Frank nodded, and with a hop of nervous excitement, set off at a sprint to the far end of the deck where the cable was leeching off the ship.
Mason looked to Ethan. “Clear! Take-off approved.” Ethan gave him the thumbs-up and gunned the throttle, pulling into a patrol pattern around Dawn and watching as the squad approached the hangar entrance.
Then the first bolt hit. Pulsating green fire spit out from a freshly opened wound on the DRAC’s hull, sending it careening to one side. Ethan yanked on the control stick, righting the craft only to come under more fire a second later. He pointed the nose down at his attackers and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. A rapid succession of sharp clicks told him there was nothing in the magazine to be fired. The DRAC was defenseless.
“Need the signal now,” he said, shouting in reaction to another shot from below.
“On it.” One of the marines, indiscernable from this distance, ran to the edge of the flight deck and fired off a flare. It floated gracefully into the sky before exploding into a shower of red sparks that faded to orange, then died. Ethan could only hope the message was received.
The DRAC bucked wildly as he attempted to evade the Naldím attacking him, but more and more shots found their mark and the DRAC slowed with each hit. Suddenly, the starboard engine failed, spitting out smokey flames on its way to the grave. The gunship would not stay airborne much longer.
No matter how many intricate turns Ethan pulled to compensate for the lack of thrust, the altimeter dropped by the second. The flight deck rushed past him, followed by the charcoal-gray hull of Voyager Dawn, and the criss-crossed pattern of the landing struts. He gunned the throttle one more time, hoping in vain it would steady the craft, but it only slowed his fall. The DRAC hit the ground with a momentous crash, sending up a plume of dust and debris and knocking Ethan unconcious.
He awoke seconds later, blood rushing back into his head to fill in the spots in his vision. Outside, a dozen Naldím were converging on the downed vehicle. Ethan’s rifle was out of reach, and the cabin’s frame had bent inwards such that his pistol was trapped against his thigh. There was nothing he could do but let them come.
The Naldím directly ahead of the DRAC came up against the hull, ejected a jagged bayonet from the inner workings of his weapon, and with a single, practiced motion, swept it back then lunged forward. The canopy shattered and Ethan barely dodged the breaching blade. It buried itself in the headrest with a thunk before the Naldím extracted it, pulling a wad of cushioning and upholstery with it.
He was about to strike at Ethan again when he was suddenly swept aside by a white blur that dwarfed him, screaming furiously as it plowed over the enemy. It came to a halt to shift its momentum, and Ethan recognized it as one of the mutant cousins of the Naldím, but white-skinned and pale-eyed like the ferals. He hoped its arrival heralded reinforcements.
Seconds later a hundred ferals poured out of the forest like an avalanche of muscle and claw, ripping into the Naldím line and tearing it asunder. Hundreds more of their furry companions navigated the rippling mass, swarming Naldím and clawing them to death. One, however, opted to come to Ethan’s aid. It was unmistakably Waffle.
“They really came through, huh?” Ethan said to him, grunting as he pulled off his seatbelt and fell through the broken canopy. Freeing his pistol from the wreckage, Ethan joined the fight, heading the charge toward Voyager Dawn.
The cargo elevator was open, home now to an array of Naldím technology. The ferals cleared the gap between the ground and the ship’s belly easily, scuttling up the elevator’s pistons like bugs. Ethan, not nearly as adept a climber, opted to fire a rappeling line over the edge of the cargo bay above. He began to climb, vaguely aware of a few scattered Naldím still on the ground, but more concerned about what awaited him within.
His question was soon answered. Reaching up to grip the edge of the cargo bay’s floor, Ethan found his hand in the vice-like grip of a Naldím, who yanked him up and hurled him onto the floor. He slammed hard into the diamondplate metal. Flipping over onto his back, he tugged his pistol out of its holster and fired point blank at the Naldím, nailing his attacker in the chest and head successively. The Naldím’s lifeless body tumbled into the open space behind it.
Ethan activated his comm. “I’m inside. What’s your status?”
“Lots of bad guys,” Ford answered, breathing heavily. “Got them surrounded from the inside.”
