Relic Tech

by Terry W. Ervin II

  “Who’s that?” asked Michael. “Talking to the marines?”

  I examined the monitor and magnified the picture. “That’s Chief Brold. He’s wearing servo-armor.”

  “Chief Brold and the captain must believe boarding is imminent,” said Watts.

  “Maybe,” I said. “But the chief never likes to get caught unprepared. I hope he runs across Ms. Jazarine.”

  “Look,” said Michael, pointing at a monitor. “They’re getting closer.”

  They were. Our destroyers, flanked by the corvettes and cutters led the light cruiser into the battle. The dock’s eighty fighters formed above the light cruiser while the gunboats accelerated away from the dock toward the con-gate.

  “David and Goliath,” I said.

  “True, but David has been preparing to fight Goliath for some time,” said Instructor Watts. “And look, a little assistance.” She tapped the screen. Two vessels. A small one, the shape of a planarian flatworm sped away from a much larger vessel. The second resembled eight or nine mismatched crates half-hazardly welded together. The sleeker Umbelgarri frigate accelerated to engage the enemy formation from the ventral flank, while the slower Chicher battlewagon uncoupled its flotilla of midget frigates. The twin-boomed, oversized fighters circled their mother ship.

  I was about to ask where the ally ships came from when a red light flashed on the main monitor. I looked up at the external camera. Someone had set off the mass detector, but the surveillance camera showed an empty corridor. “Damn, we have company.”

  “Oh no,” gasped Watts. She tapped a few screens.

  My call for assistance was overridden by the captain’s priority call. “Security, engineering, locate and deactivate the sounding beacon. Communications, jam internally. Port section.” Even in haste she articulated each word.

  “We’re on our own,” I said, releasing the safety on my pump shotgun. “Look, someone’s attaching some sort of charge to the door.” Ca-Chunk. I handed the chambered shotgun to Instructor Watts. “Can you use this?” When she nodded, I drew my bayonet with my right hand. My left held my cocked duty revolver. I edged toward the door. “On three, open the door, then close it. They might be monitoring. Once I’m out there, call for help and hope it arrives in time.” I looked to Skids, who sat wide-eyed and pale. “If necessary, escape through the chief’s office. On three?”

  “Be careful, Kra,” cautioned Instructor Watts.

  “Surprise is on my side.” No sense worrying the kid so I winked. “See you in a few, Skids. One, two...” The Kalavar fired its engines. I leapt. “Three.”

  Perfect timing! And with a jig to the left I barreled into a gray-suited man as he placed a charge above the door. I drove him against the opposite wall. Ignoring what he dropped, I jammed my bayonet just under his ribs as he rebounded off the wall. Movement to my left signaled me to duck. A laser flash fizzled on the man’s—Mr. B’down’s—screen. Ms. Jazarine leapt toward the closing door. She wasn’t fast enough.

  I twisted behind the stunned and bleeding businessman, put my blade to his throat and dropped my revolver. The exotic dancer faced me. I reached to the front of B’down’s belt and grabbed a rectangular device He started to resist. “Ahh Ahh,” I warned, applying blade pressure to his throat. I slid my fingers along to detach the connected power pack. Before he came to his senses and sent an elbow or head strike into me, I jerked my blade across his throat and jumped away. “I did you a favor,” I said, guessing my first wound would eventually have triggered acid.

  Another flash fizzled in front of me. I smiled. The dying man gurgled as he tried to scream. I kicked my revolver to the right, keeping the screen facing Ms. Jazarine. “You’re next,” I said. She hadn’t decided upon her next move. “What happens to your partner should be pretty upsetting.”

  I fumbled, clipping the screen generator to my belt. B’down’s body began to fizzle and Ms. Jazarine stepped toward me. I raised my blade. “Wouldn’t try it. Drop your laser and your screen.”

  Jazarine fired a blast at my face and the screen intercepted. Still, I flinched. “Damn!” She was already three strides into a sprint down the hall. I scooped up my revolver and looked back at the door.

  “Go!” crackled Watts’s voice over my com-set. I took off after the dancer.

  Despite her enhanced figure, Jazarine was fast. I fired once before she turned a corner only to have my round impact on her screen. I slowed at the turn, and came around to find her still in full stride. She had a fifteen-yard lead. If I could keep her in sight, she’d eventually encounter another crewmember, maybe security or a marine.

