Armada

by Paul Teague

  Roach fought his own battle at her side. Two of the creatures had clamped onto him, one at the top of his leg, the other at the side of his arm. He was swatting away, and Kearney had to shout to get him to stop.

  “Hold still,” she said, working the barrel of her pistol under one of the OctoBots. Brains sprayed across the corridor when she pulled the trigger; then Roach stabbed at the other OctoBot and tore it away from his leg.

  “Persistent little fuckers,” he murmured.

  Then, in the darkness, Kearney heard a deathly scream.

  “That’s the Unborn,” she said as she snatched her rifle up and holstered her pistol. “Doesn’t sound like it’s in intellectual mode.”

  There was another scream from along the corridor and a deep rolling sound along the deck, like a bowl running along wooden boards. A Marine’s head, torn off by the Unborn, came bouncing down the corridor.

  She stepped over the disembodied head, then yelped as something stabbed into her leg, just above her ankle.

  “You little fucker,” she hissed, searching for the OctoBot. Her leg was burning, as if a piece of hot wire had just been thrust through her flesh. She tried to bring her rifle to bear, but her vision was blurring, and she could feel herself losing focus.

  “Roach,” she slurred, taking an uncertain step backward. The OctoBot followed, taking its time, case glinting as Kearney’s lamps played light across its surface.

  “Kearney?” said Roach, turning back towards her. His rifle spat and the OctoBot at Kearney’s feet shattered.

  Kearney raised her hand to wave her thanks, but it all seemed so difficult. Why was she here? The corridor was spinning around her, and the air seemed so cold. And why was it so difficult to speak?

  There was a roar; then something passed her in the dark, moving at great speed.

  “Thanks, Roach,” she muttered. Her voice sounded strange. Roach was silent, but she could still sense him at her side. She turned so that her torchlight shone towards him, and his headless body dropped to the floor.

  The Unborn was in the corridor, only a few metres away.

  “Mason,” she hissed, fighting to form the words. “New plan. I’m leading the Unborn to you.”

  “Okay,” said Mason. “Good job this is an internal corridor, otherwise I might have breached the hull. I’ll warn the bridge to secure this section in case there’s damage. I’m ready when you are.”

  Kearney was struggling to stay conscious. Whatever the Bot had injected into her had slowed her down and caused her to lose focus.

  Unborn–Mason–trap. She kept repeating the words.

  The last two members of her team were dead, their status flags in her HUD turning suddenly red. She was alone, and now she could hear the Unborn searching for her.

  She ducked away, trying to lead the thing back towards Mason. She could hear heavy boots making their way up from the far end of the corridor, but that was a separate problem. She waited till she felt the beast’s fetid breath against her face, then she dived away, forcing herself out of its path. Whatever venom the OctoBot had injected into her had severely decreased her agility, and she stumbled as she ran.

  The monster turned fast, trying to figure out where she’d gone. It screamed and stormed towards her, arms outstretched to scoop her up as it blindly groped along the walls.

  Kearney felt like she was going to pass out, but she kept lifting her feet, forcing herself to keep moving. She ducked–more luck than judgement–as the Unborn caught up and swept past her. It charged along the corridor and Kearney staggered after it. Behind her, there still came the tramp of boots, but she couldn’t worry about that now.

  “Mason,” she said, slurring badly, “get ready.”

  The beast paused, turned, and roared. The light from Kearney’s lamps played across its head, but the beast stood motionless in the corridor. It took one tentative step forward; then Kearney, head pounding and vision blurring, dived under its arms and slid along the deck.

  She found herself at the intersection of the corridors. Was this the right way? Did she have to turn? Everything was so difficult.

  “Mason, help,” she managed, the words coming slowly. She struggled to keep her eyes open, but she knew she had to make one last effort. And now she could hear Mason, or someone, giving commentary to the bridge. His words sounded slow, but how could that be?

  She shook her head and pushed herself forward as the Unborn screamed and bounded after her.

  “Kearney has the creature now,” Mason was saying. “Brace for an explosion.”