Not stopping to wonder what Ford meant, Ethan rushed forward, flanked by his feral army. He was bound for the hangar halfway between the reactor and the flight deck, and if he could lead the ferals there, they would be able to clear the entire path for Ford, Mason, and Briggs. It was easier in theory than it proved to be in practice.
The ferals barreled through the tight corridors like a force of nature, never losing momentum, but the Naldím were there equals in physical combat and their betters in technology, and now that they had recovered from the suddenness of the attack, they were striking back hard.
For every stretch of torn carpet the ferals crossed, they lost a significant fraction of their numbers. Screeching blasts of energy erupted from the intersections where the Naldím had taken up defensive positions, and Ethan’s pistol was the only weapon opposing them. The allies’ progress was quick but bloody.
In the rush, Ethan barely registered the distinctive staccato of rifle fire. He stopped short and looked left down the perpendicular hall to see Ford and Mason taking cover behind a doorframe, unloading an stream of lead into an advancing pack of Naldím. Briggs was fiddling with the door’s control panel.
Checking over his shoulder, Mason saw Ethan behind them.
“What are you doing here?” he shouted, flinching as a green bolt rocketed over them.
“Bringing in the cavalry,” Ethan answered. He pointed down the hall through which the ferals had disappeared.
“That’s dandy,” Ford growled, “but we’ve still got a few problems on our ass.” Another volley slammed into the door frame, and the squad took cover. “What’s the point in hacking the door closed if it doesn’t actually close, Briggs?” Ford shouted.
“Something’s gone wrong,” Briggs grunted. He yanked another wire out of the panel’s inner workings.
“I’ll cover him. The rest of you get going,” Ford ordered. Exchanging his spent Switchback for a shotgun, Ford stepped close to Briggs and began pouring buckshot downrange.
“They’re good, let’s go.” Mason led the way, he and Ethan tailing the ferals, but they didn’t get far. An explosion rocked the ship behind them, and they both turned to see a burst line spewing flame into the corridor. Through the haze, Ethan saw Ford slam into the closing door. It continued to seal, pinning him against the frame. Briggs worked frantically to reverse the process.
Finally the door relinquished its death grip, and Briggs rushed in to pull Ford to safety. Another line burst further down the hall, temporarily halting the Naldím, though only long enough for Briggs to hide Ford’s mangled body in the ready room.
“Don’t leave him behind!” Ethan shouted over the roar of the burning fuel. Briggs pushed through the fire, which singed his armor but left him mostly unscathed.
“He’s alive, but we can’t look after him right now,” he shot back. “If we don’t finish this, it won’t matter.”
Grudgingly, Ethan agreed, and they continued toward the reactor.
The reactor room was eerily quiet. The Naldím were occupied with the ferals in the maintainance tunnels. Mason and Briggs set to work disabling the Naldím additions to the chamber, while Ethan attempted to contact Rebecca and Frank. Frank was the first to respond.
“We’ve got a problem,” he said, his voice shaking slightly.
“What kind of problem?”
“The bomb. It went off, but it didn’t do anything. No damage. I’m sorry, Ethan.”
Ethan repressed a weary sigh. “It’s okay, Frank. Stay on the flight deck and watch the entrance. Shoot anything that isn’t us. W
e’ll be up there as soon as we can.”
“Okay. But how are we going to destroy this thing?”
Ethan racked his brain for a minute, wondering what – if any – technology they possessed could dent a Naldím structure. Then it hit him. He turned to Mason.
“Can you open the hangar doors?”
Mason shook his head. “Not until the power’s back on. Only electricity flow in here is coming from that Nellie cable.”
Frank, listening in, piped up. “You could probably reroute power from the cable to the doors.”
“That’s doable,” Briggs agreed. “I can open the flow regulators if Topper can plug the cable into an access panel.”
“I can do that,” Frank said. Footfalls over the comm told Ethan that Frank was already making his way back to the cable.
“Pappy’s going to be right giddy when he finds out all that technical grooming actually came in handy,” Briggs muttered, getting to work on a control console.
