by Joshua James
“This is stupid. This is stupid. This is….” Clarissa had her plan. There was no time to go back, regroup, or rethink it. A second before the crab crashed into the front of her hoverbike, the former spy pulled back on the controls.
Clarissa’s hoverbike scraped the top of the crab as it lurched over it. She couldn’t believe it as she landed on the thrust bubble on the other side. It was shaky, but she was alive.
The crab pilot must have been furious at this point. For two of those ships, taking out a handful of hoverbikes should have been easy.
“On me!” ordered Ada. She realized they weren’t going to be able to keep this up. They had to deal with that crab; otherwise it would eventually run them down, one by one.
“What are you thinking?” Wan asked her.
“I think you know.”
Wan gulped. “He’s moving too slow for that.”
“Not in this mess.”
Clarissa and Congo followed Ada and joined in making a tight circle, kicking up a tornado of dust and dirt that swallowed them up. The crab, undeterred and determined to kill these pests, flew towards the tornado. The pilot fired into it blindly, hoping to get lucky. Then he extended the sickle blades on both sides of the cockpit, hoping to snag one of them or cut them in half, maybe take a head or two.
To the crab pilot’s horror, he saw a riderless hoverbike fly out of the mini-tornado of dust and dirt heading straight toward his cockpit. There was barely time to scream before the world turned into a fireball.
Ada and Wan rolled to a stop on the soft soil below, both in a haze. Wan stood first and looked up at the sky.
“And that’s that,” he said as he watched the crab flip spectacularly in mid-air, the hoverbike protruding out of the decimated cockpit, and then blow to bits as it smashed into the ground. He knocked black dirt off himself. “I’m glad my strategy could work twice.”
Ada had landed harder than Wan, who seemed to have a knack for falling down and getting back up. Then again, they all did at this point. As she stood, Congo and Clarissa landed next to them.
Congo chose to climb up onto Clarissa’s hoverbike and leave hers to Ada. She took it gratefully, and rolled her eyes when Wan offered to drive. He hopped on right before Ada left him behind.
There was no time to celebrate. Ada and Clarissa had to keep riding fast. The forward battleship that had initially released the crabs was now settling lower than the rest of the fleet, firing her big ship-to-ship cannons at the little hoverbikes far below.
The only upside to being shot at from a battleship was that it took a little while for the shells to hit the ground, though what they lacked in accuracy they made up for in impact power. Ada and Clarissa just barely managed to outrun the blasts, though they were all heavily jostled as each shell impact sent dirt, rock, and flames everywhere. Both Wan and Congo held on for dear life. Clarissa and Ada pushed their hoverbikes as fast as they could go, but they were simply transports and had their limits. The extra weight didn’t help.
Ada’s hands sweated as she gripped the hoverbike’s handlebars more tightly. She knew that eventually the battleship above would zero in on them, and they’d be screwed. They had to find some cover, anything.
“Does this thing go any faster?” yelled Wan helpfully as he looked behind them, jumping a little bit with each shell impact. They were getting closer.
“Yes,” answered Ada as she tried to think. “But I’m not in a hurry.”
Wan had some sarcastic response, but Ada ignored it. She spotted a sign in the middle of the Europa wastes. It pointed to the left, towards a small mountain range. On it was the UEF military logo and what looked at first to be a random assortment of letters and numbers. She recognized the UEF code.
“Doc! To the left!” Ada yelled out. She pointed towards a small path through the mountain range. Her thinking was that even if it didn’t provide that much-needed cover, at least it led to the base, which surely wouldn’t take kindly to the sight of AIC ships.
Ada and Congo sped down a narrow path, one in front of the other, winding through rocky hills and the sides of mountains. The other battleships were low enough now to add their own cacophony of explosions to the mix, raining down fire. Surely they saw what was ahead and didn’t want to send their whole fleet into what was almost guaranteed to be a buzzsaw of anti-air defenses.
