by B. V. Larson
So Zaxby argued, anyway. In Straker’s mind, those days Carla was aboard an enemy ship did nothing but add potential torture.
He occupied himself as best he could, exercising furiously, running VR military drills for his ground troops, studying the many reports about Hell’s Reach—lots of information, very little confirmation. And he drank too much. He vaguely remembered something he’d read long ago, about helplessness, drinking and knowing things. That’s how he felt—physically helpless, reduced to a mind that knew too much, yet not enough.
When Trollheim finally transited in immediately outside the Hellheim Nebula, it was a relief. Straker wished he could choose an arrival location nearer their target, but the amount of churning mass inside made the entire zone into curved space. As with a star system, once inside, sidespace was inaccessible—no fancy jumps, no easy escape. The ship would have to deal with the situation as it came.
In a way, it threw them back to the days of interplanetary travel, or even sailing ships: forging through unknown waters, risking hidden shoals or submerged rocks, keeping a sharp-eyed lookout for signs of sudden squalls, tides and currents—and potential enemies.
The bridge displays filled with information and the holotank built a map of the area within seconds. Off the ship’s armored prow, its usual long-distance view was limited by a wall of gas, particles and micro-asteroids—a brackish sea, a soup, filling the void. It seemed to be held together by a membrane of electromagnetic force, drawing a distinct barrier.
Inside, visibility would vary from mere kilometers out to millions, but seldom farther. Considering the usual distance from a star to a habitable planet was at least 100 million kilometers, this meant they would travel slowly, through a space-going fog.
Fortunately, gravimetric sensors should give them warning of the bigger masses around them—roughly anything the size of the ship itself or larger—but the faster they traveled, the more they’d run into. Shields and reinforcement would keep them safe, but they cost power and therefore precious fuel. Straker could see how a ship could rapidly get into trouble.
“Captain Salishan?”
The tall, rawboned woman in the captain’s chair turned her face to him—a face weathered by her passion for that old-fashioned blue-water sailing she was known to indulge in. He’d heard she’d already explored parts of Utopia by sea-kayak, built with her own hands.
“Yes, General?”
“Naturally, I’d like to cut our travel time to the minimum, but I’ll rely on your judgment as to what the ship and crew can take. Risking a thousand to retrieve six is what Breakers do—but we do it the smart way, understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“With that in mind, let’s get moving.”
“Aye aye, sir. Shields, five percent. Reinforcement, five percent. Pressor beam on SAI automatic. Weapons on standby, but keep them under the armor for now. Helm, enter the nebula and proceed on our designated course, all ahead slow. Take it easy until you get a feel for it.”
The helmsman, Tomlinson, plied his controls. “Aye aye, ma’am.”
Trollheim moved closer and closer to the wall of gas and dust. Parts of it glowed, parts were dark. The ship’s many sensors continued to build a picture as they approached. The demarcation was surprisingly sharp, as if some principle held the nebula apart from the empty space around it. The brainiacs believed it was a combination of gravity and electromagnetics, but Straker couldn’t help feeling it was something more.
The ship’s speed built slowly. The engineering officers at their stations muttered to each other and their counterparts deep in the ship, adjusting power flows to the defenses as the ship drove herself into, and then through the gas and debris like an icebreaker through an arctic sea. The smaller debris was deflected by the light shielding.
Larger pieces, if they couldn’t be dodged, were shoved away by the pressor beam—the inverse-tractor beam, based on Crystal tech. If all those measures failed and a chunk got through, Trollheim took it on her heavily armored and reinforced prow. She could easily handle it, though every collision wore away a tiny fraction of her protection.
The Sensors officer spoke up. “I’ve got something unusual... ” He fiddled with his board, and the holotank changed colors. “Dead ahead, multiple—a massive number of bogies. Millions, maybe. Not... not debris. Mobile. Self-propelled.”
“Cease acceleration. Are they ships?”
“I’m reading soft matter, not dense. I think they’re living creatures, ma’am.”
