“Tanto ground, this is Ichi actual, over.” Torres said confidently.
“Captain? Oh, thank God…”
“Identify,” Torres instructed.
“Payne, Sir, PO2.”
“Payne, are you currently under fire, over?” Torres said clearly and carefully as the transmission hazed out into static.
“Negative, but Specter and the Commander have gone after Rogers.”
“Wait, from the beginning, Payne. Where the hell is Rogers and why have Specter and Commander Brandt gone after him?”
“Sir,” Payne said as she forced herself to be patient. “We’ve been stalked by a pack of Va’alen, and they’ve taken Rogers. Only four of us are still combat effective; one of those is Turner, the medic, who is dealing with two times casualties. I’m ordered to provide overwatch for Turner. Specter and the Commander are right behind it.”
Payne had no more details to give, which made Torres have to bite back an angry retort, as he was sure Payne didn’t need the added stress. To add to his own worries, there was still no response from fleet. He was on his own, with no dropships, no shuttle, almost no troops onboard and was almost out of options.
“Take us into low orbit,” he said, “as close as possible to the ion clouds.”
“Sir,” Sarvanto asked, drawing out the word to sound like an accusation he would get from his mother, “what are you thinking?”
“Tac, how intermittent is the storm over their rough position?”
“Err, there are cloud gaps pretty often… but…”
“But what, Ensign?”
“But anyone who jumped a low-orbit insertion through this would be lucky not to get fried by an electrical discharge and burn their suit’s systems. Heard the term ‘fly like a rock’?” He raised his hand and lowered it slowly with an accompanying descending whistle, “Whoooooo…”
“Thank you, Ensign,” Torres said tersely.
“Sir, I must insist that you do not…” Sarvanto said, stopping as Torres stood suddenly.
“You have the bridge, Mister Sarvanto,” he announced formally, cutting off the polite flight officer before he could finish his official protest. “Try to establish comms with the fleet and get us some help here.” He turned and left the bridge, leaving them stunned at his sudden departure. Some of them knew how affected he had been by the loss of the ground team and the subsequent detention of Brandt’s replacement as a traitor. None of them knew how Eze’s betrayal had hurt him so deeply on a personal level. He walked down the corridor from the bridge and into the soldiers’ ready room, where the remnant of his ground force was assembled. They stood as he walked in, unsure of what to do when he walked past them to his own armor and opened it up. They stared at him as he stepped inside and powered it up, stepping down from the charging plinth and rolling his shoulders as though flexing tired muscles. Giving away his intentions by unpacking a ‘chute and a set of stabilizer repulsers which he attached to his boots, knees and shoulders, he turned as he heard noises behind him and saw all three soldiers loading into their own armor suits and gearing up.
“Planning on going somewhere?” he asked them innocently.
“You really think we’re going to hold our heads high when everyone finds out we let the ship’s captain jump out of a perfectly good ship when we stayed here with our thumbs up our asses?”
He left the ready room, walking out and into the next section of the ship, where the grizzled old armorer seemed to have anticipated his arrival and offered up a pistol and a submachine-gun. Torres locked them to his back as he anticipated a near-lethal drop from the lower limits of the void high above the planet and watched as the other troops armed themselves.
Torres smiled at them, activated the helmet on his suit and dropped through the tube to the empty shuttle bay.
Chapter Twenty-Six – Unnamed Moon Surface
Rogers came to as he was thrown across a room by his foot. He spun after he landed, skidding hard until his helmet clanged off the far wall.
“Ow,” he said sarcastically, making his annoyance at waking up that way obvious. His suit wasn’t the fully-armored and kind of war-capable rig that the fighting members of their party wore, as his was designed for survival as well as short-term void and atmospheric protection.
“Silence, filthy human,” the Va’alen snarled at him from its position pacing angrily by the door. Having just regained consciousness, Rogers registered the fact that the Va’alen had just spoken to him in English instead of his suit translating the snarls and hisses of its own language.