  She looked over her shoulder and must’ve drawn the same conclusion. She spun, slid her laser into a pouch and drew her long slender knife. “Remember this?”

  Before returning that same knife to her, I’d learned she coated it with a potent narcotic. I holstered my revolver and pulled my buckle blade. “Recall what happened to Engineer McAllister? Same stuff coats this,” I lied. Recalling some of Corporal Smith’s instruction, I crouched on the balls of my feet and approached. “Two blades to one. Drop it.”

  She came around with a kick. I ducked, came in, sliced with my bayonet and rolled away. Her blade slashed where I’d been standing. Although my blade had cut through her gray outfit, the garment had absorbed most of the stroke. Still, a line of blood formed along her hip. I said with a menacing smile, “My coveralls and body armor stopped your laser, and your blade’s too weak.”

  Jazarine slashed again. I dropped my buckle blade and caught her wrist. She caught my right wrist as I thrust my bayonet upward. Before she could try anything else with her blade, I slammed my forehead into her chin. The tactic hurt my head, but I knocked her back. Unfortunately her slick gray outfit helped her to twist away.

  “We seem to have a standoff,” Jazarine said, wiping her bloody lip. “Ever consider joining me?” On cue the front of her already strained garment split to reveal even more cleavage. “You authorized my boarding. Your dispute with Engineer McAllister provided easy access to the computer system.”

  I circled, looking for an opening, and replied, “Recall our discussion of Othello?”

  “Said if you discovered treachery similar to Iago’s, you’d run him through with your bayonet. Wouldn’t even waste a shotgun shell.”

  “Correct,” I said. “There’s a bigger game going on. Don’t be a sacrificed pawn. Give up and tell us what you know.” The floor shifted. The Kalavar’s gravity plates struggled to compensate.

  She took a deep breath, forcing her outfit to spread open to the navel. Tears formed in her eyes. “I can’t.” If the fight continued, she’d fall out of her bodysuit. Her mistake. More opportunity for my blade.

  “You’ve already tried to end me,” I said. “I’d wager you had a part in the assassination of Mr. Habbuk and his marine escort.” I shifted my blade. Her eyes followed. “Dr. Sevanto can freeze you and have the suicide device removed.”

  “This transport’s heading into a trap.”

  “We’re heading into combat now,” I said. “Your option, or I’ll end it here. Guaranteed.”

  “You won’t survive,” she said and sprung, fleeing to her right.

  I tackled her, and slammed her against the grating when she tried to get up.

  “Ahhieeahh,” she screamed. I rolled her over, and jammed my blade under her chin, drawing a trickle of blood. I was wrong. Her uniform still retained her chest, but her knife had pierced both fabric and shoulder. She began to tremble.

  I shifted and knelt beside her. With bayonet poised, I withdrew her blade. “Is it the narcotic?”

  “They’ll come for the boy,” she sputtered. Pounding footsteps approached. She shoved me away and rolled against the wall, curling into a fetal position.

  “Why?” I asked. She answered with a scream. Her clothing began to blister as the acid broke through. I staggered back into a cold embrace. I turned with blades ready but my arms were locked in iron grips. It was Chief Brold’s servo-gauntlets
.

  “She said they’re coming for the boy,” I said. “Why?”

  “No time to explain. We’ll have to survive the firefight first. Get back to Security.”

  The acidic stench caused my eyes to water. “I have one of their screens.”

  “Give it to Watts. I’ve armed her. Now move, Keesay.” He didn’t wait to see if I followed his directive. He lumbered past the frothing pool that had only seconds before been an exotic dancer.

  I slid her thin blade into my bayonet sheath, clutched my bayonet and jogged back to security.

  Mr. B’down’s odorous demise assailed my senses. Security’s door opened, limiting the time I held my breath. Instructor Watts sat, working, with a laser carbine across her lap. Skids sat, wearing my riot helmet with visor lowered and holding my shotgun. He up looked from the monitors.

  “Safety’s on,” he said. “What happened?”

  I lifted my shotgun and checked the safety. “Very good.” I affixed the bayonet before leaning it against the wall. “Both offenders eliminated.” I moved next to Instructor Watts. “Do you know how to use this?”