“Route around them.”
The helmsman turned to his captain. “I’m slowing us on impellers, but look at them, ma’am. Going around would delay us by hours.”
“Sensors, I need more information. What are they? Are they dangerous?”
“Something is,” Straker said, pointing at the holotank.
Ahead of them, filling half the holotank image, was an uncountable swirl of elongated tubular shapes. Off to one side, other, similar shapes, smaller but moving faster, darted through the edges of the swirl. Where they intersected, the larger, slower creatures disappeared.
“Predators and prey,” Straker said. “Sharks and big fish. Raise to alert status one and cruise through slowly. Avoid the sharks if possible.”
“Alert status one. Helm, continue on your general course. Speed and deviations at your discretion.”
“Aye aye.”
Straker kept his eyes roving across the displays, as the main forward screen showed little but colorful swirls of ionized gases and debris striking the forward shields. Other screens showed scans from a variety of sensors. None seemed helpful, except the holotank, which integrated all the information and extrapolated in three dimensions—vaguely. “Why don’t we launch a spy drone ahead?”
“It would never survive, sir,” the Sensors officer replied. “Once outside our shields, I’d measure its lifespan in seconds. We may be moving slowly for a ship, but we’re still slamming into the small stuff at thousands of KPH. We are our own best recon, right now. If we get some open space, maybe... ”
“Right.”
The blobs in the holotank became clearer as they approached, and suddenly Trollheim was among them. The close-range scanners showed them to be like jellyfish in their body composition, with open mouths at the front and tentacles at the back, waving as they moved. They were big for living creatures, perhaps fifty meters long on average. They moved aside at the dreadnought’s approach, ignoring the ship as they ingested gassy material from in front of them and squirted it out the back.
Straker inserted his comlink. “Straker to Zaxby. You seeing this?”
“Better than you are, I suspect, given that I’m in the intel analysis center. The creatures appear to be straining out useful nutrients and fuel, and then expelling the waste in a jet for propulsion. Very efficient.”
“What about the sharks?”
“Do you wish to approach the predators for a better look?”
“Any indication they’d be a danger to the ship?”
“An existential danger? Highly unlikely—but I cannot rule it out completely. They may be able to do damage.”
“We’ll steer clear.”
“Ah... it appears the decision has been made for us. I suggest you consult your holotank and activate weaponry. Zaxby out.”
In the holotank, the sharks turned as one and arrowed directly toward the ship.
Chapter 12
Belinda on Mechrono-7, at the rhodium mine in the mountains.
“Give me two mini-grenades,” Belinda said to Brock as she stepped onto the ramp. The Cassiel had just landed at the edge of a snow-covered clearing, barely out of sight of the entrance to the small mining facility. The bitter wind made her shiver, and she was thankful for the spacesuit boots she wore, her revealing outfit’s only concession to the cold.
Reluctantly he handed her two of the golf-ball-sized spheres. “Press once to arm, once more to activate. Then you have five seconds.”
“Got it.”
She left Brock standing there until Raj joined his cousin, and they leaped to the rocky hillside to climb toward their ambush positions.
She trudged up the defile toward the mine entrance, covering the hundred meters in an affected stagger, as if she were exhausted. She didn’t have to fake being cold, especially as she’d rubbed some snow in her hair and on her tunic to add to the authenticity of her ruse.
When she reached the small open area in front of the mine entrance, she saw a large prefab yurt bolted down to the flattened rock. A face appeared at one of its windows, and then the door opened. Two miners stepped out onto the snowy ground, pulling on parkas as they stared.
“Help!” she cried in a pitiful wail. “Oh, thank the gods, help me!” Then she collapsed.
Belinda felt herself carried into the yurt and placed on a bed, so she mimed regaining consciousness. “I’m so c-cold,” she said, examining her rescuers from behind slitted eyes.
One was a young human man, bearded, his mouth hanging open and staring. The other was a furry biped, with a short muzzle like a bear, though she hadn’t seen his species before. The man rushed to get her something hot in a cup while the bear-man covered her with a blanket.
