A dozen ATLAS monitors rose around him, displaying security videos from across the starship. On every video, the rahs were attacking, savaging tourists, hotel workers, crew members. King also had his implant turned on. Ten hallucinatory schematics hovered around him, translucent and glowing, mapping out the various decks and sections of the Freedom. On every schematic, glowing red dots showed the positions of the rahs.
Hundreds of aliens had boarded the Freedom. They were ripping through the ship, slaying everyone in their path.
King imagined that right now they were doing the same thing on Earth, and Hel'rah's warning echoed in his mind.
I'll devour your granddaughter.
"The bastards are making their way to the stern," Jordan said, watching one of the glowing schematics. They were sharing the same hallucinations, pulling the data from the ship's sensors.
"They want to blow our engines," King rasped. He scrolled through spherical avatars, found Darjeeling. He sent him a telepathic message. "Sergeant, are you seeing this?"
Darjeeling had just returned from flying the tugs. He was now in the stern of the ship, leading a group of soldiers. Alien screeches and gunshots sounded over the MindWeb connection.
"Yes, sir, I see the beasties," Darjeeling said. "We're tracking the enemy's movements. I've reinforced all hatches and access points."
The Freedom didn't have a real security force. They had a few guards. That was it. They were there to redirect curious tourists away from sensitive areas of the ship, not repel an alien army. Over the past hour, every soldier aboard the ship—gunners, warehouse workers, janitors, science officers, the lot—was called to join the security force. Some had firearms. Most just picked up pipes and swung them as clubs.
You go to war with the army you have, King thought.
"Darjeeling, I've received information from the midsection Mimori units," King said. "Some rahs have been moving through the HVAC ductwork, popping into various cabins from the vents above. I want you to guard all HVAC grates."
Darjeeling inhaled sharply. "They can fit into the ducts, sir? I've tried to chase Stowy there before. Even I can't fit in there."
King smiled wryly. Stowy had been a pain in Darjeeling's backside for three years now, ever since the girl smuggled herself aboard. King himself didn't mind her. Stowy had become something of a mascot for the crew. Sometimes the girl even popped out of hiding and joined the crew for poker or beer. But to Darjeeling, she was an archenemy. The old man probably hated her more than he hated the rahs.
King put Stowy out of his mind for now.
"Apparently the rahs can detach their abdomens like lizards detaching their tails," King said. "It makes them small enough to fit into tight spots. They retain their claws and teeth and are as deadly as ever."
"Understood, sir," said Darjeeling. "Nasty buggers they are. We're understaffed back here in the stern, but we'll do what we can. These are good boys and girls under my command, and we're giving the enemy hell."
"I'm going to try to find you reinforcements," King said. "Hang tight. And Godspeed, Sergeant Major."
"Godspeed, sir," Darjeeling replied, then returned to the fight.
King stared at the schematics and video streams, seeking a spare security unit. The few guards aboard the Freedom had their hands full. The rahs were concentrating their attack on the hotel, which spanned several midsection decks. The glowing maps showed the rahs as sterile red dots. But in the video feeds, King saw the true horror. He watched, helpless, as the enormous spiders burst into hotel rooms. As they ripped people apart. As they fed on flesh, chortling and slurping. In some rooms, they were laying eggs inside the women.
King knew what he had to do.
It broke his heart.
"We must divert security forces from the hotel to the stern," he said. "Jordan, oversee the redeployment. Leave one security squad in the hotel. Send the rest to help defend the Freedom's Talaria drive."
Jordan spun toward him, frowning. "Jim, the spiders are tearing the tourists apart. There are thousands of civilians in the midsection, still alive, still under our protection. We need our forces there."
King gave his XO a hard stare. He then passed his gaze across the rest of the bridge, staring at his crew, one officer at a time. They were all looking at him, shocked.
