She tipped her head forward, looking at me over the rims of her glasses, unsure how to take my last statement.
Dr. Lundox asked me, “You’re thinking they won’t make it?”
He stood on my left, behind the barricade facing the entrance on the main level of the research lab. Dr. Chahal stood on my right, checking over his laser carbine for the seventh or eighth time. Right on cue he checked to make sure he could easily pull a replacement battery clip from his pocket should the inserted one get drained. My reassuring nod acknowledged his common sense precaution. The positive gesture appeared to relieve a small fraction of his nervousness.
“Who?” I asked Dr. Lundox while listening to the radio chatter Dr. Goldsen broadcasted throughout the lab. “The Crax down here to the lab?”
Dr. Lundox shook his head. “No, ships from Earth, to drive off the Crax.”
“Oh, I think they’ll make it, Doctor. Just not in time for us down here in the lab.”
Dr. Chahal flashed a smile. “But it is your intention to make it difficult for them anyway?” It wasn’t a question.
“We will, Doctor.” I glanced over my shoulder, toward the office. “Or that’s the plan.”
From behind, Systems Analyst Bowser shouted, “They’re opening up!”
My com-set picked up feeds from several surviving ground colony cameras showing the enemy on approach. Purely optical tracking hardwired to computers was hard to jam at the source.
The Primus medium cruisers fired several emerald energy bursts. They struck just beyond the landing bay.
“That’s where they housed the tri-beam laser,” Bowser said. “I was part of the team that installed it six months ago.”
Not good, I thought. Good chance some Crax sympathizer had provided them intel. Through my ocular I watched the Umbelgarri ground defense exchange fire with the closing Primus cruisers. The fire was hot and fast from both sides. The Umbelgarri silver beams scored several hits that penetrated both shielding and armor, crippling one of the cruisers before the ground stations were silenced.
“Special Agent Keesay,” came over my com-set, a frequency not set for general broadcast.
“Go ahead, Agent Guymin.”
“I have obtained information indicating a beacon has been planted in the research lab. Although dormant, it will go active once the Crax gain entry to the colony.”
“Acknowledged. Any additional information. How to find or foil it?” I looked around. “Wait.” Knowing that finding such a device was beyond me, I grabbed Dr. Lundox’s shoulder and then pointed to Systems Analyst Bowser, and waved him toward us. “Special Agent Guymin, coordinate with Dr. Rogo Lundox and Systems Analyst Eric Bowser.”
“Acknowledged, Keesay. Out.”
Lundox and Bowser both put their hand to their ear, indicating incoming communication. “More fun,” I said to Dr. Chahal. He gave me a half smile and then checked the safety on his carbine.
Analyst Frist moved up to take Bowser’s place. He and Lundox moved into Dr. Goldsen’s office.
I nodded to her and glanced at Med Techs Corbett and Yaley up on the left-hand second tier and then to Maintenance Techs Yin and Gorgio up on the right. Everyone on the second tier was armed with MP carbines. Corbett and Yin each had one of my fragmentation grenades. They’d have the best angle—above and to the side—to get behind any Crax personal energy shields.
One by one, all four second tier defenders met my gaze and gave me a thumbs up.
The radio chatter increased as the Crax bombarded the surface. In addition to the ground defenses, they destroyed the def-sats. Selgum Crax canisters rained down on the landing bay, eating through its metal shielding. Primus Crax sent emerald beams down, presumably slicing through ground and metal, creating access to the Umbelgarri area.
The radio chatter went offline for several seconds. “EMPs,” announced Colony Command. “Effects negligible.”
I knew a little about electro-magnetic pulses. I used to carry two shotgun-fired popcorn nukes, calibrated for enhanced EMP effect. Military equipment was always hardened against it. Civilian computers and equipment generally wasn’t. But orbiting Jupiter and the magnetic field it generated, just about everything on the Io colony had to be shielded. Hopefully the Crax wouldn’t be able to reconfigure their EMPs to take advantage of any gaps in the protection.
