by Ken Bebelle
She opened her mouth and Jonesy was sure she was going to start screaming. Instead, she spoke, her words strangely muffled through the gel, “Padėk man…prašau...”
He looked over at Cam. She shrugged. “Soviet?”
A light bulb went off. He looked down at his purloined clothing. Sino-sov. Tankgirl probably thought they were on the same side. Which they were, given that they were all human. Mostly. “Doesn’t sound like any Russian I know.”
Cam spoke to the girl in English, her words slow and quiet. “We’re trying to help you.”
Tankgirl’s eyes widened and she gave a nod, the movement in slow motion in the gel.
Jonesy knew they weren’t leaving this woman here. But he also knew he didn’t want Cam accessing that console again. “How are we getting her out?”
Cam turned, scoping out the room. She took a leap and landed on top of the nearest bed thing. Oh Jeezus. Not that.
Yes, that. Cam ripped a blade arm down and bounded off the bed. In the dim light of the lab, Cam stood there heaving, clutching the alien equipment with a blade dangling at the end. She looked terrifying and Jones took an involuntary step back. Cam ignored him, her focus on the tank. He watched her study the tank before raising her arm and swinging the bar into console. Two more smacks and she seemed satisfied the console was wrecked.
Jonesy listened closely, sure that the Ringheads two decks above them would be alerted to the activities below. But he sensed no new movement.
Cam set her feet and cocked back her improvised club, teeing up like a golfer. “Get ready to catch her.”
Shit. Well, in for a penny… Jonesy stowed his rifle and stood off to the side where he could at least keep an eye on both women. Cam tensed, and swung. The club whistled in the cold air as it blurred by. The impact rang the stasis tank like a gong, the sound echoing in the confines of the room. Tankgirl’s mouth opened in an ‘o’ of surprise, her hands drifting up to her head to cover her ears from the next swing.
The second hit cracked the outer casing. By the third and fourth strike, Jonesy was nearly twitching, shifting his focus from watching for the tank to crack, and watching the door for Hunters to come barging in on them. As it was, he almost missed catching the girl because he was checking the door.
With a splintering crack, the last swing of the club crushed through the exterior of the stasis tank. The spider webs of cracks began to fail spectacularly as hundreds of gallons of yellow alien goo came rushing out at them, smelling of bleach and burnt plastic. Jonesy thrust his arms into the waterfall of slime -- Fuck I should have thought this through better -- and caught the young woman as she collapsed out of the gel.
Jonesy was now acutely aware of holding a wet, slippery, and naked woman in his arms. Who was also currently vomiting alien slime over his boots. Cam rushed in with a sheet taken off the exam bed and threw it over the young woman’s shoulders. The strange fabric flexed and molded itself around the woman’s body. No, that wasn’t freaky at all.
He eased his arms out from under her as she got her arm and knees steady on the floor. She continued to wretch up gobbets of yellow goo flecked with bits of red and black. Jonesy stripped off his outer jacket -- it was completely soaked through with the stuff -- and began cleaning off his hands and gear with the cleanest parts of the jacket. Hopefully things would get warmer as they kept moving.
Cam helped the girl to her feet, and kept a hand on her arm until she found her balance. The Soviet girl hopped a bit on her good leg until apparently giving up and trying her alien foot on the ground. Tentatively, at first, then with more weight, until she had both feet firmly on the deck. She looked like she was going to throw up again.
Cam spoke very slowly. “Do you think you can walk?”
The girl was staring at the stump of her arm, despair etched over her eyes. Tears welled up and fell down her cheeks. Sobbing, she lifted her head and looked directly at Cam. Her eyes bulged and her breath became a keening panicked scream. She flailed with her arms, stumbling away from Cam. She almost fell but caught herself on Jonesy’s shoulder. She swung herself around his back, and began wrestling to take his extra rifle off, yanking him around in the process.
Jonesy yelled. “Hey! Hey! Hey! Slow down there, soldier!”
He twisted around to face her, managed to snag her right wrist, and dragged her across the room until he pinned her to the wall with the stump of his right arm jabbed into her neck. “Settle down!”