“You spea… aargh!” Rogers didn’t finish his question as a gnarled foot shot forwards to slam his chest back into the wall a second time.
“Ow! Asshole!” The Va’alen roared, so wired that it seemed unable to contain its rage. As Rogers’ wits returned to him fully, he noticed a presence in the room with them. Notice wasn’t the right word; he felt a presence. A floating consciousness at the back of his mind that pressed in on him. It pulsated and surged like powerful electricity running through a cable he was standing a little too close to, as a sensation of fear made a sudden assault on his bladder control. He fought it for a moment, then remembered that the suit would deal with it in a second and released his hold on fighting it. With that pressure and panic subsiding, his mind was free to explore the emotion he felt.
The feeling wasn’t fear as if it was his own reaction; more that his mind was being forced to imagine fear. When he realized that, it had no power over him. Another thing, he realized, was that the sensation was exactly the same as when the Kuldar he had met experienced an emotional response.
The enraged, pacing Va’alen monster, who still dripped thick viscera from his self-inflicted wounds onto the smooth deck, stopped the incessant movement. It arched its back slightly, shuddered, and grew unnaturally still.
“You, human,” it said in a quieter, more controlled voice.
“Last time I checked, dude,” Rogers said, deciding on first contact protocols straight from the cocky sarcasm playbook as his natural defense. The creature shuddered again and paced forward to lean down at him. He remained slumped against the wall as his eyes ran through the sub-menus on his suit.
“You,” hissed the alien as it pointed both right hands at him, “should not be here. This is our system; we have claimed it as our own.”
“Yeah, well,” Rogers began, his mind half on the conversation as he flicked through the long list of options on his HUD, “that’s the thing about humans. You see, we’re not really good at keeping to ourselves, if you know what I mean.” The Va’alen issued another roar as it seemed to fight with itself before growing still once more.
“You will all be,” it paused, seeming to stumble on the next word, “ee-radicatedd.”
“That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?” Rogers said back peevishly. “I mean, sure, write a strongly-worded complaint or something, but genocide? Too far, dude. Too far.” He managed not to cry out with a triumphant a-ha! as he located something useful. The suits had built-in features for high-altitude drops, oddly something that the human race had decided was a good idea for generations, and as that option was deemed a combat capability, there were defensive measures available to the driver. Defensive measures in this case meant flares.
“You know what I think?” Rogers asked, all sarcasm dropped from his voice. The alien didn’t answer. “I think you can shove it up your ass.” He activated the flares and clamped his eyes shut, expecting Ragnarok to come to the small room in an instant. Nothing happened. He opened one eye tentatively and saw the error message displayed on his HUD.
ERROR: INSUFFICIENT ALTITUDE TO DEPLOY COUNTERMEASURES
The low growl of the Va’alen pierced his panicked thoughts as it stomped forwards.
“I didn’t mean that!” Rogers tried quickly, but any other words were drowned out as he was picked up and slammed back down repeatedly by the enraged alien.
~
“Anything?” Brandt asked.
&nb
sp; “Two hundred paces, your two o’clock,” Specter shot back, having locked in on Rogers’ transponder. Brandt’s suit still had intermittent software failures after the glancing blow from the Va’alen energy rifle she now carried.
“I’m seeing no other enemy,” she said, nervous that such a large compound would only have a small detachment of defenders.
“Neither am I,” Specter replied in a tone that seemed to agree with her trepidation. They moved to the low building, constructed of the same material and in the same style as the abandoned outpost they had holed up in, only this was well-maintained and fully intact. Brandt stood to one side of the doorframe and scanned the open area behind them while Specter assessed the lock.
“Screw it,” he said after a few seconds and took three paces back to raise the alien rifle in his left hand. He gave Brandt a nod to step aside and fired a quick burst of three or four big pulses of directed energy that mangled the prefabricated metal of the building and caved the door inwards. He followed up the shots with two long, powerful strides and connected an armored boot to the remnants of the door, making it screech and complain as the tortured metal opened up to allow them access.