Bits and pieces of rocks flew everywhere, stinging and bruising every sliver of exposed skin on Congo, Ada, Clarissa, and Wan. Their surroundings did provide some cover, though, and absorbed a lot of the impact from the battleship’s cannons, but the resulting shrapnel was so much worse than the dirt and dust of Europa’s wastes.
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Ada said, trying to simultaneously outrun the battleships’ fire and draw them in.
Ada and Congo’s persistence paid off when they heard the sound of explosions from above. They looked up and saw the forward battleship getting peppered with bullets and missile fire. A squadron of UEF fighters zoomed into view shortly after. No longer concerned with the survivors on hoverbikes, a trio of battleships altered their lines to deal with the incoming fighters.
The last of the ground-pounding impacts subsided as the ships worked to defend themselves from these new threats. Ada and Clarissa kept speeding forward.
They all saw the UEF’s main base towering over the rocky outcrops and hills on both sides of their narrow path. It was built into a mountain, offering the ultimate protection—or at least, the best possible protection out here. It wasn’t impervious to a sustained assault, but it would take considerable firepower to breach its defenses. Ada remembered why she didn’t recognize it. This was the back of the base, a restricted entrance full of equally-restricted facilities. She never saw this side.
Several warning shots were fired in front of the two hoverbikes as they reached the small opening that led to the huge iron doors that served as the back entrance. Ada and Clarissa heeded those warnings, stopped, and turned off their bikes. The doors opened, and a group of two dozen troops came straight at them.
“Okay. Let’s try this again,” said Ada as she stepped off the hoverbike and held up her hands in surrender. The rest of the group followed, hoping that they would be greeted with a little more hospitality than at the now-destroyed AIC base.
At the very least, Ada hoped they didn’t get thrown in a trash incinerator.
Four
An Alien Moon
Sydal made his way out of the hospital into the streets of the Lunar Dome. Those streets looked and sounded empty. That part of the moon was never bereft of some action, some activity. Witnessing it so barren was unsettling and ominous.
“Hello!” yelled out Sydal. He heard his own voice echo. There was no expectation that he’d actually get an answer. Instead, he just wanted to see any sign of life, any indication that he wasn’t alone.
Sydal crossed the street. Pieces of loose trash and paper were everywhere. He stopped right before reaching the other side, knelt down, and grabbed one. It wasn’t just random office paperwork or trash; it was of all things, a flyer. The detective couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a paper flyer, and was intrigued enough to read it.
Attention! You are all required to report for mandatory processing under the new laws enacted to protect you and your fellow citizens in this time of war. Processing centers can be found in the Lunar Civil Center, Nieman Forward, the Palisade, and Armstrong Center.
All residents of the Dark Side facility must report to the processing center in the Public Archive Building and the LTA Center. Again, this is MANDATORY. All citizens are required to report. Any and all citizens who do not comply will be subject to penalties. Remember, this is for your own protection and safety. The United Earth Federation thanks you for your cooperation and solidarity in this time of war.
Admiral Daisuke Honma
Sydal dropped the flyer. He didn’t understand what was happening. He knew it was something terrible, but there was a stark contrast between thinking that a
conspiracy was unfolding, and seeing the end result.
Though it took a lot to ignore the natural urge to investigate the mystery in the Lunar Dome, Sydal had a more important task. He needed to find and save his son, Matthew. All indications pointed to his son being at the UEF base on the moon, about fifteen miles from the dome. As he often had since Aitken Basin, the detective needed to find a ride.
Sydal wasn’t going to go to the docks. He figured that if there were still soldiers and cultists in the Lunar Dome, that was where they’d be. If he were them, that was where he’d post up, waiting for any stragglers trying to escape. So he had to think of an alternative. That’s when it hit him: an idea so obvious it hurt.
The LTA has a service station in the Lunar Dome, over by the tunnel to the water treatment plant. They must have some rovers and buses there, just waiting. And with the police override codes, I can take any of them. Okay, Matthew, daddy’s coming.