"If the rahs reach the Talaria drive, they can blow this entire ship to kingdom come," King said. "Then every tourist dies. Then we all die. Then the Freedom is gone and out of the fight. Our ship must survive and reach the Mercury armory. Earth needs us! If we must sacrifice a few thousand lives now but potentially save millions—we must."
"Jim." Jordan spoke softly. He put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you sure about this? If we survive, we still need to live with ourselves."
A growl rose in King's throat. "You have your orders, Lieutenant Commander. Execute them."
Jordan nodded, a slight frown creasing his brow. "Yes, sir." He got on his MindLink. He began connecting to security forces in the hotel, to divert them to the stern.
We've been best friends for a long time, King thought, looking at his XO. But right now we are officers on a warship. We must act like it.
King watched the monitors. He watched as guards left the hotel. As rahs swarmed in. As tourists died.
A few bridge officers began to weep.
What they did not see, could not know, was that King's heart shattered.
This has always been the burden of command, he thought. That we must sacrifice the few to save the many. And sometimes we must sacrifice the many to save the world. This is a weight I will always carry. We all will.
"I can feel them inside me," Mimori whispered. The android was shaking. "I can feel them move through my veins. Parasites. Digging. Clawing." She fell to her knees. "It hurts."
King approached her, held her hand. "Hang in there, Mimori. You're going to be okay. We're fighting the infection."
She looked up at him. Fear filled her mechanical eyes. "It hurts, sir. Why did they program me to feel pain?"
Of course there were no parasites inside the android. Mimori was feeling her true body. The Freedom. When the ship hurt, she hurt.
He patted her hand. "You can disconnect your interface, Mimori. The androids feel more acutely than the ship. You can turn off. You can sleep."
The android shook her head, hair swaying. "No. You need me. I—" She gasped. "Sir! The rahs! I can feel them. Moving fast. Moving here! They're heading to the bridge." She pushed herself into the corner, trembling. "Death. Death is coming."
* * * * *
King stared at the floating schematics. He saw them. A cluster of red dots moving through the corridors, racing toward the bridge.
The bridge was located deep inside the Freedom's prow, far from the external hull. Pre-World War III starships had their bridges located right along the outer hull, only a thin wall separating them from space. But the Freedom was a warship through and through, born in the crucible of war, and her bridge was like a bunker.
Yet the enemy had broken through. They were moving fast.
"They'll be here in moments," King said.
Darjeeling, I could sure use you and your boys here right now, he thought.
He drew his sidearm, cocked the loading handle. The gun clicked. The dots on the map moved closer. Closer still. King could hear them now. Terrible banshee shrieks and scraping claws.
King looked at his bridge crew. They stared back, pale, eyes sunken. None of them had slept last night. They were nearing exhaustion. Other than Jordan, none of them had ever seen combat. Some had been only babies during the last big war. Others had not been born yet. They were all, King knew, thinking of their families back home. He had to motivate them. To lead them.
"We did not choose this war," King rasped. "And you did not choose to be fighters. When you took this job, you thought you were going to manage a museum. Well, that's over. Over the past two days, you've all proved to me that you are brave. That you are warriors. I'm proud of every one of
you. The enemy is about to break onto our bridge. And when they come storming in … we will give them hell."
Jordan raised his own firearm. "Just like the good old days, huh, Jim?"
"Except we're twice as old," King said.
"And in your case, twice as ugly," Jordan said.
The red dots moved closer on the schematics. The screeches grew louder, vowing agony and death.
King and Jordan stood back-to-back, guns at the ready. There had been many times like this during World War III, just the two of them, back-to-back, as the enemy closed in. King wondered if this was how they would die.
"Hey, dumbass," King growled.
"What, ugly?" Jordan said.
Claws began pounding the bulkheads, the hatch, trying to break in. The spiders screamed.
"If we gotta die now," King said, "I'm glad to die by an old friend."
"Not me," Jordan said. "To have them find my body by a corpse as ugly as yours? It's embarrassing." He softened his voice. "Let's live today, Jim."
"I'll certainly try."
The door to the bridge burst open.
The rahs stormed inside.
