Death Skies (Fire and Rust Book 4)

by Anthony James

  Kemp strolled over and hovered at Conway’s shoulder. “You’re doing a great job, sir.”

  Conway had been on the verge of telling the soldier to piss off and stop bugging him, but Kemp’s words held a note of maturity and sincerity that was unusual.

  “Thanks,” he replied, instead of the more irritable response his brain had planned.

  “We’ve been here six minutes already, sir. How long before we’re certain?”

  “I don’t know.” Conway raised his voice so that Governor Wrekstin could hear. “When should we accept that the enemy wasn’t following us?”

  “We should wait several additional minutes, Lieutenant. After that, I will be convinced. Keep searching.”

  “Yeah, will do.”

  At that moment, Park discovered something else and when she began speaking, the edge in her voice made it clear her discovery could potentially be catastrophic. “I’ve been checking through the records on the navigational system,” she said. “The Zemilius kept an automatic log of its position, which indicate it was being transported between four separate locations for a period of several months. At first, the transportations were sporadic and then, more recently, they became constant.”

  “That must tie in with when the Ragger network failed,” said Wrekstin.

  “I thought the same,” Park replied. “Then, a few hours ago, the four locations became three.”

  “Maybe the Raggers shut that one down,” offered Torres.

  “That’s what I first thought,” said Park. “Now I think it was something else.”

  “One of the receiving nodes was on a planet attacked by either AF1 or AF3,” said Conway, guessing at the answer.

  “Yes, Lieutenant. The Zemilius wasn’t able to pinpoint its own location – the receiving nodes are enclosed structures, which prevented its sensors obtaining positioning data from the stars. However, it seems too much like coincidence for one of the nodes to shut down at the same time our attack was scheduled to begin.”

  “Therefore, we must accept the possibility that one of our attack fleets encountered these new aliens,” said Wrekstin, his voice troubled.

  “Why would you think that?” asked Torres. “Maybe these new assholes didn’t show up everywhere.”

  “The transport system is responsible for this, soldier. Somehow, the Raggers’ imperfect technology has allowed these other creatures to come into our part of the universe. We must accept that wherever the Raggers had installed a transport node, we might find these new aliens.”

  “Let the Raggers fight them,” said Kemp. “It’ll keep those damn spiders off our backs.”

  “We’ve probably done enough damage to their manufacturing facilities to set them back for a long time, even if one of the attack fleets was unsuccessful,” said Wrekstin.

  “Yeah.”

  “Which means the Raggers may not be able to able to handle an additional opponent. Leaving the Unity League and the Fangrin exposed to this new enemy.”

  “I guess.”

  During this conversation, Conway had not stopped his hunt for enemy warships. He saw that Wrekstin was able to operate the sensor hardware whilst also maintaining full attention on everyone talking. Conway found nothing and the Fangrin didn’t raise the alarm either.

  “I am satisfied that our enemy is not following us,” said Wrekstin. “We should resume. The Zemilius is still at a high sublight velocity, so it should not require long before we are at lightspeed again. Assuming the transition works like we suspect.”

  The next couple of minutes saw the spaceship racked by more noise and vibration. It entered lightspeed without breaking up and Governor Wrekstin leaned back in his seat with a sigh of relief that indicated he wasn’t quite so confident about this strange warship as he made out.

  Conway didn’t comment. His head and body ached faintly and his mouth was dry. He’d been through a lot recently and wasn’t sure if these physical symptoms were a delayed result from all that had gone before, or a side effect of the alien lightspeed tech.

  “Am I required to sit at this console?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so, Lieutenant. We should be safe from here. Or as safe as it’s possible to expect.”

  “I get the idea.”

  Conway rose, stretched and then took a drink from the straw to the left of his visor. The bridge air was perfectly breathable, though he felt no inclination to remove the helmet. The combat suit felt like a second skin to him now and even when he was on shore leave, it took him several days to become accustomed to normal clothes. In fact, he felt nervous without his suit. His wife knew him well enough to guess the fact, but she never made fun.

