washed off her skin felt brand new. Her hair was bound up in a second towel, the moisture swiftly leeched from the auburn strands to leave them soft and renewed.
She had replayed her fight with the super-Rabisu a dozen times in her head already, thinking about her mistakes over and over. Imperfection didn’t bother her, however. What bothered her was that, for one agonizing moment, she felt powerless. That same tableau, the image of the beast stepping past her body as she sprawled on the ground, rankled with a core piece of her being. That second of the ordeal, more than anything, filled her with a bone-deep rage strong enough that she wanted to cry almost as much as she wanted to break something. The wound was incidental in her mind, and having to replace tattoos was bothersome but insignificant considering her new salary. Feeling helpless, however, was something she could not abide.
She was perfectly aware that her hatred for the sensation is what brought her to her feet to finish the monster. She raised a hand to her great chest scar. It was an immediately noticeable, pale jag that ran from her collar bone all the way across her left breast. A “scar to write home about,” as her Marine cohorts referred to it. Kirby looked at that scar every single morning and thought to herself: Don’t you get put on the fuckin’ ground, Kirby. Don’t you let a god damn thing make you powerless. Don’t you fuckin’ dare.
The Shadow Among The Stars: Book One of the Dread Naught Trilogy Page 19