The girl kept flailing, wide eyes jumping from Cam to Jonesy, trying to back away and crawl up the wall. She pounded on Jonesy’s head with the stump of her left arm and kicked her legs. One swing of her legs grazed him across the nuts and nearly winded him. Fucking hell!
He pulled her off the wall and body slammed her to the floor, landing on top of her. “Ty che, blyad?!”
The girl stopped moving, staring up at Jonesy, panting from her exertions. She went limp underneath him, allowing him to sit up.
With a scowl, she ground out, “Otstan' ot menya.”
Jonesy shook his head and he kept his voice firm despite the uncomfortable lingering twinge from her kick. “Nyet.”
Cam walked up behind him. “My, aren’t we full of surprises? Where did that come from?”
Jonesy sat back, keeping his weight on the girl’s belly. His boys were still sore, so there was no way he was letting Tankgirl get back up yet. He sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. “I had a really vulgar grandmother who nannied me. I have an extremely limited, and yet sometimes very useful grasp of Russian.”
“I thought you said she wasn't speaking Russian.”
“She wasn’t. But a lot of people from that part of the world understand it. I guess we got lucky.”
He shifted his weight a little and offered her his hand. “Ok?”
The girl nodded once, a tense, fragile movement. She grasped his hand and struggled to her feet, still keeping her distance from Cam, and a wary eye on Jonesy.
Cam asked her, “What’s your name, soldier? Speak any English?”
She nodded slowly. She was still staring at Jonesy. “Starshina Daina Markunas, Soviet Federation Army.”
Cam responded in kind. “I’m Cam Alvarez and this--”
Daina held up her hand, her eyes now hard and boring into Jonesy. “You are Lance Corporal Maxwell Jones, Union Wolf. You stole my eyes.”
Eleven
Out of the Frying Pan
Cam was fully aware that they did not have a plan. She half wanted to 'talk' to the ship again, but figured maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. She’d resisted the ship’s corrections last time, but just barely. Still, she had to be honest with herself and admit that the connection with the ship had felt right on a visceral level.
Contact with the ship felt like being wrapped in a warm, comfortable blanket, protected and at peace. Even for just the few moments last time, her consciousness expand to the reaches of the ship, attempting to connect her with each aspect of the ship, and all those aboard. It was only when she realized that the other Ringhead minds might touch hers that she had broken off. In retrospect, she figured that communicating with the ship would actually be quite useful to getting off the ship. Except for that part where the ship wanted her to be more like a Ringhead. That part Cam was not so keen on.
The feeling of the ship trying to ‘fix’ her was disturbing. Cam had felt parts of her sliding around like a puzzle. As the pieces dropped into place, her mind opened more to the ship. Each changing piece felt right, which was appealing, and also scary. Cam wasn’t sure how much she would be herself if she gave herself completely to the ship. Will I still be human? Am I human even now?
Jonesy’s assessment was correct. It wasn’t worth the risk unless they were going to get off the ship. She would have to hold this card in her back pocket for later.
Cam ran point again, with Daina sandwiched between herself and Jonesy. The recent abductee was looking steadier already, especially since taking a layer of clothing off Jonesy’s back. I
f only they’d thought to bring an extra pair of boots. Still, she carried herself with the kind of spartan efficiency Cam had seen before from Soviet soldiers.
Cam stopped at the ladder access to the next level down. She mentally consulted the map she had memorized before their excursion. If she was remembering correctly, this should bring them down just outside of the docking bay. After that, the only difficulties would be commandeering a ship, and learning how to fly it safely home. And land it.
Markunas and Jonesy both stopped behind her and took positions along the walls, waiting for Cam’s signal. Their argument continued in hushed tones.
Daina hissed. “Ne. Ne! Your doctor was given neural pathway technology by US government. Technology stolen from Soviet lab. Make me wait another year for implants!”
Cam could hear the impatience in Jonesy’s voice. He was usually Mr. Cool, the one she trusted for his steady hand but this girl was really getting to him. “Look, lady, Dr. Abbé was working for years on this before I was sent to him.”
