by Scott Warren
“Bargult, the universe hasn’t flushed you down the toilet yet?” she asked.
The other xenos were again giving them a wide berth, even in the relative sanctuary of the square.
“It has tried, human Victoria,” said Bargult as he circled the trio, “I am far from here. I look upon the dusted remains of a ship of the founders. You would not know of this perchance?”
She shivered. Many bodies, one brain. Shit gave her the willies. The creature called Bargult was a singular entity spread across the crew of multiple Grayling ships operating in the area. A quantum entanglement in the nervous system of the brood networked the entire clutch with a naturally evolved FTL communication and shared sensory input. The only thing humans had encountered that came close was the ocular implant networking of each individual privateer. But individuals had delays. Individuals had to give and receive orders. Grayling communication was perfect. Like worker ants that each carried a bit of the queen inside. Kill a few and they could just hatch more. To kill a Grayling you had to stamp out the whole damn hive down to single digit population before there wasn’t enough brain matter to process the Grayling consciousness.
Luckily the species as a whole had so few individuals spread across numerous bodies that creativity and development was stifled as a result. The Graylings were perhaps a century ahead of humans in the technological curve, where they stagnated even as their colonies spread.
“Human Victoria. You have been too long from my senses. Will you take nutrients with me?” he asked. He levered himself down on his forelegs, placing his head at equal height with Victoria. Interlocking protective carapace slid back, revealing the slick, moist sensory band above his mandibles. The one organ took in her light, heat, and audial information.
“I’d rather eat puke, you xeno fuck,” she replied. “Why do you want to eat with me anyway? If those Salvesei with the particle lancers weren’t watching you’d run me down and stick me with that great big sting of yours, and I’d enjoy emptying seven rounds into your ugly face while I died.”
“It is rare to see a human outside their ship, exposed to the light instead of hiding between stars. Such a thing is to be relished, savored, tasted. You are a blight of scavengers and your breath reeks of oxygen, but you are worthy prey. I look forward to the hunt. I will see you soon, Human Victoria.”
The Grayling lumbered away buzzing vestigial wings beneath armored plates, the Grayling equivalent of laughter. Victoria’s skin crawled. She looked over her shoulder to her escorts, “He thinks we’re the fucking cockroaches. How do you like that?”
“Starting trouble again, are we?”
Victoria turned again at the moist warbling voice, relieved. “Hibbevox, how is Taru treating you?
“Human Victoria. I am getting too old for this excrement, if you will pardon my crassness. I wish I could have warned you of Grayling Bargult’s presence aboard Taru Station. Come, perhaps you would prefer to nutrient yourself with me instead.”
Hibbevox began to slide away on a slick pseudopod, sensory probes testing the air. In full height he drew himself almost up to Victoria’s waist. The top of his jelly-like crown wafted in the subtle ventilation.
Victoria activated her transceiver while they followed, “Red, bad news.”
“Graylings, I know, we just caught sight of one. Tohgrun?”
“Nah. If he were here I’d cast off and take my chances with running empty. I still have nightmares about his cutters. It’s Bargult. But he won’t wait for us to meet him in space. He’ll split up, come at us inside and out.” Victoria scrolled through the roster of marines in the bay until she found what she was looking for. “Baum and Webb need to go for a walk.”
“I know what you have in mind. They were overdue for shore leave anyway. But that will leave bay security light.”
“Have to chance it, make it happen. Where are we on the stores?”
Information streamed onto Victoria’s ocular implants. She scanned through. Foodstuffs were no problem, but there was a hold on the exotic matter catalyst for the Alcubierre and the horizon drive until they could get some credit extended. Red’s voice accompanied the readout, “They’re letting us load up the wagon but we need the green light. I don’t think they want us here when the Graylings decide to make their move.”
“Working on it. Sergeant, how about you?”
“Wagon’s already on its way home, Captain. A Grayling on Taru? We worried?”
“Shit yes, get your ass back to the Condor as soon as you finish up. Double time.”
They reached the pillar Hibbevox rented to manage his trade company and followed him inside, trying to ignore the pungent odor the Jenursa tended to leave where they lingered.
“Hibbe, we don’t have time for lunch anymore, we really need that credit unlocked.”
