Grant felt his ears pop as the pressure in the chamber adjusted within the external shields. Part of his brain was quick to remind him that any fluctuation in the shield would quickly turn him into a frozen corpse and he fought to silence it.
From what he observed the aliens before him were still a ways off and paid him no attention. He didn’t trust the creatures to ignore his approach but moved as quickly as he could to close the gap and get a decent position to press the attack. If the rest of the team could catch up he’d have a much better outlook on the assault.
One of the Cygnan ships closed in and positioned itself to load the reactor. Grant knew he was running out of time so he took the chance and went for his ZiG. According to the sight, the range was sitting at about two hundred meters inside a twisting mess of a gravitational field. It wasn’t a terrible shot so he dropped the trigger, planting a wave of lead into the alien squad astride the reactor.
They ducked and returned fire even as two of them took rounds and dropped to the platform but kept their focus on the reactor. Grant kept on his feet and strafed down closer, finishing off the last with a burst to center mass. It collapsed with a hand still on the alien artifact behind it which never ceased moving.
“Can you tell how they’re moving this thing? Can you stop it?”
“What do you think I’ve been trying to do? They’ve got the system locked down and are dragging it out by hand with their ship.”
“So what does that mean? There’s a damn tow strap hanging off the far side? Is that what you’re telling me?” Grant snapped while still moving along, growing increasingly angry as blood continued to drain from his side.
“Might be. I can’t see it from here.”
“Hell with it.” The commander jumped from the edge once more, fell weightless for two seconds and crashed hard against the lowest causeway. He felt the air force itself out of his lungs on impact and another paralyzing shock run through his core. Checking his bandage, he saw it had soaked through once more and was leaking. He didn’t have the time to address his injury so he ignored it and continued on.
Pain spun through his body.
The reactor picked up speed and Grant couldn’t keep up as his leg seized from a damaged nerve. The fresh sensation paralyzed his body and he tumbled to the ground. He couldn’t fall any further behind so with the push of every muscle that still worked, Grant launched himself over the barrier. He slammed against the Lyran device’s surface while attempting to get some feeling and find a fleeting semblance of balance.
Limping forward, he took another burst of shots at a passing Cygnan squad on a stationary platform above. He hammered his trigger wildly as his vision blurred, hoping a few of the rounds would find their way. With the magazine running low, he finished the aliens off as he sailed past. There was still a half kilometer ahead of him before he would reach the end of the reactor and Grant didn’t see a way he’d get to the edge in time. He ripped the empty mag free and with shaking, dysfunctional fingers, replaced it.
They cleared the metal skeleton and floated free into the space between the Lyran and Cygnan vessels. Grant felt the darkness creeping in as he ran out of options. On the other side, he spied more of the aliens assembling at the edge of their loading platform, waiting and prepared for his arrival. Between rage and pain, he opened fire again, raking lines of lead from wall to wall, hoping to hit enough of them to make the movement stop. They ducked and didn’t retreat, rather they accelerated their way out of the capital vessel’s chamber and its surrounding shield.
Grant saw the edge of the Lyran capital ship pass above and watched as they floated into space beyond, surrounded by an extensive flotilla of escorting ships. The air pressure dropped to nothing and he knew he only had seconds before they ran out of air. He laid on the trigger, spraying every surface and hoping for a hit while his rifle ceased to make any noise.
The reactor didn’t stop. Gravity evaporated. The commander screamed into the abyss, willing the searing pain that burned his soul to manifest through his weapon. It ran dry, he stumbled to a knee and reached for the antique M-14 on his back. The muzzle flashed with each shot but it didn’t make a sound in retort through the encroaching vacuum. He wanted them to die, all of them.
Grant’s vision narrowed to only a few degrees while the frigid darkness enveloped the remains of his body. As he pushed himself to his feet once more, a single incoming round sliced into his shoulder and sent him spinning weightlessly into space. In one last screaming wave of anguish against the crushing great beyond, Commander Grant felt the darkness take hold. As the final molecules of oxygen were ripped from his chest, he breathed his last.
35
For a time, reality slowed and dimmed from an infinite universe of light and life into a dark and unfeeling void, as if a fleeting nanowatt of radio waves were all that remained to speak of an eternity of glories past. Though it left him without an ability to reason, learn, move or gather data, it didn’t cease. Grant had awareness; he knew he still existed. He opened his eyes.
His surroundings were white and felt like he was at the bottom of an immense jungle of tubes, pipes and machinery with a hundred industrial robots hanging above his head. The place was silent except for a faint ringing in his head. What was left of his body?
Starting from his feet and working up, Grant attempted to sense anything he could with each bundle of his nerves. It wasn’t a sensation of numbness like the emergency painkillers but rather a feeling of completeness. It was as if everything was healed and as it was supposed to be.
His last conscious memory was the shot that pierced his chest and sent him careening off into space. The commander inhaled but didn’t feel the expected stabbing pain from the wound or from the searing gash across his stomach. Looking around the room, he saw Major Othello seated alone beside him, resting his grizzled chin on his hands and staring into space. The man sensed the glance, looked back, smiled and got to his feet.