  She examined it. “A Crax defense screen. That’s not a Crax power pack.” She checked the readings. “Eighty-three percent power.”

  “It’s yours. Report, if you would.”

  She tapped several screens. “Someone, possibly the two you dealt with, set off a radio beacon, announcing our presence. Engineering disabled it. The captain ordered full acceleration to the con-gate and is in consultation with Rear Admiral West. The dock and monitor have begun long range bombardment.” She held up a finger and tapped the controls. Captain Tilayvaux’s voice came on line.

  “Navigator, angle toward the Chicher vessel. She’ll run interference. Bay, launch fighter and attack shuttle. Form up with Chicher midget frigates.” There was a pause. “Engineering, can you give me any more? We’ve got company on the way.”

  On cue Watts switched screens. Two Selgum Crax destroyers had peeled off from the attack formation to intercept. A half dozen fighters, two attack craft, and four breaching pods launched from a troop transport accompanied them. She queried the terminal. “They’ll intercept us.”

  “The Kalavar’s armament is aft,” I said. “We’re meant to run from a fight, not into it.” I retrieved my satchel and began to reload my revolver.

  She shrugged, then stiffened. “A second Crax formation. Carrier accompanied by three destroyers. Opposite vector approach. Supporting an assault ship, almost certainly breach capable. The Umbelgarri have launched their eight fighters to box formation and are racing to intercept. Two police cutters have left the main defense formation to support.”

  “Provide more targets. Doesn’t look promising.” I pointed to the screen. “The two gunboats have altered course. They might slip in behind the two Crax destroyers.”

  I scanned the monitors. Specialist Tahgs approached Security carrying medical equipment and a shoulder pack. I keyed the entrance.

  Tahgs avoided my gaze. “The captain’s ordered inoculations,” she said. “Ordered engineering to infuse the air circulation system with biological contaminants.”

  “Do you know what type?” I asked.

  “These inoculations are for a UV resistant fifth generation tuberculosis and a strain of Chicher pox.”

  I cringed at the thought of the Kalavar carrying bio-weapons so virulent to humans. “I suppose both are lethal to Crax?”

  Instructor Watts finished reading a screen. “The tuberculosis is, to Coregar Crax,” she said. “The Chicher pox is known to infect Stegmar Mantis. Doesn’t kill but inflicts blindness and crippling nerve degeneration.”

  I refrained from again asking Watts who she was. Specialist Tahgs prepared the shots. “We’re short of med techs. I’m not very good at this.”

  “Practice on me,” I said, and showed her my V-ID. “Anywhere in particular?”

  “No time for V-ID’s,” said Tahgs. “Soft muscle tissue. If you’ve been vaccinated for Chicher pox, this will act as a booster. Dr. Sevanto doesn’t think anybody is protected against the tuberculosis. This’ll cause some local inflammation.”

  No sense being modest. I unbuttoned my coveralls, dropped them and leaned against a console. “Left side please.” I still had my military style underwear.

  Tahgs went right to work. Michael was second. He looked away, but flinched just before the needle touched. His mother went last. Tahgs returned the equipment to the case. “They’re arming colonists and passengers.” She still hadn’t looked at me face to face.

  “I know,” I said. “Janice, this’ll be like other scrapes I’ve been in. We’ll get battered a bit, but we’ll pull through.”

  “Genni says we can’t win. We’re outgunned. They’ve got more and better ships.”

  “Depends on whose opinion you value more,” I said. “Mine or your roommate’s.” I fingered the laser burns marring my uniform. “I just bested two assassins armed with Crax equipment. Plus, there’s an Umbelgarri on our side out there, so I wouldn’t throw in the towel just yet.”

  She looked to Watts and Skids, then back at me. “Kra, I’m sorry.”

  I didn’t know what to say. “Might request a weapon yourself.” That didn’t sound right. “We’ll talk after this is over.”

  Janice gave me a quick hug. “Got more inoculations to give.”

  “I have duty to perform as well.” I scanned the monitors after she hurried out. “Infecting the ship with some nasty microbes,” I said to Watts.

  “The Crax plan to exterminate us,” she said, with no sign of doubt on her face.