  “Governor Wrekstin, my computer has finished the task,” said Rembra.

  “What task?” asked Conway. He remembered the two Fangrin talking while he was watching the sensors, but wasn’t aware of the details.

  “I asked Rembra to use the processor in his protective suit to analyze the alien numerical system for recognizable patterns.”

  It was the kind of great idea that Conway just couldn’t imagine himself ever coming up with. “I like it,” he said. “What’s the outcome?”

  Rembra leaned over the command console, his eyes moving from gauge to gauge. “These are just numbers,” he said, pointing to one or two readouts. “It is not clear what they represent.”

  “What about this?” asked Wrekstin, aiming his finger at one of the navigational screens.

  “Six days, Governor.”

  “Six days to where?” asked Conway.

  “To our destination, Lieutenant. If Rembra’s computer is accurate, we should arrive in Evlax six days from now.”

  “The outward journey was nine days.”

  “Like I told you, the Zemilius is a fast spaceship. We’ll accomplish a slightly shorter journey in two-thirds of the time.”

  “Not exactly revolutionary,” said Conway, trying not to sound too dismissive.

  “True and some members of our fleet can go faster than others. Still, a day or two off the length of a journey could be significant. Plus, the other things we have discovered.”

  Conway suddenly grabbed his rifle and checked the readout. “I thought I’d go explore the ship. Unless you can think of a good reason why I shouldn’t?”

  “Feel free, Lieutenant. Don’t get too curious.”

  Conway had been onboard enough spaceships that he knew to keep his hands to himself. “I won’t break anything.” He saw every one of the soldiers, including Rembra, taking an interest. They were doers not thinkers and none of them liked to sit still for too long.

  “Looking for company, sir?” asked Kemp.

  “Nah, you stay here, soldier.”

  “Aw, shit.”

  “Just messing with you. Feel free to come and take a look around. You heard Governor Wrekstin’s warning.”

  “Yeah, don’t stick my tongue into any electrical sockets.”

  “It probably wasn’t your tongue he was worried about,” said Torres.

  For once, Kemp was caught without a response and all he could do was mutter a few oaths. Torres laughed at his discomfort.

  “Come on, let’s see what’s through that door,” said Conway. He hefted his rifle and approached the thick slab of metal which sealed the bridge off from the rest of the ship. The access panel was on the right-hand side and its light was green.

  “I’ll get that,” said Kemp.

  The door opened and Conway instantly felt like his skull was being squeezed by pressure. The lights on the bridge dimmed and he was confronted by the sight of black shapes in the corridor beyond. His mind took a split second to realize he faced more of the aliens like those on the lowest level of the Ragger transport hub. They were lined up in front of the door, two or three abreast, as though they’d been waiting patiently for someone to come out and say hello. Conway guessed he faced a dozen or more.

  “What the hell?”

  His rifle wasn’t quite in the perfect firing position, but it was ne
ar enough. Conway pulled the trigger, feeling as if everything was in slow motion. The Gilner discharged, producing three large holes in the lower torso of the creature on the left. He lifted the gun higher and changed aim to the next target.

  The aliens weren’t slow to react and they surged forward. Conway saw an arm lift up, with a long-clawed hand at the end. He didn’t want to see what would happen even if one of these aliens only managed to touch him. The creature was fast and Conway held down the trigger again, hoping he’d be quicker.

  Private Kemp fell back from the door panel, his own rifle aimed towards the ground. He fired low, hitting one of the aliens in the leg. Torres opened up with greater control and she unleashed a controlled burst across the width of the corridor.

  The tharniol-coated rounds were brutally effective. Each shot punched clean through its target and Conway guessed they carried enough momentum to do some damage to whatever was standing behind. The closest aliens crashed to the floor and the row after them fell at the same time, like a choreographed demonstration of simultaneous death.