* * * * *
King fired his gun.
His bullet hit one rah in the eye. The creature fell. At once, several more rahs charged over the corpse.
King fired again. Again. At his sides, his crew were firing their own firearms. They tore another rah down. More kept coming.
For the first time, King got a good, close look at the bastards. He had seen Hel'rah on video, and that had been bad enough. In real life they were even worse. They stank. A stench like bad meat and worms after rain. Their eyes were like red boils full of blood, and their saliva sizzled when it hit the deck. Claws swiped through the air, graceful in their deadliness, claws like birds of prey made from onyx, like katanas forged in collapsing stars, like shards of a broken black mirror, reflecting King a hundred times.
He aimed at one rah at random, emptied his magazine. Most of the bullets hit the rah's exoskeleton and ricocheted. But one bullet hit an eyeball. It burst, splattering red juices. The rah tossed its head back and screeched. Despite losing an eye, it was still alive. The bullet must not have gone deep enough to hit the brain.
King loaded a fresh magazine. He shot the beast with the mutilated eye. Again. Again. He tried to reach the eye socket, to drive another bullet into it, but the rah still had its head tossed back, protecting its eyes. Instead, King shot its roaring jaws. Bullets tore into the palate. Still the alien refused to die.
The creature leaped at him.
King raised his arm, deflecting the blow. Pain roared up his arm.
The rah knocked him down. King fell onto his back, grunting, and the beast roared above. Its drool sizzled over King. Its claws rose high, ready to rip King apart.
King kicked one of its back legs.
The spider buckled and fell onto King, nearly crushing him. But at least the front claws hadn't torn him apart.
One of King's arms was still free. He planted his pistol against the ravaged eyeball and pulled the trigger.
His bullet drove through the socket and into the brain. The rah gave a pathetic mewl, then died, still crushing King beneath its girth.
King shoved the alien off and spat. Damn things weighed a ton.
All around him, the battle raged across the bridge. One crew member, a young nav officer, already lay dead. A rah was ripping out her innards. A tactical officer stood against a wall, one arm severed. He was firing with his remaining hand.
Jordan shot a rah through the eye, slaying the beast. Two more dead rahs lay at his feet.
"Three already, Jim!" the XO said. "You're slowing down."
A ventilation grate opened above Jordan.
"Above you!" King shouted and fired his gun.
A rah emerged from the vent, leaping down onto Jordan. King kept firing, knocking the beast back. He finally hit an eye. The creature mewled and twitched, kicking the air. It had detached its bloated abdomen to fit into the vents. It was all claws and teeth—just what it needed to kill.
"More coming through the vents!" King said. "Guard the vents!"
They came from above. From below. Through the door. Through the walls. They were everywhere.
Another crew member fell.
King reached for another magazine of bullets, but he was out. He pressed his boot against one dead rah, gripped a claw, and tore it free. Just like ripping a claw off a crab. He swung the severed limb like a blade, holding the enemy back.
Jordan ran out of bullets next. He was still wearing his parade uniform, complete with the ceremonial saber. He drew the sword. The two men stood back-to-back, wielding their blades.
"Jim?" Jordan said. "It's been an honor."
"We're not dying yet," King growled. He thrust the claw at a rah, aiming for an eye. The beast roared and lashed its own claw. King parried. Another spider leg swung, and King grunted in pain. Blood spurted from his arm.
Another claw thrust.
Pain blazed on King's leg. He roared and fell to his knees.
He looked around him, saw dead crew members lying across the deck. The rahs were eating some. One woman was already gone up to the navel. The spiders had eaten the rest.
Mimori stood among the carnage, eyes shut. The rahs were ignoring her, perhaps recognizing her as a machine, not flesh to consume. The android seemed to be in shock.
"Mimori!" King barked. "Mimori, do you hear me?"
"It hurts," the android whispered.
"Mimori, activate your combat mode."
Her eyes snapped open. She looked at him. "I'll have to untether myself from the ship's mainframe. I won't be able to fly anymore."