Daina jabbed her stump of an arm in the air at him. “Yes, years and no results! Then you are hurt and -- boom! -- he finds it? I think not. Your Uncle Sam stole from Soviets, then wait until one of their own needs it. Then they make miracle happen. Nuostabu!” She twirled her stump in the air and rolled her eyes theatrically.
Cam looked back and hissed. “Shut it down! This is the last ladder down. Docking bay should be within a hundred meters after we descend.”
Like the others, the ‘ladder’ access wasn’t so much of a purpose built ladder, as it was a small access port between levels. The varied conduits and snaking pipes in the walls made for convenient hand and footholds. The paths were too small for Hunters, and even pretty tight for humans, so Cam was left wondering who these paths had been built for. For now, she was simply grateful for their existence.
Jonesy stood beside her and looked down the narrow access. Dim blue lighting showed several ready handholds, just as all the previous times. He cocked his head, listening. “The Hunters are on the next level up. They’ve probably found the lab we raided. We gotta move quick.”
He seemed to be doing some mental math, eyes flicking back and forth between herself and Daina. “All right. I’ll take point on this one. Daina, follow me. Cam bring up the rear. Good?”
Cam nodded and settled against the wall to cover the hallway behind them. Jonesy stepped into the alcove and began wiggling his way down, at one point cursing the small tube before disappearing into the darkness. Daina tucked into the top of the access and covered the opposite direction. For being shoeless and covered in crusting alien slime, the woman was doing quite well. If they all got back in one piece, Cam was going to be sorry to see her return to the Sino-Sov alliance.
Jonesy’s whispered voice drifted up from below. “Down and clear.”
Daina stowed her rifle, gave Cam a quick nod, and began to descend. As she began climbing, Cam’s eye drifted to the wall above her. A circular control panel gleamed in the dull blue light. She gripped her rifle tighter to stave off the itch in her palm to grasp the panel. This yearning to connect with the alien technology was freaking her out even more than her blue skin. What was happening to her?
A bark from below interrupted her thoughts. “Jesus fuck!” Jonesy cried, followed by the rapid report of his rifle firing on auto.
Daina’s voice echoed from the narrow access. “Aš ateinu!” Cam could hear her grunting with exertion to force herself down faster.
Fuck it. She had to get down there. Cam shipped her rifle and began worming her way down the access as fast as she could.
Daina screamed something she couldn’t understand, sounding defiant, followed by the crackling of more plasma fire. Between bursts Cam also heard the quick pop of a pistol firing as well. God, it was a war zone down there. Cam hurried.
Cam saw the blue oval of light that was the end of the access. From here she could drop the last few feet and land directly in the hallway. But she had no idea what to expect. The gunfire had stopped. The smell of cordite and ozone drifted up, telling her nothing of what was happening down there, except that it had been chaos. She was braced with her arms and back in the narrow tunnel. She remembered the docking bay should be to the right after exiting, so she picked right.
She dropped.
Cam landed in a crouch, staying as low as she could, whipping her rifle off her back. She had picked correctly. Through the haze of spent plasma she saw the silhouette of Daina’s lithe figure, still standing, rifle raised at a target beyond her. She was standing with her legs wide, protecting a still form on the deck.
Jonesy?! She stayed crouched, trying to hide in the mist, and hurried forward. As she approached, she saw Jonesy and quailed. He was lying on his side on the floor, a thin trail of blood coming from his hairline.
Daina clucked her tongue and shook her head minutely as Cam bent to check Jonesy. She kept her rifle trained forward, eyes searching. “He is ok, just unconscious. Caught ricochet. Look up. This fucking bitch is hard to kill.”
Cam looked up. The haze in the air parted, and she saw before them the smallest Ringhead alien she had ever seen. It was, maybe, three feet tall. Definitely a Ringhead, though. The same featureless black eyes and the same body coloration. Although this one had the same leopard mottling as they had seen on a few of them, but the pattern covered its entire body. It lacked the vicious bony spikes and plating she was used to seeing on the Hunters. It's head was round, lacking the bony crown. It looked like a ghoulish Ringhead baby.
It was standing between them and the docking bay. A small window was set into the door behind the alien. Through the window Cam could just make out the lines of a jumpship in the dim light. They were so close!
