Samurai Guns (Orphan Wars Book 3)

by J. N. Chaney

  “You don’t have to tell me twice,” I say, and head for the ship in the distance. We have emerged on the other side of it, and everything looks different from this vantage point. The Prothean statue vessels are farther away, for one thing, but there are more of them. What hasn’t changed, is that the Heptagon is still busted up and missing an engine.

  Garin falls in beside me like we’re best buddies. Brimming with positive energy, a casual observer wouldn’t guess what he’d just been through. His swagger is back. “I don’t know, Mr. Murphy. It seems like we’re right back where we started.”

  “You’re not wrong. But don’t worry. If anyone can put this engine back on the ship and get it ready to fly, it’s us,” I say.

  He gives me a fist bump. “Then let’s do it.”

  The ice splits apart just ahead of us. I push Garin behind me, expecting the spider queen to emerge and exact her vengeance. If I had known we could just climb over her angry offspring, this would have gone so much better. But no, we had to shoot first and ask questions later.

  A beam of energy cuts through the final layers, blowing boulder sized chunks of ice into the air. Axu the Prothean steps from the chaos holding what looks like a shotgun, or maybe a cannon from a ship.

  He’s even taller than he appeared in the distance but also damaged. Half of his body is frozen, causing him to limp. Grooves mark his armor, which bleeds like the protective outer layer of a Dogan. The difference is the Prothean’s blood glows blue and heals everything it touches right before my eyes. It’s unsettling to see, because the scale and speed are completely beyond my experience as a human.

  “Axu told the Overlords to wait,” he says.

  “We’re not Overlords,” I counter, realizing this may be the lamest first contact statement ever made.

  “You look like them, talk like them, and spoil worlds like them,” Axu says. “You are Overlords.” He states his case with remarkable elegance.

  “If you say so, but we mean you no harm,” I say. Not the best overture, but better than my clumsy first statement.

  “You must die,” Axu says. “All of you. We are here to cleanse this blackened corner of the Goliath Sector. But I need something from you first.”

  “I’m willing to negotiate.” My heart races. Everything slows down. I see, hear, even taste everything about the moment. This will be for all the galactic marbles, and I know that whatever reserves of will reside within me, now is the time.

  “Overlords broke the treaty. That is why we do this,” he says, barely listening to me. “I am injured. When I am healed, we will resume this discussion. Talk to no other Prothean, I warn you.”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem,” I say, sensing a way out but fearing it’s a trap.

  Garin nudges me with his elbow. “Ask him if he can fix our ship, or give us one of his.”

  “No, child,” Axu says. “You may not approach your ship.”

  “Or what?” Garin says.

  “Or I kill you and feed you to the heart of this planet,” Axu says, pointing toward the spider queen’s layer. “You should not have led me down there. That is not just an animal. Soon, this planet will turn against you. Wait until you see the larger versions of that monster.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” I say. “If you truly wish to negotiate, then let us fix our ship and escape this place. Then we can talk.”

  “Approach the ship, and you will die, even if I must summon the other searchers and share glory with them,” Axu says. “Find shelter. Wait for me to contact you. Do nothing else.”

  The Prothean turns away and disappears into a growing blizzard.

  “We better set up the tent,” I say.

  “Not again,” Garin complains, then looks at the weather again. “Okay, maybe just this once.”

  8

  With Axu gone and the ice canyons behind us, our fortunes should be improving. My companions are showing the strain, however. The wind picks up as night approaches, howling across the planet’s surface like yet another adversary bent on our destruction.

  Feet spread wide, I brace myself against a powerful gust, binoculars to my eyes and my attention on the Prothean statue ships. “There’s definitely movement.”

  “Agreed,” Shaina says. “That’s not good news.”

  “Keep watching.” I continue my systematic review of our enemy. “There is a pattern to their search. I think they are dividing up the area into quadrants, and I think we’re in Axu’s quadrant.”