The massive enemy assault ships took up station over the colony area, spitting out pod shuttles that were tiny in comparison. The riveted, bell-shaped assault craft divided equally between us and the Umbelgarri areas.
“Ground assault shuttles and pods incoming,” Colony Command reported. “Main landing bay, Surface Maintenance Corridors Two, Five and Nine, prepare to resist entry. Types and numbers unavailable due to enemy interference.”
Dr. Chahal smirked and rubbed his thin mustache. “Types and numbers? Just say ‘More than you can resist.’”
The size of the Crax assault ships meant at least 4000 enemy soldiers, based on human assault ship standards. Probably more. Although the reptilian Gar Crax were twice the size of a human, their shock troops, the Stegmar Mantis, were only three feet tall. Still, with their exoskeleton structure, one could tear my arm from its socket if it got ahold of me. The Crax might bring bulldog beetles, flying insects the size of a basketball, with a double set of pinchers coated with mild venom.
Without warning, a spray of rockets sped from the surface to intercept the enemy’s ground assault shuttles and pods.
From within Dr. Goldsen’s office, I heard Bowser ask, “What are those?”
The assault ships were the only capital ships in range to bring their point defense lasers to bear on the rising hail of rockets. The ground assault shuttles had lasers, but they appeared unable to accurately to track and lock on.
Emerald energy bursts from the two undamaged Primus cruisers lanced down. Again and again, and again. Wherever the rockets were being fired from must’ve been heavily armored, or shielded.
Images from mid-20th century multiple launch rocket systems firing off dozens at a time came to mind. They exploded among the scattering enemy attack shuttles and pods. The mini-nuclear detonations would’ve been blinding if viewed directly. We’d used similar systems during the Silicate War to break up Shard swarms attacking ground installations. In space, the nuclear detonations still gave off heat and radiation, but lacked the destructive shockwave an atmosphere enables. To counter that weakness, the military packed grape-sized depleted uranium pellets around the nuclear warheads. Specially coated, they survived the intense heat. During the Silicate War, the resulting heat and radioactive bursts not only cooked any Shards in near proximity, the pellets shattered the enemy in a wider circle of destruction.
Although not as effective as the nuclear-tipped rockets had been against the crystalline Shards, dozens of the current enemy’s landing vehicles tumbled, damaged and out of control.
I only had a few seconds to ponder the fact that such ground defense systems placed on Io didn’t make sense. The range of the rockets was short. Even if their range might’ve been extended, their targeting and destructive potential against large, space-faring vessels? It’d be like trying to penetrate steel plate at fifty yards with birdshot…unless someone expected a ground assault, and coordinated it with the Umbelgarri, and kept it a secret—at least enough that the Crax hadn’t learned about them.
“Squad Three,” Colony Command began, “move up to—”
Not only did Colony Command’s frequency cut out, all radio chatter did.
I checked my com-set before running a quick diagnostic. Everyone looked at me expectantly, including Lundox and Bowser, who’d opened a panel beneath a monitor screen outside Dr. Goldsen’s office.
“Specialist Keesay?” Dr. Goldsen called from her office.
“Electronic warfare,” I replied, scanning for Colonial Marine frequencies. If the hardwired communications were down, I didn’t have much hope this far from the transmission source. Not without node relays boosting the signal, es
pecially with electronic warfare raging.
For a moment, the lights and other electronic systems shut down. The battery backup kicked in. Everything flickered back on. Dr. Goldsen called from her office, “Specialist Keesay, it’s more than communications. Io’s computer network is down. I’ve switched to isolation mode.”
Dr. Chahal met my concerned gaze with one of his own.
“I am receiving Umbelgarri text on my screen, Specialist,” added Dr. Goldsen. “My system is not translating it.”
Even though I didn’t know much about programming or computer systems, it seemed odd. In any case, whatever the Umbelgarri were sending was probably critical. “Can you transmit locally to my com-set?” I asked. “My ocular’s still functioning.”