  Kearney couldn’t work out what was going on. Where was Mason? And those boots. Where was the sound of those boots coming from? She staggered on, even though every part of her wanted to drop and sleep.

  “Run,” shouted Mason. Kearney looked up to see Mason waving at he, and realised she’d stopped. She took another step, but her feet were so heavy. Ahead of her, Mason pointed his rifle and fired, aiming at something behind her.

  Then there was a rumbling roar, and something smacked into her back. She felt herself fly through the air, mouth open in a silent scream. Then she crashed into a wall and tumbled down the corridor, ending up facing back the way she’d come.

  “Come one,” yelled Mason, lighting up the corridor with flashes from the muzzle of his rifle as he fired. “Come and get me!”

  All Kearney could do was watch as the Unborn came ever closer.

  “Igniting in three, two, one … and impact.”

  A powerful electrical field encased the monster, paralysing it, and then a high tensile net dropped from the ceiling. The Unborn screamed; then a small, shaped charge tore apart the beast’s flesh, killing it instantly.

  The corridor was suddenly quiet. Only the sound of boots on steel broke the silence.

  “It’s dead, Admiral,” reported Mason, “but there’s something else in this corridor.”

  He paused as a figure stepped out of the darkness. It was Hunter, a single OctoBot clamped around his head and a rifle in each hand.

  For a moment the two men stared at each other.

  “It’s Hunter,” hissed Mason, “and he has us cornered.”

  On the bridge, without a moment’s hesitation, Stansfield activated the device in his pocket to detonate the explosive device implanted in Hunter’s head.

  19

  “Is Hunter neutralised?” asked Stansfield.

  Lieutenant Yau looked at the Admiral, a horrified expression on his face, stunned that he would even consider using the device on Hunter.

  “Stop gawping, Lieutenant,” snapped Stansfield. “It’s a simple command decision, but not one I take lightly. Either I lose two Marines with no back-up, or a Penal Marine with a substantial catalogue of criminal activity. Whenever it comes to decisions about the welfare of the crew on this ship, I’ll make a similar call.”

  Yau said nothing, returning his attention to the console in front of him. He thanked his lucky stars that he didn’t have to make those decisions every hour of every day, but he still disagreed with what the admiral had done. Hunter had been one of them. It had only taken a short time for him to prove his worth.

  “Mason, confirm that Hunter is neutralised,” Stansfield said again. “Mason?”

  But there was no answer. Mason had other things on his mind.

  On Deck Three, Hunter was very much still alive. Mason wouldn’t have believed that Stansfield would press the button if he hadn’t heard his explanation to Lieutenant Yau, but he might as well not have bothered for all the effect it had.

  Mason stared as Hunter took another step, coming in close for the kill. It clearly wasn’t Hunter who was running the show; it was the OctoBot on his head. Kearney had crumpled to the floor in front of him and looked completely out of it.

  “Shit,” muttered Mason as he assessed his options. The Bot was the problem, not Hunter, but it didn’t appear to have complete control. Hunter’s face was a grimace of pain, and his movements were slow and jerky, as if both he and the Bot were s
truggling for command.

  Mason dared not shoot, in case he delivered a head wound to Hunter. If he could get close, he might be able to knife the Bot, but even that was risky.

  Kearney stirred, her legs kicking feebly as she struggled to fight whatever it was that had overpowered her. Mason could see that she had clocked Hunter’s presence and was aware of what was going on, but she was powerless to act.

  “Kearney,” he yelled, pulling an injector from a pouch in his armour, “can you stand?”

  She didn’t answer, which Mason took to be a bad sign. He scurried forward as Hunter raised his rifles. Mason thrust out his arm and stabbed the injector’s needle into Kearney’s thigh, pumping her full of RapidAdreno.

  “Get up,” he yelled, pulling Kearney to his feet as Hunter struggled with his OctoBot overlord.

  “Wassup?” said Kearney blearily, as Mason pulled her backwards past the intersection and into another corridor as Hunter finally fired.

  Rounds tore through the corridor, peppering the walls, the floor and the ceiling, and bouncing around the inside of the ship like balls in a pinball machine.