Bolstered by actually having a plan, the beaten-up, injured, and heavily medicated Sydal hurried down the street. He stayed close to the buildings on either side of the road, mostly store and restaurant fronts. If a patrol did come, he could simply hop inside one of them to hide.
Sydal made it out of the commercial area of the Lunar Dome, turning a corner, and then he could see the industrial district and the LTA station. The only problem was that there were two people wandering the streets between him and it.
Shit. Of course, when I’m almost there...
Sydal hid and craned his head around the corner to observe the two people. They were a man and an elderly woman. Both of them had trouble walking, like children learning to use their feet and legs for the first time. He didn’t know for sure, but he had a feeling that maybe they were products of one of the processing centers. They almost looked drunk.
Choices; life was about a series of choices. Depending on the choice you made, the outcome of your life—the good and the bad—came as a result. Sydal had made a lot of bad choices leading up to that moment. He’d made good ones, like marrying Maria and having kids. But in that moment, when he had to choose whether to continue towards the LTA station past the weirdos or look for a different route, it could have grave consequences. So he made his choice.
Sydal stepped out into the street. Pistol in hand, he walked towards the odd couple. The closer he got, the more their appearance bothered him. Their faces were twisted and loose, as if they were wearing the skinned visages of their victims. Neither of them talked; they just made odd guttural noises. A couple of times they bumped into each other, and snapped at each other like dogs or wild animals. That made him disengage the gun’s safety.
“Hello? Excuse me!” Sydal called out to the two people, since they didn’t seem to notice him. That was, until they did.
Both of the strangers looked up at Sydal. Their bottom jaws elongated, going down to their chests. Out of those mouths they let out high-pitched shrieks before running as fast as their wobbly legs could take them, straight at him.
Sydal wasn’t terribly surprised. He knew that Fredrich Bausman wouldn’t be the only one of those monsters. Still, it was disheartening and frightening. Because those two strangers were fully capable and, he had no doubt, had every intention of ripping him to shreds.
After brief consideration, Sydal realized running wasn’t an option. He was in no shape and frankly, he was angry and wanted to kill some shit. So he lifted his pistol, aimed it directly at the elderly female monster, and started firing.
All Sydal really remembered about his first confrontation with the Shapeless was the dodging, and the bladed hands and sheer ferocity of the creature. He’d forgotten that bullets didn’t do much of anything except annoy the monster. History repeated itself.
Sydal regretted not running instantly. He just wasn’t thinking straight, but it was too late now. With its head full of bullet holes, the elderly monster kept coming. Now there was no choice. He turned to run.
As soon as Sydal turned around, he was surprised to see a UEF military transport come screeching around the corner. There were two soldiers. One was behind the wheel. The other was on top, manning the gun.
“I knew it! We have some stragglers here,” said the soldier on the gun.
“Does that one have a pistol? I didn’t think they could actually do that, at least not yet. They’re still too young,” answered the driver.
Sydal froze in place, not knowing what to do. He was stuck between some alien monsters and a machine gun.
“Should we shoot ‘em?” asked the gunner. “Can I shoot ‘em?”
“You know the policy. Stray away from the pack and they get put down.”
Sydal, not wanting to wait to get shot, quickly raised his pistol and put a bullet in the shoulder of the soldier behind the mounted gun. Before he could get off a second shot, the man started spraying bullets wildly.
Sydal began zigzagging around, trying not to get shot. He dove behind a raised portion of roadway, but it exploded as the machine gun zeroed in on it. He lunged from behind it, shooting wildly as he hit the ground running again. He was so caught up in trying not to get shot, he didn’t pay attention to the two monsters, who hadn’t stopped coming forward.
The two Shapeless passed Sydal and went straight for the transport. Panicked, the driver put it in reverse and tried to outrun them. But they had gained momentum the more they ran, and had no trouble catching up with it.