“Forty meters,” Specter said quietly, indicating a ten o’clock directed with the blade of his artificial right hand; the weapon still gripped firmly in his left and tucked into his shoulder.
They moved at a crouch, leap-frogging one another and covering every possible concealed place where an enemy with a weapon could be lying in wait. Brandt, despite the highly irregular situation, took a second to marvel at the thrill of working beside someone so highly attuned to her chosen career skill set, before she snapped herself back to the full reality. Specter stopped, right fist clenched up and away from his weapon, before the fist bladed into a flat hand once more and indicated a door dead ahead.
She hesitated.
Sure would be nice to call in some backup right about now, she thought. A blood-curdling scream sounded muffled from inside the room, and all hesitation left her mind.
~
Nathan Rogers, now feeling devoid of all of the bravery he had left, following his failed attempt to blind the alien and escape, suffered white-outs in his vision from being hammered off the bulkheads and deck of the small, dark room he was in. That room was his personal hell. A hell where an enraged alien was slamming his body around like a rag doll.
No, he thought, scratch that; like one of those species of apes that used to be endangered. Like its marking its dominance or something by displaying how strong it was.
His HUD flashed in and out as the connections were bounced around worse than any crash-landing was expected to cause, but in the moments when it was active, he saw the red health and injury messages pop up like error codes, and each subsequent one seemed to push him closer to unconsciousness and ultimately death.
WARNING: DAMAGE TO INTERNAL ORGANS – IMPACT TO SPLEEN DETECTED. SEEK MEDICAL ASSISTANCE IMMEDIATELY.
WARNING: INTERNAL BLEEDING DETECTED. SEEK MEDICAL ASSISTANCE IMMEDIATELY.
WARNING: FRACTURE TO RIGHT HUMERUS DETECTED. ISOLATING LIMB. SEEK MEDICAL ASSISTANCE IMMEDIATELY.
ERROR: UNABLE TO ISOLATE RIGHT ARM DUE TO SERVO MOTOR MALFUNCTION. SEEK SUIT ENGINEER ASSISTANCE.
WARNING: FRACTURE TO RIBS DETECTED. SEEK MEDICAL ASSISTANCE IMMEDIATELY.
WARNING: DISLOCATION OF LEFT KNEE DETECTED. ISOLATING LIMB. SEEK MEDICAL ASSISTANCE IMMEDIATELY.
The long feed of error and warning messages stacked up and provided a distraction from the cruel and savage beating he was receiving as his limp body was thrown against the walls over and over. The alien bellowed in rage and anger; a guttural, animal noise that spoke more of pain than of rage. It faltered, staggering on its feet and shaking as it froze before resuming its attack. Twice more it seemed to hesitate before the onslaught finally stopped.
“Get out of your metal skin, human,” it said to him. A human would have been out of breath from the exertion of so savagely beating someone, but the voice showed no indication of being winded. Rogers said nothing, instead kept his jaw clamped firmly shut as a tiny pinprick sensation stung the back of his neck. He knew it was his suit administering pain relief and a stimulant to keep him conscious, now that it been given a few seconds to take stock of his current state, and the pilot wished he could turn the function off so that he would be allowed to go off into unconsciousness quickly and not suffer for the extended period he feared would be his last interrogation.
He would have given anything at that point to be back behind the controls of a ship in the safety of the fleet. He cursed his childish need to be at the front of every line when a dangerous mission was on offer. He cursed himself for not undertaking more combat training or learning how to use one of the more complex armor suits that the fighting crew members used.
Then he realized that the feelings of regret and hopelessness and self-blame weren’t his feelings, and again he was being forced to experience something that didn’t originate in his own mind.
“Are you…” he hissed through gritted teeth as the pain racked him despite the drugs. “Are you trying to control my mind?” The question slapped him in the face as stupid, like he was believing the comic book science-fiction of his childhood as the aliens came to Earth and overcame the population with their mind control devices.