The drink turned out to be a salty instant soup. Horrible. She forced herself to sip gratefully.
“What happened to you?” the man asked.
“I escaped from a cruel Manager,” she said. “Please, don’t let him take me back.”
The bear-man looked out the window. “We should call this in.”
“No, wait,” the human said, licking his lips. “So you’re a Contractor, huh?”
Belinda nodded, wide-eyed.
The man knelt next to the bed. “You feeling better, honey? That drink fix you up?”
“Better, yes, thanks.” She gave him a shy smile guaranteed to get his blood pumping. “But I’m still cold. Is there a shower in here, or a bath?”
“Ah, no, but there’s hot water in the sink.”
“No, I need to get clean and warm... take off my clothes... I’m so dirty and cold... is there something in the... ” she pointed toward the mine entrance. “I’d be so grateful.”
The human’s eyes darted back and forth while the bear-man watched impassively. “We can warm up in here. I’ll help you. Frod, why don’t you go report this in person?”
“I’ll use the landline, Brill.”
“No, the landline’s broke.”
“The landline ain’t broke!”
Brill leaped up, grabbed the landline pickup and jerked the wire out of the box. “Now it’s broke. Get it?”
Frod stared at Brill for a long moment, and then shrugged. “Okay.” He trudged out, slamming the door.
“Okay, baby, I rescued you, so you’re gonna be grateful.” Brill threw down his parka and stripped off his clothes as fast as he could.
Her ears caught the faint sound of a scuffle outside. She’d never have noticed it if she wasn’t listening.
“Ease up, Brill,” she said, “and I’ll—”
Her attempt to slow him down was cut off by the heel of his hand smacking her across the face. “Shut up!”
So that’s how it’s gonna be, she thought. She tried to shove him off her, but he was strong and becoming angry. She concentrated on blocking his hands, but he’d gotten one on her neck her while the other scrabbled at her clothing, trying to rip it off...when the yurt’s door banged open and Loco strode inside.
Two hammering fists changed Brill’s attitude. Loco threw Brill to the floor and laid him out with a kick to the jaw. Belinda rolled into Loco’s arms and clung to him for a moment.
“Thanks,” she said.
Loco drew back with an awkward smile. “You’re welcome.” He rushed out the door.
Poor guy, Belinda thought. He seemed easily confused by women—like most men.
She genuinely hoped he and Chiara could make a go of it. They seemed compatible.
Then again, if Loco turned out to be available... she’s have first shot at him herself.
Belinda extracted the grenades from their hiding place and held them in her hands. No need for these after all, she thought. Not yet, anyway.
She quickly pulled her clothes back together and added a parka. The grenades went into its pockets.
* * *
Brock and Raj had already ambushed the bear-man at the mine entrance by the time Loco got Belinda out of her jam. He admired her for her willingness to risk herself, but he wasn’t going to let anything happen to her. He knew it was mostly his biologically programmed protectiveness toward women, but even so...
Biologically... biotech... damn, he suddenly wished he’d thought to bring Breaker Bug serum, to treat Belinda. Then she’d be strong enough to fend off assholes like that without him. He cursed himself for being so unprepared for this trip, and cursed Chiara for rushing him off without doing even a sketchy operations order checklist to try to think of what might be needed. Cosmos-damned... God-damned woman was always trying to hold onto the upper hand by keeping him in the dark and dependent on her. At least this time she stayed in the ship, letting the professionals handle the combat op.
He followed the badgers into the mine, readying his slugthrower and activating his optical implant that extended his vision up and down the EM scale, infrared to ultraviolet. As soon as he did, he saw the two Mellivor forty meters ahead of him. “Loco behind you,” he said into his comlink.
“Roger.”
The initial tunnel ended fifty meters in. The badgers went left and right, and Loco jogged forward to catch up. He could hear the thrum and clank of heavy machinery, and then the sound of the suppressed slugthrowers his two comrades carried.