“Then let’s make sure we get home to tell him,” Ethan said. “I’m going to the hangar. Open the doors as soon as you can.”
“Right.”
Ethan left in a sprint, encountering no resistance as far as the airlock. The hangar itself, however, was a warzone.
A splinter group of ferals had infiltrated the room, and the Naldím were locked in a furious melee with them. Ethan’s alien fighter was leaning on its side, knocked off the landing struts that had been assembled for it, but it was no worse for wear. The only problem was that it was on the far side of the hangar.
The ferals’ numbers were dwindling, so Ethan had no time to waste. He charged, pistol snapping incessantly at the enemy. A Naldím bulled through the battle, barring Ethan’s progress, and lunged. Ethan dropped into a slide, firing upwards at the Naldím’s wide torso. The Naldím halted Ethan’s volley prematurely, however, grabbing him by the neck halfway through the slide, and drawing him up to eye height. It was only then that Ethan recognized him.
“Thar’o?” he gasped, disbelieving.
Thar’o narrowed his eyes, his gills rumbling. “You good,” he said. He sounded mournful, even sorry. “But have kill you.” Thar’o pulled a blade from his belt and made to bring it across Ethan’s throat. Ethan unloaded the rest of his gun’s magazine into his enemy’s gut. Protected by his organic shield, the shots only staggered Thar’o, but it was enough for Ethan to escape his grasp.
Ethan charged. They exchanged blows, Ethan barely able to withstand the superior strikes of his opponent. Each sent Ethan reeling, but also fueled his anger, and nothing could stop him.
Time ground to a halt, Ethan’s objective forgotten and his fury driving him to absorb each punch and respond with one of his own. There was nothing but them, battling with lethal intent, and Ethan had never hated the Naldím so much. Every punch he threw, every bruise he received was reminder of what he was in this for. It wasn’t about survival anymore. It was about revenge.
Then Thar’o landed a blow that flung Ethan away with rib-cracking force; he was grounded. The Naldím advanced, snarled, and raised his metal-plated foot over Ethan’s face.
From somewhere out of Ethan’s view, a wave of ferals intercepted Thar’o’s killing strike, pushing him in half a dozen directions at once, shattering bones and wrending skin. He fought back, vicious and mad as any of them, but he was outmatched. They tore at him savagely, savoring their kill, and eventually Thar’o stopped struggling. He laid back and began to chant softly.
A prayer to the Great One, Ethan realized. Thar’o was getting what the Naldím wanted: a glorious, painful death.
Getting slowly to his feet, Ethan approached the carnage. As he approached, the ferals parted, offering him the death blow. He did not know what to say to the dying Naldím, the enemy, but also the closest thing he had to a friend during his stay in hell. Finally, he settled on two words.
“I’m sorry.” And he was.
The Finale
The world was silent as Ethan walked to the fighter. The battle for the hangar in its death throes behind him did not penetrate his ears. Shellshocked, there was only one thing he could do: go forward. There was chatter in his comm, but it was also inaudible, uninetelligible. He did not care. It was somebody else’s problem now.
No, he thought forcefully, trying to shake himself back into reality, the fight’s not over yet. Not by a long shot. His pace quickened slightly, and the fighter’s canopy rolled open to greet him. He shook his head again. He had to get back into the fray.
“Ethan! Where the hell are you?” Mason was shouting.
“Sorry,” Ethan responded quickly. “I’m in the hangar. I’m in the fighter.”
“Now he tells us the plan,” Briggs said, somewhere in the background.
“Got the door controls online, but there’s some sort of Naldím lander out there,” Mason reported, “I don’t want the hangar open longer than it has to be.”
“Copy,” Ethan replied, settling into routine. He was back in his element. “Open it.”
The bulkheads moaned ghoulishly, slowly letting in a stream of sunlight and a view of the forest beyond Dawn.
Ethan plugged his brace into the control sphere and turned it, lifting the fighter off the ground. As soon as the doors had opened wide enough, he leaned on the throttle, shooting out of the ship and into the open air.
He took quick stock of his surroundings. The lander had settled in the clearing, and was deploying Naldím across the grassy terrain. For a moment he considered diving down and strafing the lander, but the space between the trees and the ship was not large enough to make a proper run. He had to stay on target.