  Mason wrapped his armoured form around Kearney’s body, putting himself between her and Hunter, and yelled at her to wake up. The noise from the two rifles was huge, but in seconds it was over.

  “RapidAdreno,” said Mason by way of explanation as he released Kearney. She staggered a little, her balance off, but she was upright.

  RapidAdreno–also known as Bootneck marching powder–was a battlefield drug designed to give a soldier an immediate performance boost. It was exactly what Kearney needed, and she felt a surge of life as the drug took effect.

  “Thanks,” she managed. She was awake and functioning, but so, so tired.

  Then Hunter appeared around the corner, swinging a rifle like a club. It missed Kearney and smashed into Mason’s shoulder, knocking him back across the corridor.

  The rifle swung again, crunching into the faceplate of Mason’s helmet and snapping his head back. Hunter followed as Mason staggered back, raising his arm a third time, his movements now smooth and fluid as he aimed another blow.

  But Kearney yelled and pushed herself forward. Her rifle was gone, lost in the dark. She snatched her knife from its sheath and slashed it across Hunter’s calf, opening a deep cut.

  Hunter roared in pain and spun around. He raised the rifle, ready to club his attacker back to the floor.

  But Kearney’s mind was on fire. The RapidAdreno had flooded her system and given her an artificially raised sense of power and strength. Her vision was still blurred, but she spun on the floor, thrusting out her leg to kick Hunter’s feet away from him.

  Hunter crashed to the ground and landed across Kearney’s legs, pinning her so that only her arms were free. He reached out with his cybernetic arm and grabbed her neck.

  She felt the cold metal fingers tightening around her throat as she gulped to take a last gasp of air.

  And then Mason was there. He wrapped one armoured arm around Hunter’s neck and heaved back, while his other hand groped for the OctoBot. The three troopers formed a grotesque diorama, all straining against the others. As Kearney’s face began to turn red and her arms scrabbled ineffectually at the hand that choked her, Mason pulled at the OctoBot. The creature’s brain pulsated in its transparent casing, its needles deeply implanted into Hunter’s skull and spinal column.

  “Let go, you little fucker,” Mason seethed, pulling at the thing. He could feel Hunter’s skin beginning to tear as the feet that held the OctoBot in position dug into his flesh. The needles had pierced the bone, and Mason yelled as he heaved back on Hunter’s neck.

  But the OctoBot wouldn’t come away, and Mason had no intention of harming his fellow trooper if he could possibly help it.

  “Hold on,” he grunted, tightening his grip on Hunter’s neck and moving his free hand to grapple with the cybernetic arm.

  Kearney was thrashing at Hunter, trying desperately to remove his hand from her neck, but his grasp was unassailable.

  “Knife it,” gasped Kearney, “stab the fucker!”

  Mason nodded and dragged out his knife. He thrust it at the translucent container that enclosed the brain of the OctoBot.

  Hunter released his grasp on Kearney’s neck, moving faster than she would have believed possible. Mason’s strike was deflected by the cybernetic arm, and his knife glanced across the Bot’s case before slicing the skin of Hunter’s skull. The translucent container cracked and the sustaining fluid began to trickle out as Hunter roared in sudden pain.

  Hunter flinched back, pushing himself away from Kearney and kicking out. His sudden change caught Mason by surprise, and his grip slipped. Hunter heaved back, throwing off Mason. Then he turned and ran off down the corridor, heading off in the direction the Bots had come from.

  “Are you okay?” said Mason, pulling himself across the deck to check on Kearney.

  “Yeah,” she rasped, breath ragged as she heaved in air though her crushed throat. “Shit, that was painful. Did you disable the Bot?”

  Mason shook his head. “No. I damaged it, but he’s still raging about powered by that thing.”

  “Help me up,” she said, straightening her HUD. “We’ve got to get him before he goes to ground again.”

  Kearney stumbled as she moved to get back on her feet, and Mason put out his arm to steady her. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’ve got this, Mason,” she snapped. “Don’t give me that look! I’m running on RapidAdreno, I’ll be fine.”