“Thank God you’re back. I was getting worried.” He said in greeting and reached for the radio clipped to his chest. “He’s awake.” He relayed simply and turned the device off.
“What happened?” The commander mumbled, his mind still awash in a conflicting maelstrom of thoughts, surging every which way through his mind.
“You’re either incredibly lucky or mind-blowingly stupid.” He grinned, “I’d expect Commander Fox to remind you of that as well. Again.” The major paused, “You seriously flew into battle, in your ship, into space without a gaddamn suit?”
“I didn’t see any other way.”
“Well it saved your life. According to Omega’s doctor you had extremely low blood pressure after losing so much from your stomach. It was a miracle you could stand. It and your injected shots kept you from blacking out in the vacuum. The most toxic one for radiation sickness went through your hand and didn’t poison you.
When you took the round from the flesh-eating gun, they used an armor-piercing tip so it went straight through you; they were expecting a harder target. It ended up only depositing a fraction of its payload into your back which couldn’t spread due to the lack of blood and every drop that was exposed instantly froze before it could do any more damage.”
The commander attempted to sort it all out.
“If you took that hit in your armor, it would have killed you. Ten seconds sooner when you still had an atmosphere, it would have killed you. Seriously: senseless or fortunate.”
“How much of this do I have you to thank for?”
“Most of it.” Othello smiled, brushing a faux bit of dust from his shoulder, “I saw you make it on the reactor and fly off into space. When you got hit, the force sent you straight backward into the shielded chamber. I took a flying leap from the edge, caught you before you went hurtling into the generators and hauled you out through the other passage. A few of the others helped carry you up and get us over here.”
A door behind them dematerialized and Fox, Scott and Mason walked inside, standing to eit
her shoulder of Othello. His fellow commander folded his arms across his chest and looked down at their wounded leader.
“Seriously, I can’t believe it. How in the hell…”
“Yeah, I already heard it. Stupid or lucky. I’m afraid Othello beat you to it.”
“No, I’m serious. There’s no way you should be alive right now.”
“I don’t doubt you. I’m not feeling all that bright right about now. Why don’t you ask our host? I can’t imagine I didn’t bleed out without at least some help along the way.”
“Oh, that too.” Othello added before Fox continued.
“Yes, under normal circumstances a hit like that would be incapacitating. With the muscular modifications and coagulates in our blood, it was able to reduce the bleeding. Also, it kept the last five percent of your external oblique from tearing and making you curl up into a sad little ball while you bled out.”
“Sounds like just what I needed to happen. Where are we?” Grant looked around.
“In one of the Lyran carrier’s medical facilities. The capital ship’s power is down so we couldn’t use theirs and the experimental facility was too far off. I think we made the best decision.”
“I’d hardly call this a triumph. What do you mean the power’s down?”
The team grew a collective look of defeat. “You might want to wait on that.” Fox replied, “The Cygnans made off with the reactor core. It was a massacre for the Lyrans who stood their ground.” He paused, “I could tell Omega was really distraught over the battle. We’ll need to find it.”
“Where’s my ship?”
“I flew it back to the Flagstaff.” Scott responded. “I was practicing on the flight over.”
“You never cease to amaze. Thank you.” Grant smiled.
Scott beamed with the prideful feeling of at least one job well done.
“We were late.” Fox declared. “If we had taken one less meander on the way here, we’d have been back in time to stop them.”
Othello stood his ground. “I disagree. If we had been here a week earlier, all that would have happened would have been us standing on the front lines getting annihilated as the Cygnans poured in and got what they were after. If we had anything short of the full fleet and crew ready and trained, it wouldn’t have made a difference in the least.”
“Listen to him.” Sergeant Mason interjected, “I’m not about to let us go around blaming each other for what we couldn’t have known. That’ll get us nowhere.” He calmed down as he thought through the operation. “It was a worthy goal, if not overly prudent.”
“To avenge Kael?”
Mason nodded, staring at the floor. “I should have done more. I should have seen it coming.”
“Stop. You just lectured us on not playing the blame game.”
“No, but we lost sight of him on Mars for hours. We got separated on the station after looking for survivors and only had intermittent radio contact. He was up in the north lab, reported that he was hit but said he didn’t need assistance.” Mason shook his head. “I should have known something was up. He started getting migraines to the point of incapacitation but we didn’t do anything for him. Every time we got near one of their ships it got worse.”
“Maybe that did it.” Scott added, “The shot had something that would degrade his mental functions. Some signal on the ships exacerbated it and he finally snapped. I’ll dig through the equipment we recovered from the lab; maybe there’s something in there we can use to figure out what they did. We haven’t even cataloged it yet.”
“Did you ask the Lyrans?”
“Not yet, but when we do there’s a shit-ton of data to analyze.”