  The sound from Torres’ gun cut out and Conway was sure she hadn’t emptied a full magazine. She swore and stepped away to try and clear the jam. The aliens further back strode rapidly across the bodies, with a horrifying speed.

  “Die, you bastards,” said Kemp, opening up again, this time with his gun in the right place.

  Freeman and Conway did likewise. The sulfurous scent of bullet propellant was mixed with a new odor from the hot tharniol. The scent reminded Conway of the few times he’d been inside the propulsion area of a fleet warship – it was like a mixture of electricity and cut steel.

  Conway’s magazine hit empty without his gun jamming. He pulled out his one and only spare mag and swapped it in. The action didn’t take him longer than two or three seconds and by the time he was done, Kemp and Freeman had finished off the last of the enemy, leaving the corridor filled with corpses. The pressure lifted and the lights brightened.

  “How’d you like that, alien assholes?” asked Kemp angrily. He swung a kick at the nearest body before Conway could shout at him to stop. Kemp’s boot connected with the torso of the creature and he nodded to himself in satisfaction.

  “Kemp, you idiot!” yelled Torres. “You could have ended up like one of those Raggers!”

  “Yeah, that would have sucked.”

  “That’s all you’ve got to say?” she asked in disbelief.

  “Well I’m alive, aren’t I? And now we know that it’s safe to touch them when they’re dead.”

  Conway shook his head. “Correction – we know it’s safe to touch them when they’re dead and when we’re wearing our combat suits.” He peered closely at Kemp. “How do you feel?”

  “What’s wrong, sir? Have I started shriveling up or something?”

  “Nope, you’re as unlined and ugly as ever, Private.”

  “Did you get them all?” asked Wrekstin from the front of the bridge.

  “I think so,” said Conway. “There are no more outside this door in any case.”

  “How’d they get onboard?” asked Kemp. He looked as if he wanted to kick the dead body again, but held back.

  It was a big concern. “I have no idea,” said Conway. “Let’s get these bodies off the bridge and we can think about it.”

  With trepidation, he grabbed the arm of one of the shadow aliens. It was strange in his hand – he felt resistance, but it was also yielding. “Like it’s only part solid,” he said, aware the others were watching him.

  Conway dragged the alien off the bridge and dumped it on top of another one. The body was heavy, as if it was far denser than the sponginess of its flesh suggested. He checked the palm of his gauntlet for any sign of decay. It looked fine.

  “I wouldn’t go scratching your ass with that hand, sir,” said Kemp. “Not until you’ve washed it.”

  “Shut up and give me some help.”

  They got the bridge clear. The engagement hadn’t lasted more than a few seconds and the attackers hadn’t made it any more than a couple of feet inside. The door closed, though it didn’t make Conway feel entirely secure.

  Kemp handed out some of his tharniol bullets and everyone reloaded their magazines.

  “What’s going on here?” Conway asked, trying his best not to rub off the grey powder as he pushed in bullets. “How did those things get onboard and why were they waiting outside the bridge?”

  “Those are very relevant questions, Lieutenant,” said Wrekstin. “You need to think further ahead.”

  Sometimes Conway preferred to be spoon fed an answer and now was one of those times. Nevertheless, he gave it some thought. His mind didn’t fail him.

  “If it happened to us, it could have happened to one of the attack fleets.”

  “Yes.”

  The next conclusion was even worse. “Not only that, the attack fleets don’t have the same countermeasures crap that the Zemilius is fitted with. If they encountered any warships like the one we came up against, it’s possible they will lead a new enemy straight to our front door. Damn, why didn’t I think of that sooner?”

  “It doesn’t matter, Lieutenant,” said Wrekstin. “The timings weren’t right for us to warn anyone.”

  “But we have to warn them now.”

  “And hope we’re not too late,” said Park.

  “I assume your planet Rundine is the return point for the mission?” said Wrekstin.

  “Yes, that’s what I was told.”

  “We will make them aware upon our arrival at Evlax. We cannot afford to lose the Zemilius.”