While I could interpret the Umbelgarri communication based on color patterns shifting across their skin, combined with low-frequency sounds—the latter provided the emotion behind the words or statement and which unaided I couldn’t hear—reading their communications was comparatively easy. Their written language was based on nine dots, in rows of threes. The different color patterns gave the words, and lines that might connect the dots, emphasis or deeper emotional meaning. While nuances were difficult, a simple computer program should’ve been able to translate the basic meaning, especially if they were sending a simple message.
Of course, maybe it was a coded transmission.
I read it aloud, directly translated. “Violent class ground, forebrain activity exchange, situation condition ongoing, electronic message route, 95.701, subordinate length tenth.”
After speaking it, the signal repeated. By the second time through, I translated. The current Colonial Marine radio frequency is...” Then I got stuck. “Can you calculate the frequency, Dr. Goldsen?” I thought for a second about what I could say to help. “They use base ten, but their measurement system is different than ours. Like converting inches to centimeters.”
“No,” Dr. Lundox said. “They already did the conversion. But Dr. Goldsen doesn’t have access.”
I adjusted my com-set to the frequency. It wasn’t within the bandwidth normally used by the military.
A deep voice hurriedly said, “They’ve broken through the perimeter defense, spreading beyond the landing bay.” In the background MP fire and shouts, cries of surprise and pain. Explosions and the Stegmar Mantis sounding. Even through the radio transmission the vibrant, agitating clicking caused me to clench my teeth. Up close and live it was like nails scratching down a chalkboard to a factor of ten.
Scientists believe the Stegmar sounding originated to flush or herd prey. It didn’t herd humans. It unnerved and disabled them. Most fell to the ground, covering their ears in the fetal position.
Even the muted sounding emanating from my earpiece caused Dr. Chahal to instinctively step away from me.
“They’ve broken out of the landing bay,” I said, loud enough for everyone in the research lab to hear. “Stegmar are sounding.”
I listened some more to the radio chatter. “They’re using EMP grenades.” A minute later I added, “Chemical weapons. Grenade released. Inhalant. The Marines have filtering masks.”
The chatter remained sporadic and confused. “We’re hardly able to slow them. Overwhelming numbers. Mostly Stegmars with carbines firing needles coated with paralyzing agent, backed by Gar Crax with energy shields. Some armored elites. Standard Crax combat halberd, firing acid projectiles. Molecular saw blades.”
I kept my voice steady despite my growing concern. “Available antidote to Stegmar chemicals appears moderately effective.”
Then the signal began breaking up before ending. “I’ve lost it,” I said, adjusting my com-set, trying to reacquire or acquire another signal. “Probably Crax interference.”
Everyone looked worried. Anxious and worried.
“What can we do about the chemical weapons?” I asked. “Do we have any surgical masks?”
Dr. Goldsen and Lundox exited her office. “It is doubtful that will offer any protection,” she said.
Dr. Chahal spoke up. “What about the cascading ionizers? There are two mounted above the Cranaltar IV’s probing apparatus.”
“If we keep an overpressure of air,” Dr. Lundox said, “what doesn’t get ionized should get blown out.”
“What’s the point?” Analyst Frist asked. “The Marines can’t stop them. What makes you all think we can?”
Before I turned to face her, I said to Dr. Lundox, “Get Gorgio and Yin, and anyone else you need. Get on it!”
He signaled to Bowser and hurried to the room housing the Cranaltar, our final fallback position. If any of us made it that far.
“Systems Analyst Frist,” I said, “the point is that we go down fighting. Every enemy we kill is one less faced by the next group of humans they attack. Call it attrition. Call it desperation, call it being dumb sons of bitches who don’t know they’re beat. Going down fighting.”
She fought back tears. Tears of fear, maybe regret, maybe resignation.
Dr. Chahal chimed in. “They want to make humanity an extinct species.” He gripped his carbine. “I am not a violent person. My belief system instructs me to avoid killing and avoid war whenever possible. But war is permissible when confronting evil. The Crax, they are evil.”
Even as Dr. Chahal spoke, I thought about Agents Guymin and Vingee? They’d fight, but were they already dead? I thought of my mother and brother on Earth, and my cousin Oliver, serving as a gunner aboard an armed freighter.