The Va’alen warrior paused again, seeming to fight its own body, and shuddered as if it was fitting, before it became suddenly still.
“I am controlling this body,” it said, “although it is very difficult because this one is experiencing the Path of Ending. The emotions it is feeling are too strong for any of my kind to control for long. Why are you not letting me into your mind, human?”
“Into my mind?” Rogers blurted out at the body of the proxy. “Are you insane? Of course I won’t let you into my mind!”
“How do you do this?” hissed the still Va’alen. “Does your metal skin protect you?” Rogers had no idea if the armor prevented the mind control – he still couldn’t get away from that imagery – but he was damned if he was going to admit anything. He stalled for time, in the desperate hope that help was on the way.
“No, my metal skin doesn’t protect me – you can’t penetrate my mind because I am stronger than you are.” He tried to fight through the pain and give a theatrical resonance to his words, but it was too difficult to endure. Plus, he winced in childish anguish at having said the word penetrate and tried not to giggle. He knew he was starting to be delirious as the pain meds and stress threatened to push him over the edge of reason. The Va’alen growled and shuddered again as it took a forced step towards him. He shuffled backwards against the wall and cradled his right arm as the forward momentum of his tormentor stopped again. The hulking beast shuddered and went still once more.
“It takes great strength to control this body,” it said, “tell me your secret and I will see to it that you live.”
“No,” Rogers growled back as he doubled down on his acting role, “spare my life and surrender, and I will see to it that you live.” Silence answered him as though his counter offer was being considered carefully.
“I… cannot control this body any longer… tell me your…” The Va’alen shook uncontrollably. It raked all four long, curved claws across its chest in a X to reopen the scabbed wounds and drip more thick fluid onto the deck as it opened its mouth wide and unleashed the largest roar Rogers had ever heard. It dropped its head to look directly at the pilot, coiled its body as it sank down onto powerful legs, and pounced.
~
They heard the roar through the metal wall as though it was inside their own helmets, such was the volume of it. A glance at one another said enough, even without their facial expressions being on display, and Specter took three paces forwards to slam a boot into the door where it met the frame.
It didn’t budge. He kicked it again and again until some play appeared in it and the sounds from inside grew louder. Those sounds were roars and snarls punctuated by metallic no
ises and muted screams. Screams of pain, torn from the mouth of a human being inside armor that must have been compromised.
Specter changed tactics, and instead of trying to kick the door in, he reached over to mag lock the alien gun to his back, where it failed to lock and dropped to clatter on the deck. He ignored the very human error he had just made by way of assumption, and hooked his gauntleted fingers into the gap created by his kicks. He tore at the door, bending the protesting metal with all of his doubly-enhanced strength until a gap appeared large enough to see inside.
“Move!” Brandt yelled from behind him.
A Va’alen, the same one who had rushed them with impossible speed and such unfettered violence in the nearby cave, attacked Rogers so ferociously that she was sure he was dead. The alien held something in the claws of its left arms that poured liquid onto the poorly-lit deck, and when Brandt realized in utter horror that it was an arm, still in the armored greave, she aimed her weapon and paused.
The beast froze and began to shake uncontrollably. It went into spasm, arms bending at unnatural angles as it convulsed and fell into a heap on lifeless legs. Even when prone on the deck, with black sludge leaking out in a widening puddle from its corpse, it still twitched as though willing any of them to come close enough to its claws, so it could tear them apart. Specter shoved her aside as he tore at the door again, calling Rogers by name over and over as he ordered the pilot to stay with him in a voice so firm yet full of empathy and emotion, that if it hadn’t been for the synthesized edge to his words, he would have been indistinguishable from the old Jake. Finally forcing the door open, they piled inside, finding Rogers unconscious. Specter hit the commands on the pilot’s comm device and breathed a sigh of relief as he saw that the automated protocols had saved his life and activated a tourniquet that was built in at strategic points to the limbs of their suits.
Conflict: The Expansion Series Book 3 Page 23