Daina tensed next to her. “Watch out!”
She pulled her trigger, began hammering the tiny Ringhead with plasma bolts. Cam felt the hairs on her arms stand up as electricity cracked across the room. The tiny Ringhead raised its hands, which were now shining pinpoints of azure light, and the walls of the ship came alive. The snaking conduits jumped off the walls and slashed the air between them and the Ringhead, blocking Daina’s gunfire. The alien waved its arms and the tubes and pipes whipped through the air in sinuous fashion, continuing to block Daina’s barrage.
Daina let loose a scream of frustration and released her trigger, the end of her barrel glowing hot. The conduits paused in midair, tense, like cobras preparing to strike. Daina’s chest heaved as she panted in the smoky air. Jonesy was beginning to stir at her feet. Cam could see one eye cracked open, and his hand slowly moving towards the rifle laying at his side.
She looked back to the tiny Ringhead, amazed and dismayed. How were they going to get by this? The alien’s small arms twitched, the lights in its hands flickered, and the pipes quivered a little.
Cam whispered, “I think it’s getting tired.”
Daina grunted, “Not fucking fast enough.”
Cam shook Jonesy’s shoulder. “Hey. How close are the others?”
His brow furrowed as he sat up. “They’re at the lift one level above. We have less than a minute before more hell breaks loose.”
Cam turned to look at the tiny Ringhead. The small alien cocked its head and stared back at her. Cam gasped as she felt a hand on the back of her head push into her brain. Her eyes rolled up as the hand pushed through her mind, searching. It found a spot that fit perfectly, like a key, and turned.
Cam felt her soul and entire being shift as if a dam had been opened. The puzzle pieces of her mind flipped and spun, locking themselves into a new pattern, transforming into something that opened her connection to the aliens like a live circuit. A flood of sensation and memory coursed through her in a torrent, causing her to gasp. She dropped her rifle and fell to her knees, prostrate before the tiny Ringhead. On shaking arms she dropped her head to the deck and grunted out one word.
“Mother!”
Twelve
Special Delivery
Sasha
Sasha felt like a microwave pizza. Baking in the stifling confines of her thermal armor, hotboxing herself before getting dropped into an urban freezer. Her crew was packed into two tight rows on the newest bird out of Experimental Projects. Like its namesake, the Raven was an inky matte black, every square inch covered with a new EM-absorbing coating designed to skate past Ringhead radar. Or whatever the aliens had that they called radar. Like the name said, it was experimental. But so far, three drops and not a peep. Ace still flew dangerously low, though, just to be safe. A few tree branches caught in the landing skids was better than facing down a Ringhead jumpship.
Sasha sat in the first seat in the hold, facing the left side of the helicopter, just behind Ace. For once, her small stature was a win, as she had plenty of legroom on the cramped bird. Outside, the deep purple of the night sky was beginning to give way to sunrise. She took off her glove and leaned out. The window was ice cold. Beside her, Mack shifted restlessly, bobbing his knees and tugging at his collar.
She sat back and used Ripper to thump his enhanced leg. “Fucking sit still.”
He looked down at her with a sheepish grin. “Sorry, pre-game jitters.”
“Save the energy. You’re going to need it.” She pulled Bitsy onto her lap from beneath the chair and began rechecking her. Satisfied with Stan’s work, she put Bitsy back down and systematically patted down all her pockets, counting up charge packs and grenades.
She looked sidelong at Mack as she checked over her grenade launcher. “Remember, the iceboxes they set up are getting more powerful. Don’t bother with anything other than the thermobarics if we run into them, you're just wasting your charge energy.”
Mack gave her a thumbs up, and he settled a bit. Sasha had monitored his progress these last few weeks. Not unlike her own schizophrenic behavior when she got fitted with Ripper. Sometimes Mack zigged when he should zag. Other times she watched him laugh like a goddamned fool when that monster leg took him on a rooftop leap. Sasha could appreciate the craziness of it. Elation one minute from the power the enhancements gave you--despair the next because you felt like a fucking freak. But she figured killing some Ringheads would go a long way to making Mack feel like the soldier he was.
