by Kal Spriggs
“I think both of you are wrong,” Marcus said. “I’m the dashing hero, here to sweep the damsel off her feet, and pilot her away to safety after the rest of you die horribly at the hands of the homicidal terrorists and maniacal AI.”
Mel frowned at him, “And who exactly is this damsel?” She couldn't believe that he meant Stasia... and she wasn't really certain how she felt about him if he meant her.
Marcus flushed, “Ah…”
“Seriously, though,” Bob said, “Anyone got any bright ideas for escape?”
“Da, that’s easy,” Stasia said. “We need a ship.”
“This thing’s got a couple drone fighters and bombers right?” Marcus said, working on the next door.
Mel sighed, pushing him out of the way, “Yes, and a repair drone, and a supply drone. None of which are designed to carry passengers. None of them have FTL warp drives either.”
“Well, this thing built one—“
“It’s had a lot more time than we have,” Mel said. “Besides, any of you know how to build a normal warp drive, much less an FTL drive?”
None of the others spoke.
“How many more doors?” Marcus snapped, as the door opened on yet another short corridor blocked by yet another blast door.
“We reach the machine shop in fifty meters,” Mel said. “Hopefully it’s got machinery capable of doing the job.”
“Hopefully?” Marcus frowned, “Did you just use ‘hopefully’ in the context of ending all our lives?”
“Beats opening doors for a few more hours to reach a weapon’s battery, right?” Mel threw that one back at him and waited for his inevitable response.
“Ummm… I’m still hung up on the whole blowing myself up thing,” Marcus said.
“Hey, remember, you’re the dashing hero, right?” Bob smirked, “You don’t know the meaning of fear, or adversity, or…”
“Does the snippy sidekick ever make it out alive?” Marcus growled.
Bob looked thoughtful, “Depends on the movie, why?”
Marcus gave Bob an evil look and Mel couldn't tell how serious he was when he said, “Well, this hero is about to kill the sidekick.”
***
Colonel Frost looked down at his four bound and gagged men.
“Untie them.” Presumably the enemy had taken their weapons, their supplies, their armor, and even their clothing. “Stand them up.”
The four men looked hangdog at him once the others had them stood up. Colonel Frost heard growls from the other men.
“You surrendered without a fight?” Frost asked, his voice calm.
“They had us surrounded, Colonel. Bob was with them, lured us one way, and the others came from behind,” the largest man spoke. His name was John Arthur Paulson; he’d come from Foster and was far more mercenary than fanatic.
Colonel Frost drew his pistol, “Do you men know who the Romans were?”
Paulson spoke, “Yes, Colonel, they were a people on Earth. They had a big empire, in Europe.”
“Yes, they did,” Colonel Frost tapped the pistol against his leg. “They had large empire because they had the best soldiers in the world, at the time. They had a policy for when their men mutinied, called ‘decimation.’ The disloyal troops drew straws in groups of ten. They had to beat the man who drew the shortest straw to death.”
The four men hugged their arms against themselves, looking nervously at the dark faces around them.
“I’m not a Roman, I’m not building an empire... I’m trying to overthrow one,” Colonel Frost said as he holstered his pistol again. “Get these men weapons and some clothing.”
He turned, staring down the corridor. The other people had left the doors behind them open. Perhaps they didn’t want to waste time closing them. Perhaps they didn’t think they needed to guard their backs.
Either way, it left him and his men with a clear path to follow.
“Captain Roush.”
“Sir.” The other man moved up to his side.
“Once those four have equipment, put them on point as we follow the enemy.”
“Sir, we don’t have any body armor for them,” Roush said. He licked his lips nervously. He gave a quick glance back at the four.
“Put them on point,” Frost said. “When we find our former prisoners, we’ll have casualties, and we can consolidate body armor.”
“If they’re on point without body armor…” Roush’s voice trailed off as Frost gave him a dark glare. “Yes, sir, I’ll have them out on point.”