We didn’t have long, that was certain. “Hurry up!” I shouted.
Analyst Frist slung her carbine and quietly said, “I’ll go help.”
“Dr. Goldsen,” I said, “I need you in your office. We may only have an instant of surveillance when they reach the hallway.”
She nodded once, and fiddled with her glasses before hurrying back to her desk.
Tech Yin ran past me, lugging a toolbox. “They’ve almost got them. I’m working on electrical hookups. Where do you want them?”
“How do they work?” I asked.
Dr. Chahal said, “If I may, Specialist?”
“Yes, go ahead.”
“To the right and left of the main entrance. In the corner, far away from the tarp and electrical discharge.”
Tech Yin grinned and nodded. “The stone floor isn’t a good conductor, but there’ll be an awful lot of juice flowing.”
The cascading ionizers reminded me of big, old-style bug zappers with vented intakes.
A few minutes later Tech Frist handed me a surgical mask. “Just in case.”
I took it and continued fiddling with my com-set until it captured a signal. Caylar’s.
“Keesay, are you receiving?”
I double-checked to make sure Agent Guymin’s transmission wasn’t set to broadcast. “Guymin, receiving you. Weak and distorted, but receiving.”
“Switch to random frequency protocol Blue Three. I’ll be quick.”
“Guymin, I don’t know Intel communication protocols yet.”
“I know, Keesay. Kalavar Blue Three.”
“Understood,” I said, recalling the civil transport’s protocols and making the adjustment. “Ready.”
Guymin said, “The Hornet Nest just dropped out of condensed space. She brought along Soul Scorcher and Spine Crusher as part of her battle group.”
“That fast?”
“The Crax aren’t recalling their troops. They’re making a stand. Vingee and I are holed up in hydroponics. They’ve pinned us, those of us that are left, and moving on toward you, and our allies.”
“Understood. What are they sending?”
“Close to everything.”
“How long?”
“They may not know the most efficient way, but they’ll find you.”
“Understood. We’ll hold. Out.”
I relayed everything I’d learned to the lab’s defenders. Knowledge of Earth’s powerful task force buoyed hopes. “Any last questions?” I asked.
“Spe
cialist!” Dr. Goldsen’s voice cracked. “They’re down the hall. Surveillance just went down.”
“What did you see?”
She sent it to my ocular. A Gar Crax with a halberd and battle harness holding varied equipment, including bulbs that I guessed were grenades. A bulldog beetle clung to the leader’s left shoulder. He was leading a squad of fifteen Stegmar Mantis. One, holding a fist-sized computer, pointed up at the camera. The Crax pointed its halberd at the camera, releasing at least one burst of acid pellets. On target.
Chapter 8
We had two surveillance cameras left. Once we brought one on line, if it hadn’t already been detected and destroyed, we’d only get a few seconds. Waiting blind was nerve-racking to me, and I’d been in combat before. Each second that ticked past felt like a week. I checked my watch. One minute and twenty seconds.
Adjusting my ocular, I said, “Dr. Goldsen, do you have the sounding-nullifying audio file ready?” Nobody had one of the contact lens oculars. Ones that could function despite the fluctuations in the Jupiter-influenced magnetic field around Io were prohibitively expensive.
Calm flowed through Dr. Goldsen’s voice as she answered, “Affirmative, it is.”
We didn’t want to start the audio to nullify the Stegmar sounding until necessary. A trial run proved to be annoying. Thuds, like a fist on a refrigerator door, coupled with an undulating squeal. Listening to that, tense as everyone was, would be bad on multiple levels.
In addition to the surgical masks, we each inserted ear plugs, those used around loud machinery. Everyone’s I-Tech communication chip implants would still function. I had my headset, so I could only plug one ear. But I’d faced the sounding before. That’s what I told myself.
I rechecked the sound dampener attached to my watch. It was set to muffle my shotgun and revolver’s blasts. One minute forty seconds since the first camera had been shot out.
Relic Hunted (Crax War Chronicles #2) Page 8