"Do it," King said, swinging his severed claw, desperate to hold the enemy back.
A rah laughed before him.
"I won't kill you, Commander King," the alien said. "I have orders to bring you to my mistress. She has special suffering planned for—"
King rose from his knees, thrust his claw, and impaled the creature through the eye. The rah twitched and fell, yanking the weapon from King's hands.
He looked up at Mimori.
The android's eyes began to glow white.
Her hair buzzed with electricity. The strands rose as if she floated underwater. A crooked smile touched her lips.
King had not activated Mimori's combat mode since the last war. When in this mode, Mimori was detached from the starship. She could not see through the sensors, hear through the microphones, or feel space around her. She lost nearly all the grand body she normally had, remaining small, alone.
In combat mode, she was lost. She was broken. She was insane.
Every time she entered combat mode, Mimori lost something of her soul. A part of her mind never recovered.
At this time, she was no longer the beloved starship avatar. All her processing power was dedicated to one purpose: slaughtering the enemy.
A rah, noticing the changes in the android, lunged toward her.
Mimori ducked.
The rah's claws swung over her head.
Almost casually, Mimori grabbed one of the claws and twisted. The exoskeleton cracked. The leg came free.
The rah, still alive, opened its mighty jaws in a roar. Those jaws could swallow Mimori whole.
The android thrust the severed claw, driving it through the rah's palate and into its head.
Another rah leaped at her.
Mimori tossed the dead spider at the new threat. Both aliens tumbled to the deck. A third rah lunged at her. Mimori sidestepped, dodging the claws, and thrust her hand forward, fingers forming a spearhead. She drove her hand into an eye, then her entire arm. She pulled her arm free, scooping out brains.
Across the bridge, the rahs turned toward Mimori, abandoning the humans. They recognized that here was the real threat.
Several rahs leaped at Mimori from all sides.
And then the android began to fight in earnest.
She ducked, swerved, leaped,
spun. She lunged over a workstation, kicked off a wall, somersaulted through the air. She kept grabbing claws, pulling them free, stabbing, killing. Alien corpses piled up on the deck.
King and the others helped, killing whoever they could. But the android put them all to shame.
Finally it was over.
The android stood atop a steaming pile of dead spiders. She looked at King. Her face was expressionless, her eyes haunted. Glowing eyes. Insane eyes.
One day I might send you so deep that you can't come back, King thought.
He got on his MindLink.
"All Mimori units!" he said. "Stop whatever you're doing and go into combat mode. Destroy the enemy."
Jordan inhaled sharply. He was bleeding from a cut on his side. Black spider blood covered his saber. "Jim, we'll be flying blind, tumbling through space like an asteroid. We've never taken all Mimori units offline."
"We've never needed to," King said. "We do now."
He watched them on the monitors.
Across the ship, the androids' eyes became white. And they began to kill.
* * * * *
The lights dimmed across the Freedom. The engines died. Even the air stopped flowing through the vents. The ATLAS monitors shut down across the bridge. The ship floated aimlessly.
The Mimori units normally handled so many of the ship's basic functions. Now all her copies were offline, and the human crew was busy fighting too—at least those who were still alive.
The ship tumbled through space, a dead chunk of metal.
But the MindWeb was still online. That technology had been retrofitted onto the Freedom only a few years ago. The Mimori units did not operate it. King's telepathic abilities were still intact.
He hallucinated a few video feeds. They floated around him. He watched the Mimoris fight. Seven of them served aboard this ship, ranging from prow to stern. Now their eyes shone like neutron stars, and they became berserkers, charging at the enemy.
In the midsection, the rahs had overrun a mess hall. A Mimori unit let out a battle cry and leaped into the sea of spiders. She slaughtered many, but the aliens swarmed over her. One rah tore off the android's left arm. Then they took her legs. Still she fought. With one arm, she tore at them, killing them until they ripped off her head.
Starship Freedom Page 30