***
The automated machine shop hummed and buzzed as robotic arms fed machinery.
The six stared in with shock. Lathes spun, rotary presses turned, and laser cutters sliced metal into the required forms. More robotic arms took machined parts from one machine to the next. At the near end of the shop, a queue of filled robotic carts waited beside the door. At the far end, a forge was producing steel.
“Well… I didn’t expect this,” Mel said, staring at the ordered confusion. She watched a heavy steel plate rise from the floor, pulled by invisible tractor fields.
“Obviously there’s some significant damage remaining to be repaired,” Brian said. “Really, this thing’s amazing. That it can cope with such an unusual situation at all shows far more stability than any AI I’ve ever heard of.”
“Right and it’s going to kill a planet,” Marcus said, “Gee, I sure am glad they made this thing so smart.”
Mel snorted with laughter at his dry tone.
Brian looked over at the man, his face unreadable. “Humans always seem to make things without thinking the consequences through. You ever stop to think what makes you eligible to play God? To pick and choose what deserves to live and what doesn’t?”
Bob strode past; “Let’s leave theological debate for another time. We’re talking about preventing peoples’ deaths.” He looked at Strak. “What will do the job?”
Strak frowned, “I think…” He looked around the shop, “The laser cutters might do it, but I’m certain the forge will.”
“You’re sure?” Stasia asked.
“Hot enough to melt steel… yeah, that should do it.”
“Let’s go, then,” Mel sighed.
They started down the length of the shop. As they approached they slowed, blasted by the the heat from the furnace. The roar of circulating air was deafening; she couldn’t look into the heart of the forge because of how painfully brightly its molten metal glowed. A robotic cart approached it, dropped a load of metal ingots into the air.
She pointed, “There! A tractor field, feeding the forge!”
The others could barely hear her over the furnace’s noise. Strak stared hungrily into the forge for a long moment and then nodded. Started towards the next approaching cart.
“Get down!” Marcus shouted. He tackled Mel.
She slammed into the metal deck. She grunted as they slid up against the back of a spinning lathe.
“What are you doing?” she shouted.
He drew his pistol and leaned around the lathe. Even right next to him, she barely heard the gunshot against the noise of the forge. He ducked back around the lathe, and she saw sparks fly up from the edge of the machinery. She felt an impact, something striking the heavy metal behind her.
She peeked around her side to see at least a dozen men near the machine-shop door. Looked around for her companions.
She found Bob and Brian immediately. Both crouched behind nearby machinery. As she watched, Bob returned fire with one of the captured submachine guns. Mel saw one of the lead terrorists fall.
Mel saw a wisp of brown hair. Stasia hunkered behind a projecting doorway. She was only a few feet away. If she gets time, she can get it open.
She didn’t see Strak.
She saw the antimatter cylinder, though. One of the feeder carts passed it.
She tapped Marcus on the shoulder and then pointed at the cylinder. He shook his head. She scowled at him. She surged to her feet.
He kicked
her feet out from under her. The air left her lungs in a startled whoosh. She landed on her back and stared at the bullets that traced through the air where she’d stood. Marcus shouted in her ear, “They’ve got us pinned. I won’t let you commit suicide for no reason!”
“I got body armor!” Mel shouted back. It was true enough, though the body armor off one of the mercenaries made a poor fit.
“This range, they’d hit you in the head,” Marcus shouted.
Strak evidently felt differently. He surged out of his cover; she hadn’t even seen him sneak near the cylinder. He moved faster than she thought the heavy-set man could, reaching the cylinder before the terrorists could fire. A laden cart approached and he rose to his feet, ready to hurl the cylinder.
The first bullets caught him in the chest.
“No!” Mel shouted, sprinting from behind the lathe. Marcus shouted behind her, but she had eyes only for Strak.
The mutant man stumbled back. Bullets impacted his legs; blood spurted. He dropped to his knees, bullet striking his arms. In a last feat of strength he hurled the cylinder.