“Three down—two workers, one spider,” Brock said.
“Roger. Coming in.” Loco entered a large, roundish room with a high ceiling. Two bus-sized processing modules hummed and made intermittent grinding noises. Steel tracks carried ore carts right up to their intakes, where a simple semi-automated rig lifted the bins and dumped them into the machines.
Loco wondered why it wasn’t more modern before he remembered Mechron. Would the machine really see into a mountain? Apparently the miners weren’t taking any chances by installing molecular nano-processors.
The badgers dragged the two dead humanoids and the pink spider behind a module while Loco stood watch, and then returned, ready. “Which way, sir?”
Loco considered. One tunnel had the tracks—clearly, that was the mine proper. The other was smoothed rock. “Raj, watch the mine. We’ll clear this one.” He walked toward the second tunnel.
“Let me lead, sir,” Brock said. “Your slugthrower is noisy.”
“Right.” Loco let Brock go past, and backed him up, making a mental note to get a suppressor fashioned for his low-tech weapon, like the badgers had.
Down the tunnel they found living quarters. Brock put a silent bullet in the brain of one humanoid they found awake. The other, lucky for him, was sleeping. Loco knocked him out with a stroke of his weapon’s butt, and then zip-tied his hands and feet. Killing enemies in cold blood didn’t bother him much, but the miners might be guilty of nothing worse than working for the spiders—maybe not even freely, so he preferred to let them live if it didn’t jeopardize the mission.
They’d cleared four rooms before an ugly vermillion flash caused Loco to bark a warning and spin into a doorway.
Brock snarled and followed, crouching in pain. “Laser,” he said, showing Loco a nasty burn across his left shoulder. He released his slugthrower, letting its sling catch it, and one-handed an auto-injector from an easy-pull pouch. He jammed it into his shoulder with a sigh. “Battle cocktail. I’m good.”
Loco was already turning away, palming a mini-grenade from the dispenser on his belt. He pressed the stud twice and rolled it down the passageway toward the laser-wielder, counting to five. As it blew, he rolled another into the smoke kicked up by the first, and then followed it cautiously. When the second one detonated, he charged forward, Broc
k right behind him.
Two spiders lay twitching, still hot and visible in the infrared spectrum through the smoke. He felt the thrill of the righteous kill, the joy of one predator destroying another. His slugthrower roared at movement to the right, and he advanced in a combat crouch, firing. A laser lit the smoke with an audible fzzzt. Loco backtracked it and put a burst of bullets into its origin.
Brock fired from behind him and to his left as they groped through the smoke. His improved vision only helped a little, and he followed walls around to try to make sure he’d cleared every room and peered into every space for any sign of body heat from an Arattak. He joined Brock as the furry biped rounded a corner, and then he lowered his weapon. “I think we’re clear.”
“Let’s not think,” Brock said. He whipped out an old-fashioned killmore with nothing but a tripline trigger and set it up as they backed down the passageway. He scooped up dust from the floor and sprinkled it on the nearly invisible wire.
Movement, and the skitter of something rolling on the floor. They spun as one to see a spider raise its weapon as it rose from a crouch, hidden behind a workbench. Fast as he was, Loco wasn’t fast enough, and he faced his death as the laser’s sight drew a line to his forehead.
And then a blast knocked the creature sideways. The laser flashed and the coherent light struck Loco’s body armor instead of his head. Pain washed through his chest and he staggered as Brock finished off the enemy with a quick burst. The badger raised his weapon as another shadowy figure appeared behind the clearing dust, but fortunately he didn’t fire.
“You’re welcome,” Belinda said, juggling her remaining grenade with an insolent grin.
“Thanks,” Brock replied, eyes wide.
Loco took a deep breath and clamped down on the spreading pain of the deep burn. He considered a battle cocktail, but decided against it. Let the Breaker Bug do its work. He did feel the first edges of the ravening hunger to come as the microbes in his blood turbocharged his body’s healing. Nothing was free, and energy had to come from somewhere.