  “Can we make it in time for an FTL comm to travel from Evlax to Rundine?” asked Torres.

  “Yes, without much spare,” Wrekstin confirmed. “Though I’m not sure what preparations we can make in the short time available.”

  “I want to fight,” said Kemp.

  “Me too,” said Freeman.

  Conway felt the same, but he accepted the realities. “I don’t think that’s an option. This is one we have to sit out.”

  With his body full of nervous energy, Conway led Kemp and Torres out of the bridge in order to hunt down any more of the aliens which might be onboard. It didn’t take longer than thirty minutes to complete a thorough sweep and reassure himself that the interior was free of hostiles. The search uncovered no hull breaches and nothing to suggest how the enemy might have arrived.

  “Teleportation maybe,” said Torres.

  The idea was superficially appealing and though Conway wasn’t going to argue it, he wasn’t about to spend too long guessing at alternatives either. They returned to the bridge and prepared themselves for what was going to be a frustrating return journey.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The flight from Qali-5 brought Captain Jake Griffin mixed emotions. On the one hand, the Raggers wouldn’t be building anything on the planet again, whilst on the other, Attack Fleet 2 had suffered exactly seventy-five percent losses. Of the 140 spaceships that initiated the assault, only 35 had made it into lightspeed, many of those badly damaged.

  The Hurricane had suffered missile and railgun strikes, resulting in the loss of twelve personnel from its maintenance team, who’d been incinerated when the hull was breached on the lowest deck. The damaged area was contained, but the deaths weighed heavily on Griffin’s mind.

  Not only was the Hurricane in a bad way, its ammunition stocks were almost depleted. It was carrying only a handful of plasma missiles and interceptors, and two low-yield nuclear missiles remained in one of the upper clusters. The rest of the fleet was headed for Rundine, so he didn’t expect any requirement for a weapons launch. Even so, Griffin liked to be prepared.

  “I still feel shit about leaving Lieutenant Conway behind,” said Dominguez. “I keep telling myself that war has casualties, but nope. Not working.”

  They were four days into the nine-day return flight. So far, the crew had got on with business and not much had been said about the mission. Griffin didn’t like abandoning Co
nway either. He kept telling himself that the man was more than likely dead already when the nukes went off. However, the details on what exactly had gone on inside the Ragger facility were sketchy at best and nobody had seen Conway’s body.

  “Hey, we got the big man back. Mister Fleet Admiral Stone, if you please. He’ll be sitting on the Trojan, planning the best way for us to kick ass,” said Lieutenant Brandy Shelton. “That’s got to be worth something, right?”

  “Yeah, it’s worth something,” said Dominguez. “In a different way.”

  “And we hurt the Raggers real bad. We might actually beat those skinny slimebags now.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Still not working?”

  “No.”

  The Hurricane was shaken by renewed turbulence and Griffin was thrown against his harness. He grimaced – the turbulence was worse than ever and it hadn’t stopped for a moment since they began this flight. Sometimes it was bad and sometimes it was in the background. One way or another, it was always there.

  Griffin checked the instrumentation panel. Everything was in the expected position. Unconvinced, he accessed the raw data which fed the displays and considered checking through it for anomalies. It was a big job, one he didn’t relish and also something he probably wasn’t capable of finishing.

  He opened an internal channel to the lead technician, Lieutenant Jimmy Atwell.

  “Yes, Captain?” said Atwell.

  “This turbulence doesn’t seem right to me – it’s the worst I can remember.”

  “Me too, sir. It’s getting worse every flight.”

  “You noticed that as well?”

  “Yes, sir. Most of the technicians know it as well. At least those of us who live long enough to detect the pattern.”

  “I’m worried in case it’s a fault in the ship, rather than an external issue. The bridge readings tell me everything’s fine. Are any of the instruments faulty?”

  “Not that I know of. I’ve got a team checking everything on a round-the-clock shift. And it’s not like we’re just doing a visual either, sir. I’ve got them plugging diagnostic kit into everything.”