It struck the side of the cart.
Then bounced off, rolling towards Mel. She sprinted harder as something whispered past her ear. A pair of weapons flashed brightly – the terrorists were firing at her now, she realized, and ran harder.
Her fingers brushed the metal cylinder.
Something hit her.
Pain blossomed in her chest. In slow motion, she felt a line of impacts from her left hip up across her chest. The impacts spun her body, driving her into the ground.
She landed on her side her head and face pointed back towards Marcus.
She tried to breathe, tried to scream, but her chest hurt and her lungs wouldn’t move. Marcus started from cover; no, she wanted to tell him. It’s pointless. I’m dead.
Brian caught him, and dragged him back behind cover.
Good, she thought, at least he won’t die for my mistakes.
Stasia dodged through the door. Brian threw Marcus through, then dove through the open door himself. Bob followed them, firing his pistol twice more, the muzzle flash bright in a room that seemed to grow darker.
Mel tried to force her lungs to move. She wanted to call out but couldn’t; it hurt too much. The world started to go gray and she twitched her arms feebly, trying to push herself up. Her eyelids started to grow heavy and stars appeared as she blinked. light-headed.
So this is death, she thought. Too bad it hurts so much.
The last thing she saw before the world grayed out was the door as it shut behind her friends.
***
Colonel Frost stared down at the corpse lying next to the antimatter core. The forge’s heat slapped at him like an angry beast. “Get the cylinder.”
The fanaticism of these opponents startled him. They would kill themselves to deny him victory? Didn’t they know what they gave their lives for? They either had no concept of the stakes, or something drove them, some purpose he didn’t understand.
He looked over at Rawn. “How’s your sister?”
The young man seemed angry: “You shot the hell out of her. How do you think she is?”
Frost turned an icy glare on the younger man, “She tried to kill us all. You’re lucky I didn’t shoot her in the face. Will she live?”
Rawn shrugged. “She might have some cracked ribs. She wore body armor taken from one of your men.”
“One of our men,” Colonel Frost corrected, automatically. “Don’t forget who gave me this idea.”
“Yeah,” Rawn said. He looked away. He glared at an inoffensive milling machine.
Frost sighed, “Go care for your sister. Find out why they wanted to kill us all, including themselves. Try to learn their other plans before we find out the hard way.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” Rawn asked. He looked dubiously at his sister, “She never listened to me.”
Frost smiled. “Tell her the truth, that’s always a good start.”
Rawn scowled, “She won’t believe it.”
Frost grabbed Rawn by the collar of his ship-suit and slammed him up against the bulkhead. He lifted the younger man and glared into his eyes.
“I’ve lost five good men just now,” he snarled. “Two died earlier. And before that, we lost our ship and twenty more of my people. I don’t care what you have to do. Get the information I need out of your sister... or I will.”
He dropped Rawn to the deck and strode away, “Captain Roush!”
“Colonel?” The other man moved up.
“How are the wounded?”
“Yorel we can move. Brest and Mathis need some serious attention as soon as possible.”
Those two were the only survivors from the men on point. The other two, including Paulson, had died of their wounds.
“Will they live until we reach Vagyr?”
Roush shook his head.
Frost sighed. He looked at the deck plates. “Are they conscious?”
“Yes, Colonel.”
He walked over to the three men. He knelt by the side of Mathis. “How are you, son?”
Mathis wheezed, “Been better, Colonel.”
Frost looked between him and Brest, “Got a hard choice with you two.”
“Where’s the doc, boss?” Brest asked. The fresh bandages on his side were already stained dark.
“Doc was on our ship,” Roush said.
“We gonna make it?” Mathis wheezed.
Colonel Frost looked over at the five bodies, set against the far wall. “Probably not. Maybe. We don’t have any medicine. Most of it was taken when they captured you. No painkillers anyway.”