Sydal got up off the street. For a second he watched the two Shapeless peel the transport open like a tuna can. Then they went to work on the driver and the bloody gunner. The detective heard the screams as he ran as fast as he could towards the LTA station.
As he ran, Sydal stumbled over his own feet. Something felt off, and it wasn’t just the painkillers. It wasn’t until he got to the doors of the facility that he noticed the blood that soaked the side of his leg, and the small chunk of his thigh missing. Whatever was between getting shot and getting grazed, that’s what had happened in his exchange with the transport-mounted machine gun a minute earlier.
There was no time to assess the wound properly. Blood still trickling off his boots, Sydal entered the station. Immediately it became clear that he needed a source of light if he was going to get anything done in here.
Sydal searched around with his outstretched hands for a light switch or anything to help him see. The only windows in the building lined the top of the wall near the ceiling, and they were shuttered. Only the tiniest slivers of light made their way through, not providing enough illumination to find anything. Rows and rows of rovers and buses made it even harder, sitting as dark looming Goliaths.
Sydal’s hand found a light switch, and he turned it on. One by one the harsh fluorescent lights that hung from the station’s ceiling sparked up.
There were vehicles as far as Sydal could see. Now there was no telling which were operational, which were there just for service, and which ones were no longer functional. He had to decide which one to take.
Sydal limped through the aisles of vehicles. He figured that since they were all in a line, he needed to choose a ride that was nearer to the door. Plus, he wanted one that was more low-key, which excluded the buses.
Sydal, still unsure how long he’d been in that hospital bed, how long his son had been missing, had to remember he was in a hurry. Yes, he was bleeding and hurting, but none of that mattered. If it was the last thing he ever did, literally, he was going to get Matthew off-planet.
There’s no time to be picky.
Sydal was about halfway through the deceptively large station when he heard the echo of the doors opening near the entrance. He made a calculated decision to hide, not knowing who was coming but guessing it was soldiers. His chosen spot was inside one of the buses.
He heard a voice from near the entrance. “The guy must’ve gone through here.”
“Is he a survivor or one of those things?” There was another voice, so Sydal knew there were at least two of them.
“He’s a survivor,�
� answered a third voice. The detective cursed to himself. He was hoping it was only two soldiers.
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
“Yeah, Franks, didn’t you hear the radio? He’s some kind of police officer or detective.”
Sydal silently moved towards the back of the bus. Careful not to reveal himself, he peeked up through the window. But he was so far down the line of vehicles he didn’t see a thing.
“A cop? How the hell did they miss a cop? Thought those assholes were the first ones rounded up.”
“Yeah, I don’t know how, but they definitely missed one. Those boys in 345th were never the sharpest of knives.”
“That’s a nice way to put it. Anyway, let’s search this place so we can get out of here.”
“You guys can search. I’m just going to follow that obvious blood trail on the ground. See where that takes me.”
“Phil, you’re acting like you actually want to find the guy. Let’s just walk from one end to the other and call it a day, instead of getting shot by some deranged detective. Whaddaya say?”
“I say I’m getting a promotion and you two are gonna be thrown in the processing center with the rest of those sad sons of bitches.”
Sydal looked down at the blood pooling around him. He’d been in such a hurry he’d overlooked the trail of blood he’d left behind from his thigh injury. When he looked through the window he clearly saw it on the floor of the station, leading straight towards the bus doors.
Sydal saw and heard one of the soldiers creeping up to the bus he was in. There was no doubt in his mind that the soldier would get on that bus and find him. He’d have to fight. That wasn’t ideal, but it was okay. He was more than willing to fight.
That willingness to fight dissipated some when Sydal checked his pistol and found that he was down to one bullet. His streak of bad luck remained untainted. He couldn’t risk using that last bullet. If he missed, then he just gave away his position, and the others would quickly find and kill him. If he hit the soldier, it would be the same outcome. The detective wasn’t a super soldier, cyborg, or hero. He was just a cop with one bullet left.