  “Guess we shouldn’t pull any punches either.”

  “Mom!” called Michael. “They’re opening fire!”

  Chapter 33

  Xenocartographers participate when translating the Chicher’s written word. Although Chicher lettering resembles slashes, with similar design characteristics of human Chinese, the structure often refers to geographic regions of their home planet, in addition to symbolic references to pack structure and events in nature.

  The dock and defending monitor continued to fire military-grade, long-range tri-beam lasers at the first enemy formation. As the range closed, targeting proximity improved until a grazing flash finally deflected off a Selgum Crax destroyer. Immediately the dock and vessels launched a wave of missiles.

  “Should keep that destroyer busy,” I said. “Either that or it’ll have to turn its damaged section away from the missile tracking systems.” The wedge of human ships also opened fire with their medium-range lasers.

  “It’ll keep advancing,” said Instructor Watts. “They have highly effective point defense systems. But any damage before close engagement will improve tracking and targeting throughout the battle.”

  “How do you know so much?” I asked while scanning the security monitors and spotted several marines positioning armed passengers in the shuttle bay.

  “My husband,” she said. “A master of military tactics and knowledge. It’s all he talks about. One can’t help but pick up something.”

  I baited, “I know of no prominent tactician named Watts.”

  “Of course you don’t.” She returned to the combat-filled screens.

  I looked at an adjacent monitor. The Chicher battlewagon’s angle placed it between the Kalavar and the two approaching enemy destroyers. The Kalavar’s fighter and attack shuttle formed up with the midget frigates. I fidgeted with my com-set to find the fighter frequency. “Our pilots spent time learning Chicher tactics.” I tapped several keys, connecting my com-set’s output. “Here we go.”

  “Pack comrade pilots into shelter,” translated a computer. “You duel the lizard with your shuttle’s teeth.”

  “Roger that, Chicher flotilla. You get us there, we’ll finish the job.”

  “You tell’em, Griffin,” said Howler, above an echoing symphonic background. “We’ll get’em.”

  The Chicher battlewagon opened up with eight ion cannons, all missing the approaching ene
my destroyers. The midget frigates followed with a volley of balled electricity before the wedge shaped enemy fighters swooped in. The Crax fighters let loose with machine gun like turrets, sending streams of corrosive-filled pellets into the Chicher formation. The Chicher responded with reactive debris pods. The scatter of pods rocketed and burst in the line of fire, prematurely detonating some of the Crax rounds. Chicher short ranged fusion beams arced and slashed ineffectually while the corrosive hail pelted the midget frigates. One exploded and a second tumbled out of control while the nimble Crax fighters swung around for another pass.

  “Mom, the light cruiser’s firing its canister nuke,” called Skids. I turned just in time to see the projectiles emerge from the internal rail gun.

  “The Black Riveter,” stated his mother. “Let’s hope she has the range.” Two of five thermonuclear canisters survived defensive fire and detonated in range. The blasts rocked an armored battle cruiser, causing one of its four aft engines to flare out. “Moderate damage.”

  “Missiles closing on that damaged destroyer,” I said. “Look at all those point defense lasers.” I watched as the destroyer and nearby ships obliterated the missile wave.

  “Hold on,” said Instructor Watts as both formations opened up with all weapons. “This’ll decide it.”

  The Selgum Crax fired large and small corrosive canisters toward the charging wedge of human ships. Lasers and a new wave of missiles reached out toward the Crax.

  “The Crax fighters are trying to flank our ships,” I said.

  “The dock’s are engaging them,” Watts replied. “They’ll keep them off.”

  I said to her, “It’ll be equivalent to old-style prop planes against jet fighters.” She nodded, but I shook my head. “Won’t last in a dogfight. Maybe they can hold them off, and take a few with them.” I switched monitors. “Look, they’re concentrating all laser fire on the damaged battle cruiser.” The Riveter was on target as were most of its escorts.

  “Oh no,” whispered Watts. The three spherical Primus Crax ships opened up. Five emerald beams flashed out from each escort and nine from the heavy cruiser. The energy weapon reminded me of tracers, but the damage inflicted didn’t. The Primus ships raked the length of the Black Riveter’s hull. “They’re tearing right through the armor.”