He pivoted the fighter toward the cable and began his approach, locking onto a weak point in the structure.
“You clear, Frank?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Go for it.”
Ethan squeezed the sphere and twin beams of neon light flashed across his vision, pummeling the cable with its maker’s own deadly power. A wiry tendon snapped, and Ethan pulled the ship around for another pass.
With each flyby, more and more of the cable stripped away, until finally, something inside it ruptured. Electricity arced out in every direction, searing the hull of Voyager Dawn and igniting the nearest treetops.
“Cable’s down, cable’s down!” Ethan yelled exuberantly, not even trying to hide his elation.
“And reactor’s up,” Mason called back. “We’ve got power!”
“Rebecca?” Ethan said, redirecting his attention from their immediate victory. “What’s your progress?”
Silence.
“Does anyone have eyes on Rebecca?” Ethan asked desperately.
“RFID puts her on the bridge,” Briggs reported.
Ethan jammed the fighter forward, pulling in close to the wide window that wrapped around the command center. There were flashes within, lighting up the room like an angry fireworks display. Coming around to the front, Ethan could see more clearly. Rebecca had been backed into a corner, unloading every weapon she had at a stream of Naldím coming in from the elevator. Each one that broke through her rain of fire was downed by a bloody, slashing cut from her knife, but they just kept coming.
“Rebecca?” Ethan tried again, peeling reluctantly away from the bridge.
He got one word in reply. “Busy.”
She was not going to last on her own. Her position was failing by the second, and it was only a matter of time before her defenses collapsed.
Ethan brought the fighter around in a wide arc and targeted the bridge.
“Get out of there,” he said, fingering the trigger, “now!”
The glass exploded and Rebecca’s scaly black figure dove expertly through it. Ethan fired everything he had. Whether it was the electrically charged air left over from the firefight, or simply the sheer amount of firepower Ethan’s craft possessed, he could not say, but before he could complete the attack, the bridge erupted in a spectacular fireball, blasting Rebecca forward onto the sensor array and shoving the
fighter so violently back that it nearly came to halt.
The fighter stalled, and Ethan just managed to right it in time to land hard on the hull plating, a few meters short of crushing Rebecca.
He fell out of the cockpit, bending over his broken rib and limping as he became aware of a searing pain in his knee. Rebecca, impossibly unharmed, dusted herself off and came over to him.
“You okay?” she asked dryly.
“I’ll be fine,” he gasped, “thanks for asking.” Ethan pulled off his helmet and flopped onto the warm metal, wanting desperately to rest.
There was a noise below, like a horde of banshees, and Ethan bolted upright. The Naldím were not finished with them yet. Their reinforcements were still on the ground, and this time, they were ready for a fight.
Ethan and Rebecca ran to the edge of the sensor array and peered over the edge at the clearing below. Nearly a hundred Naldím swarmed across the ruins of the prefab colony, headed for the ship at full tilt. The elevator was still extended, and there was no doubt they could scale the struts as nimbly as their primitive counterparts.
Ethan swore. Rebecca raised her rifle, hastily counting rounds, then took aim. But there was no need. Ethan’s heart leapt in surprise as a wall of razor-like muzzleflashes exploded along the forest’s edge, raining death on the rearmost of the Naldím force and causing the others to stop and take defensive positions. The firing was relentless, ripping into the unprepared Naldím and bringing them down by the dozen, until finally the last one fell, and the firing stopped.
It was only as that noise came to an end that Ethan realized another gun had joined the volley, not raining fire on the Naldím troops, but rather on their ship hovering five thousand meters above, which had sunk into the atmosphere to deploy the cable.
Voyager Dawn’s guns pounded away at the exposed Naldím hull, buckling it and shredding its insides with vengeant ferocity. The structure began to collapse, folding in on itself, instigating a brilliant burst of green flame. Ethan and Rebecca collapsed on the bow of the ship and watched the spendid explosions as if it were a fireworks display. It was a sight Ethan would never forget.
Voyager Dawn Page 22