He looked away from the tears on their faces. “We can’t keep you doped up. Either you live or you die, but if you live, you’ve got six days to suffer through.”
“Do it,” Mathis wheezed. “Do it quick,” he coughed and spat blood.
Brest just gave a sharp nod, unable to speak.
Frost sighed and drew his pistol.
Roush spoke, “Sir, do you want me to—”
Two shots rang out.
***
Apparently, Mel had discovered, even oversized armor stopped bullets just fine. And even stopped bullets could hurt like hell.
Every breath was agonizing, but trying to hold her breath hurt too. Then she took another breath and it hurt worse again. She didn’t know if anticipation made the pain even worse but right now she was wishing the bullets had killed her.
The terrorists had tied her hands in front of her. And her ankles, as though the agony in her chest meant she could stand, let alone walk.
Their leader shoved her brother against a wall; it seemed they had a pecking order here. She couldn't hear what they said, though some part of her hoped that the rough treatment might shake some sense into her brother.
As Rawn approached, she glared at him; he didn’t seem to want to look at her. Finally he stopped only a few meters away and stared at the deck plates.
“Well?” Mel asked. She had to bite her tongue against the pain in her chest.
He managed to shift his stare to her boots. “What are they planning on doing now?”
“Why should I tell you?” Mel glared. “You’re helping the same scum that murdered our parents. They’re going to use this ship to kill more people.”
She started at two gunshots, her head jerking over to where the terrorist leader stood. Her jaw dropped: “Did he just kill his wounded?”
Rawn glanced over, his face solemn.
“It was a mercy. You took our medical supplies. We can’t keep them alive till we reach Vagyr.”
“So he shot them?” Mel demanded. “You sure do pick the best of friends!”
Rawn scowled and kicked the bulkhead next to her. Then he cursed and threw himself down next to her, his back against the bulkhead. “You just see what you want to see, don’t you?”
“Oh, yeah, I see my little brother, who I loved and trusted working with the people who killed our pare
nts,” she said, her voice hard. “I really want to see that.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rawn said. He let out an exasperated breath. “You never know what you’re talking about.”
“Then enlighten me,” she snapped.
Rawn closed his eyes. “Guard Free Now didn’t kill our parents.”
“Oh, sure… did that nice gentleman over there tell you that? The one who just killed two of his wounded men?”
She rolled her eyes. How stupid can he be, she thought, that he believes their words.
“It wasn’t a GFN operation. The men who did it thought they’d been recruited. They had their own grudges, but neither of them had any real ties. One of them was a convicted arsonist. The other had a history of mental issues.”
Mel snarled, “Yeah, I know all that. I read the police file—”
“They were recruited by a Guard Intelligence Agent,” Rawn said, his voice flat. She stared at the raw hate in his face, which made her own anger seem sullen in comparison. “A scientist by the name of Verene Malus wanted to defect. She wanted passage out to the Periphery, thought Century might be a good place to hide. He contacted Mom and Dad, and they said they’d help.”
“Where’d you—”
“The agent had to kill the scientist. He wanted to make it look safer for the others to stay with the Guard, to stay on UN member worlds. He recruited a pair of dupes, and had them plant the bomb that killed Mom and Dad.” Rawn turned his eyes on Mel. His dark eyes looked like burning coals, hot and angry. “The worst part is… he failed to kill Malus. The bitch panicked at the last minute and decided to stay. She didn’t even show up.”
“How do you know this?” Mel asked, hating herself for how her voice was pleading. Rawn can’t know any of this information, she knew. He couldn’t have known about such a crime and not told me.
There was no reason he wouldn’t have told her, not unless he wanted to protect her. Why would my little brother want to protect me? Dreading. If this were the truth, she had lived a lie for the past six years of her life. How much worse would things be if she had gone into Guard Fleet?
Rawn spoke, his face hard, “I know, because that agent had a change of heart. He came to regret his actions. He wanted to make things right.” Rawn’s face contorted, “As if that was possible.”