One of the alien technicians strode into the room behind them and touched a control on the wall. In a synchronized symphony of peaceful sound and movement, the arms and machines above Grant’s head retracted back against the walls and ceiling. Be strong. You are healed. It stated in a flowery statement through his head.
“I take it that means we’re ready?”
“Yup.” Fox replied. “Your armor is here. Get dressed and we’ll meet you outside. Omega’s on the other side of the ship. We’ll follow your lead, Commander.”
Grant sat up as the rest of the team filtered out. Like Fox said, his armor was planted on the ground beside him, perfectly clean and precisely assembled. He pulled the suit on and locked the various clasps and plates in place, feeling a hazy, phantom pain from the wound in his shoulder. He rotated it back and forth, hoping it was all in his head.
The commander met the rest of the team and along with the Emissary, traveled around the upper skin of the carrier beneath a continuous glass dome like a minimalistic, sealed monorail. While a field of stars passed above their heads, they could also see the leading edge of a row of Patriots mounted to the hull outside and ready for deployment.
Omega met the team in a refined stateroom a short distance from the tram. Grant imagined they were closing in on the command deck but didn’t have the capacity to study the layout of the carrier.
Welcome back, Commander. Omega greeted the team and shook Grant’s hand with his upper arm. It is incredibly fortunate to have you return to us, alas under dark circumstances.
“Thank you for bringing us back. What happened?”
The Cygnans came for the reactor and they left with everything they had intended. I’m afraid we were unable stop them.
“I heard. What does that mean?”
The reactor for our capital vessel is among the most advanced technologies we’ve ever developed. The Cygnans cannot be allowed to use it.
“So we have to retrieve it from them?”
Unfortunately, yes. It’s left our flagship dead in the water. There will be no using it in battle until the reactor is recovered.
“Can you build another one?”
No. It would take many years to replicate another but more importantly we cannot let the Cygnans uncover its secrets.
Grant looked between the towering alien dressed in exquisite, deep blue armor, his assistant and the rest of his team. The stars shone above their heads and the barrel of a Patriot’s mass driver loomed to the rear as he considered the operation. “There’s really no other option? We have to recover it?”
Unfortunately yes. There’s no way we could maintain a war without it.
“Is there a way to find it? To hunt them down?”
It will take some time but hopefully we’ll be able to do so. Until we locate it, we must use every available moment to prepare your crew for the war.
“I take it you’ve already started?”
Yes, they’ve already received the basic modifications without any adverse effects. It will take longer to train them all and staff the fleet but we’re already off to a positive start.
“Major Scott, check through all of the equipment you’ve recovered and parse out the scanners.” He looked back at Omega, “We’ve got a pile of Cygnan gear to dig though when we get a chance.”
Excellent. We’ll review it and keep it shielded from the fleet. We don’t need any more problems. The alien turned its head, observing the group. I owe you a severe apology. I’m so sorry for the compromise of Major Kael.
“There was nothing to be done. It was the Cygnans.” Grant comforted the larger being. “It was our failure as his team.”
I agree, but we should have seen he was infected when you first arrived. For whatever reason, the virus was lying dormant and it wasn’t picked up by any of our tests. We have never before seen such a thing.
“That’s plenty enough. We’ve been battered but we’re not beaten.” The commander replied, silently keeping a sea of swirling doubts and questions to himself. “Our species has a long history of grasping to life by every last shred of our souls. You have our service until the end.”
Epilogue
After a listless eternity, the darkness was finally driven away by a building light, as if the final throes of thunderstorm were banished by the first light of morning. Without a re
ference for the sensation around him, Lieutenant Carter opened his eyes.
The white glow of the Lyran facility filled his view, blanketing every surface with warm light. For a moment, his entire past was forgotten. He flexed his hands, resting beside him on the conforming cot, sensing a few fleeting glimpses of his previous existence.
Dark hallways, the screams of his men, the choking smoke of the fog of war, the strike. He heard Major Kael drop the axe across his arm, so real that he shot upright.
Scott Ryan, now attired in a field grade officer’s dress uniform, looked up from his seat to his right.
“I’m alive?”
“You’re alive. It’s been a rough recovery for you though.” The officer got to his feet, smoothing the front of his jacket.
“I take it it’s been a while?”
“Yes, very long story.” Scott agreed. “I’m impressed with the arm. Last time I saw you it was cauterized with a cutting torch at your shoulder.”
“I’d have never known.”
Scott approached the soldier. “Well, get your rest. We’ve still got miles to go before we sleep.” He said with a nod before turning to leave. “I’m glad to see you’re up. They told me you’d be waking any time now.”
“Thank you, sir. You didn’t need to be here.”
The major turned back to see Carter had rendered a salute with his newly-formed hand. “It’s alright, you’d do the same thing for me.” Scott replied, coming to attention to return the gesture. “We’re all we’ve got out here.”
***
On an isolated observatory installed on the spine of a Lyran carrier, Grant stared across a small table at the Flagstaff’s commanding officer. Above their heads, innumerable stars glittered throughout an infinite field.
MissionSRX: Deep Unknown Page 37