  Garin hugs himself and shivers beside me. The four of us are standing as close together as possible for warmth and to minimize our silhouette should someone look in our direction. “What’s a quadrant?”

  I answer without lowering my binoculars. “One part of four. I’m just saying they have divided the area into sections. Axu was insistent that we don’t talk to any other of his people.”

  “He was very concerned with keeping glory for himself,” Zedas says.

  “That should work in our favor. Let’s head to the ship,” I say.

  “You’re the boss, Murph,” Shaina says. “I can’t promise it will be much warmer. Not until I can weld some of the gaps closed. And I don’t think that will be a good idea at night if we are trying to hide.”

  “Let’s play it by ear.” I make a quick check of our immediate surroundings and then lead the way.

  Garin giggles. “I don’t know why that is so funny.”

  I flick the side of his parka hood where his ear would be. “Hey, anything you can laugh at right now is a good thing.”

  “Are we going to make it?” he asks.

  “Do we have any other choice?” I have absolutely no idea how we’re getting out of this mess, but what good would it do to admit it?

  Shaina comes to my aid, surprising me. “He’s led us through everything else so far. And we’re the only people in the Goliath Sector who have faced a Prothean and survived.”

  I replay that encounter in my head as we march through the miserable storm. The planet, when we first saw it, appeared elegant from space. The brief look we got coming down during our desperate landing had also been spectacular, endless fields of ice and mountains and frozen oceans. By the time we reach the Heptagon, all I can see is darkness.

  My world becomes tactile, wind pressing me right and left and sometimes backward. The winter parka isn’t my only defense against the weather. Like my friends, I’m wearing layers of clothing. The night storm presses the fabric against my face. After Axu left, Shaina pulled a roll of tape from her pack, the kind we called thousand mile an hour tape in the Army, and sealed every possible gap against the wind. There should be no way for wind to creep between my gloves and my sleeves… but it does.

  The final ten yards to the ship feel like ten miles. I stop frequently to pull on our safety lines and count my friends. Visibility is zero now. The entire Prothean invasion could be surrounding us, and we would be none the wiser.

  I stretch both hands forward, feeling for the exterior of the ship. Did we miss it? Are we going to stumble around until we freeze to death? I stop and count my team for the tenth time.

  “We are all here,” Shaina shouts.

  I can barely hear her and choose to pat her on the arm instead of yell back. She returns the signal, and I start again. The old Murphy would start to angle to the left and right as we search for something that’s almost in reach. Instead, I decide to trust my Orphan Gate upgrades. With one steady step after another, I advance until I feel the Heptagon.

  The wind decreases here on the leeward side of the vessel.

  “We made it,” I say.

  “You say that as though you weren’t confident,” Zedas says.

  “I was every bit as sure of finding this as the three of you were.” I don’t have to see them to know they’re laughing. It’s still hard to hear, but our situation has improved. “Let’s get inside.”

  I find the door, and we crowd through it. The ship is in worse condition than I remember, with multiple gaps in the walls.
Snow and ice have been blown into drifts through the passenger compartment. A quick look into the sub-deck reveals a relatively snow free area, but to shelter inside of it we would have to sleep on extremely uneven surfaces. And to be honest, it’s still cold as the abyss.

  “I vote for the cockpit,” Shaina says. “It’s in rough shape, but we can’t sleep down there.”

  “Agreed, but let’s look on the bright side. The welds you did to fix the sub-deck held better than the rest of the Heptagon,” I say.

  She blows on her gloved knuckles, and then polishes them against her collar. “Not bad if I do say so myself.”

  We gather in the cockpit, which is small, but slightly larger than the tent. Shaina uses the tape on some of the gaps and stuffs extra cold weather gear into holes as well.

  “Cozy,” I say.

  Garin, finally out of his multilayered winter gear, flashes a big smile. “This is great! Like a camping trip. If we had a fire, someone could tell ghost stories.”