  Mason retrieved his weapon as Kearney searched along the corridor for hers. “Shit,” she said after a few moments, “no idea where it went.” She took a rifle from a decapitated Marine.

  “At least you got the Unborn,” Kearney said as they jogged slowly along the corridor. “That bugger was frightening with the lights off.”

  “It was pretty darn scary with the lights on,” said Mason.

  “Mason, Kearney, sit-rep,” said Stansfield’s on the command channel. “Is Hunter neutralised?”

  “Negative,” Mason replied. He looked at Kearney; she knew what he meant. They were going to collude in a lie. “The Bot must have done something to disable the device.”

  “They’re clever things, Admiral,” said Kearney, ready to embellish the untruth. “I guess as they’re wired into his brain, they must have headed you off at the pass.”

  Stansfield could detect bullshit a mile off, and his sensors were on overload right now. “Just get the job done,” growled the admiral.

  “Roger,” said Kearney, muting the channel. “Arsehole,” she muttered, but only when she was sure he couldn’t hear her.

  “OctoBots,” shouted Mason, opening fire. Kearney joined him, the image intensifier in her HUD picking out the fast-moving Bots as they ran along walls and across the deck. The narrow corridor was even more claustrophobic in the dark as the beams from Mason’s helmet lamps splashed every which way across the surface.

  “Above us,” warned Kearney, raising her weapon to fire above Mason’s head. For a moment they fought back to back, tracking targets that came from all directions. Then, suddenly, there was nothing left to shoot at.

  “Any chance of some lights down here?” Mason asked the bridge, panting in the dark as he reloaded his rifle.

  “Negative,” said Yau. “You’re stuck on emergency lighting on that deck. Davies is looking at it now.”

  “Well, tell him to bloody get on with it,” snapped Kearney. “It’s not exactly a walk in the park down here, and the emergency lights are pretty fucking dim.”

  “We’re working on it, Trooper,” said Yau firmly, emphasising Kearney’s rank. “Yau out.”

  “Two moved over there,” said Mason. He fired a burst, then paused to reload while Kearney shot the other.

  “Round here,” said Kearney. “This is where they were coming from earlier.” She stepped over what was left of Roach, hoping he wouldn’t have too many bad memories when he was redeployed.
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br />   They entered a new corridor. This one was wider, and had warning signs and access restriction notices plastered over the walls.

  “Looks like the ship’s core area,” said Mason as the layout unfolded across his HUD. “Those conduits are where the last Bots seem to have clustered.”

  “Makes sense,” said Kearney. She peered around a doorway. “There are loads of the little eight-legged shits.”

  “And Commander Vernon,” said Mason. In the distance, an unconscious Vernon was being manoeuvred by the Bots into a large access chute that ran across the core. They’d managed to disable the secure grilles that were designed to protect the area, and it looked like they were taking the commander back to their nest.

  “We’ve got to get him out of there,” said Mason. He took a step forward and raised his rifle, but something cannoned into him and punched him across the corridor. He slammed against a wall, stunned despite his armour, and slid to the deck.

  “Hunter,” hissed Kearney as the huge trooper grabbed her once again around the neck and hoisted her off her feet. She swung her rifle around, but Hunter just batted it away with a grunt and lifted her up, slamming her first against the wall and then upwards, trying to smash her head against a low beam.

  Mason struggled against the lights that swam before his eyes, chest heaving as he tried to draw breath without throwing up. Hunter was right in front of him, but why was that important?

  Then reality snapped back into focus, and Mason saw Hunter trying to brain Kearney by ramming her into a ceiling beam. He was grunting with the effort, sweat soaking his fatigues.

  Mason wriggled forward and jammed his fingers as deep as he could into the gash in Hunter’s calf as Kearney kicked out, aiming for his stomach.

  Hunter reared back and roared, but he didn’t let go of Kearney. Instead he swung her around like a doll and slammed her into Mason. Then he reached out with his free hand and flipped the release on the stunned trooper’s collar.

  Mason flinched as his helmet fell away; then he gurgled as Hunter grabbed him around the neck. He scrabbled at the arm, but Hunter bore down on both him and Kearney, one hand on each of their throats.