  “That must be another strange human tradition,” Zedas says. “One that I must avoid.”

  “Are you scared of ghosts, Zed?” Garin asks.

  “Terrified.”

  I watched the byplay and can’t tell if the Dogan is joking. “We need to get as much rest as possible. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

  Shaina distributes cold rations, and we eat silently. When it’s done, we curl up into our sleeping bags and huddle close together. To my surprise, I’m out almost immediately.

  Halfway through the night, I awake to find Shaina missing. Light glows from the passenger compartment. I unzip my sleeping bag rather than climb out of it and wear it like a heavy cloak. Careful not to awaken Zedas or Garin, I creep into the hallway and spy Shaina’s work.

  “Getting an early start?”

  She looks up, startled. The moment she recovers, she points toward a tarp she spread over one of the walls. “I made sure no light is escaping. If you’re going to harass me, hand me that welding torch. This is going to look ugly, but the repair should hold until we get to a space dock with qualified repair technicians.”

  “Looks like you’ve done this before,” I say, gathering the tools that she requests and handing them over.

  “When I first left the Overlords, there were some rough times. I’d rather not talk about it,” she says, then flips down her goggles and starts welding.

  Sparks fly. I check the tarps to make sure her concealment is effective. Without going outside, it’s impossible to know for sure, but I also think the storm will help conceal our work. “This might actually be the best time for repairs. Even if they can see the light of your torch from their ships, it would probably be a generalized glow in the night—hard to pinpoint.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping,” she says.

  I watch her work. She has to be one of the most resourceful human beings I’ve ever met, with or without Orphan Gate upgrades.

  She finishes a section, then rocks back on her heels. “Have you really thought about what we did yesterday? That was a Prothean. They have existed for a thousand years.”

  “That’s all I thought about,” I say. “Zedas admitted he had never believed in them, even though his people have a culture based around their fear of becoming like them.”

  “He told you that? I never know what to think when the Dogan speaks. At least you understand his jokes.” She stands and puts away the tools. “That’s everything I can weld from inside the ship, and to be honest, I’m worried about burning up oxygen. Just because we can hear the wind, doesn’t mean we’re getting enough ventilation inside. We need power for that, or we need to open up the holes I sealed up.”

  I hugged myself and pretended to shiver violently. Well, it’s not completely pretend. “I vote for power.”

  “Let’s see if we can run a computer on battery. I can start diagnostics and make a plan for what needs to be fixed first. Then you and the Dogan can go drag the engine back here before we deal with Axu again.”

  When dawn breaks, it’s glorious. Zedas stands at my side. Garin reluctantly agreed to help Shaina with the ship repairs. There’s no wind this early in the morning. In the distance, I count only three statue ships.

  “Do you think they left the planet, or went elsewhere on the continent to search for us?” Zedas asks.

  “I’m not sure. They could have other objectives, other parts of this world they want to explore.” The idea feels right, but I have no evidence to support it. “Let’s get this engine back to the Heptagon.”

  We set off at a brisk pace, jogging through the frigid morning air with purpose. The engine is exactly as we left it. This time, we get the skids in place with little trouble. If we keep this up, we’ll be engine salvage experts by the time we leave.

  Zedas leans into the tow straps but struggles to get moving. I push the engine, leaning all of my weight and my augmented strength into the task. Slowly but surely, we make progress.

  Step by step, I dare to hope. “You and me, Zedas-Duryan, we’re going to save the day.”

  He grunts. “Pushing and pulling like draft animals is the most glorious and heroic adventure yet.”

  I laugh, not much at first, but soon find myself out of breath and grateful for my companion.

  “You must settle down,” Zedas says.

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” I joke.

  He grinds out a chuckle, but his tone changes quickly. “Axu is coming for us. Do you see him?”

  I turn my back to the engine and continue to push, emphasizing the strength of my legs. Searching the horizon, I see the Prothean sprinting across the white tableau. If emotions can be judged by the energy of someone’s movements, I’d say Axu is more than furious.

  “I don’t think he appreciates our salvage efforts,” I grunt. “Can we make it to the ship before he catches us?”

  I can tell Zedas is pulling harder. The speed of our progress increases incrementally. Normally, I’d consider it an impressive improvement but it’s woefully short of what we need. And even if we get to the ship, we’re still in trouble. There won’t be any flying out of harm’s way today.

  “I have to lead him away.”

  Zedas barks something in Dogan and pulls harder. I give the engine a final shove, and then race away from our course at a right angle. It’s good to feel the wind in my face. With the parka hood thrown back, I have a much lighter, formfitting hood covering most of my head and face, and of course the ever present goggles. I cringe to think how bright the day would be with so much snow reflecting the morning sun.

  Axu changes course immediately.

  “Good. Come and get me, Axu,” I say under my breath as I run. The heavy survival gear encumbers my movements, but I make good time. It’s thrilling to turn loose my new abilities without worrying about anyone keeping up.

  The Prothean proves to be faster. Each time I glance back, he’s closer.

  I checked the horizon where the statue ships are located. Nothing moving there. That doesn’t mean I know where the other Prothean scouts are, but I hope it means they are searching their quadrants and leaving this between me and Axu.

  My escape is neither creative nor effective. The last place I’m going is into the ice canyon, so this is a contest of speed and endurance. As long as my pursuer doesn’t abandon the chase and turn on my friends, I’m doing my job. When he gains on me, I accelerate, ignoring the burning in my lungs and pounding of my heart.

  When he starts to fall behind, I ease up the pace. I need to keep him on the hook. Can I maintain this pace long enough for Shaina to fix the ship? Probably not. It’s time to look for other options, but there aren’t any.

  The ground changes texture. It feels different too, like I’m running on thick ice instead of frozen dirt. A quick scan around me confirms this area is even flatter than normal. I’m on a frozen lake, or maybe an ocean. As hopeless scenarios go, this one is the most hopeless yet. I’m running straight out into an empty expanse. If my pursuer doesn’t catch me and
kill me, the weather will.

  At least the ice beneath my feet remains solid. I catch a bit of a tailwind which allows me to run faster. Exhilarated, I pour on the speed and search for options.

  “Wait for Axu!”

  I flinch at the sound of the deep, reedy voice. Each vibration strikes me like an attack. “I don’t want to wait for Axu. Maybe Axu should go home and mind his own business.”

  The Prothean doesn’t hear me. I’m not shouting or even raising my voice, just talking to myself to pass the time. In the distance, I see mountains. With nothing to use as a reference point, the terrain change could be a hundred miles away or close enough to reach in an hour. The mountains might be larger than Olympus Mons, the mountain on Mars that is so tall it sticks out of the atmosphere. It could just as easily be an ancient range eroded by wind but I don’t think that is the case.

  The ice shifts ahead of me. I change course, avoiding a crack. Twenty strides later, I’m looking into a giant fissure that disappears into blackness. If there’s water down there, I can’t see it. Axu, probably sensing my predicament, charges forward, rapidly decreasing the distance between us.

  Ahead of me, the gap grows wider and wider. I’ve got a choice to make: leap across or continue on this side. Neither seems like an ideal option, so I jump across. Axu follows but slows to match my pace. He must have limits or he would just run me down.

  That’s a good piece of information. I can work with that. If the massive alien of Dogan and Hadrian nightmares is mortal, then he can be defeated.

  A distressingly short time later, I encounter another crack in the ice. If this keeps up, I’m going to be on an island floating away from my friends. But not yet. I stride along the edge of this new formation, looking for options. Always looking for options and finding none, that seems like my fate.

  There’s one thing I can try. What if I turn to fight?

  The idea worries me. I can barely draw my charge pistol with my gloves on and it’s getting cold. There’s plenty of daylight left but something about racing across a frozen ocean makes my plight seem more frigid.