“Regrettable, though not surprising,” said Hibbevox, sliding around his desk and climbing onto a moistened reclining couch. One of his tentacles draped forward into a bowl of cultivated algae, slowly absorbing it. “You know how this works, Victoria. I cannot extend you credit unless you show me something for which the UE will reimburse my company. You have been having bad luck lately. Give me something that I might see you safely from here.”
“We hit a Terygalt hulk, pulled some parts off of it.”
“Yawn, Victoria. The Terygalt have little of interest to the Union Earth. Unless they have recently changed their position.
“We have live rescues.”
“Compelling, but again, for the amount of exotic matter you have requested? Union Earth won’t pay me for your live rescues, you’ll have to negotiate with their host governments, and I can’t ask my home office to take a loss on your… unorthodox diplomacy. I need something tangible.”
Victoria scowled, “Bastard, you’ve extended us credit for less before. You’re fishing.” Hibbevox’s hue shifted slightly, a sign of suppressed excitement according to her ocular implants.
“Perhaps. Am I validated, human Victoria?”
Still scowling she glanced back to make sure the door was closed before reaching into her pocket and placing a piece of Malagath scrap on the table. Hibbevox leaned forward, quivering.
“Dead stars, it’s true. News preceded you to Taru via our mutual friend, but I could not believe it for myself. This is their latest generation”
“And we pulled working parts out of their engine room before the Dirregaunt hit them. You know how badly Union Earth wants to get a hold of these, even hull fragments would cover our credit.”
Hibbevox slid a tentacle to his radio and punched in a tonal sequence, releasing her goods for credit. Victoria’s retinal implants showed the status of the auto wagons switch from loaded to in transit.
“The Jenursa will benefit greatly from this as well, human Victoria. I wish you the best speed in returning these to the Union Earth. Although, if I could persuade you to let me transport them to your government for you at no charge…”
“Not a chance Hibbe,” she said, standing, “Even if we had time to unload it, UE would crucify me for handing over the tech to anyone. Even the Jenursa. We’ll drop it ourselves, right after we take care of a few passengers.”
“Your passengers take precedence? Why would Terygalt refugees take priority over functioning Malagath technology? Unless your survivors are not Terygalt…” he paused. “Dead stars,” he hissed, “There are living Malagath aboard the Condor? And you brought them to Taru?”
Victoria winked at him.
“Madwoman, you may as well set a fire in your own ship. Tell no one of this. Go. Luck and the speed to you, Human Victoria. I pray I see you on the lee of this storm.”
“A pleasure as always, Hibbe.”
She turned to leave as Hibbevox received a prompt on his radio.
“Hold, Victoria. I am told one of the Grayling ships is preparing to launch.”
“Can you tell me which bay?”
“I should not. But… 192. Use it as you will.”
“Thanks Hibbe. I’ve got one more thing to do before I piss off. Are the FTL comm terminals on the island still secure?”
Red Calhoun relayed the information to his marines. Somewhere ahead the auto wagon sped toward the Condor with basic supplies and some foodstuffs for Malagath physiology. The Graylings wouldn’t touch it, they wanted the warm profile of humans. But they were waiting, somewhere along the way. This was an old dance and the halls of Taru station were pocked and pitted with scorch marks, plasma stains, and more recently, bullet casings. Seven marines with him, four with Aesop and two with the captain. Eleven guarding the bay where Huian was keeping the engines warm and two more indisposed. How many Graylings were on the station? Fifty? A hundred? There was no way to know. The Vultures didn’t stand a chance, separated as they were. First order, they had to link up.
On his implants, Aesop’s marker closer to the Condor changed from blue to red, engaged in combat. He swore, pulling up Aesop Cohen’s rifle camera. Bright muzzle flashes illuminated a charging Grayling hulk, brought down before it could smash into the squad of marines. Quick bursts deterred others from remaining in line of sight as the marines retreated down an unfinished side tunnel.
“Red, contact. Graylings headed for the bay.” The sergeant called in his ear, supplemented by the harsh bark of automatic rifle fire and the messy shrill of the Grayling small arms scorching the walls of the tunnels.
“God dammit, how did they find out where we moored? Never mind, can you get to us?”
Pause. More rifle fire.
“Yeah I think so; they’re not pressing us but a few are shadowing.”
“Keep moving lad. They’re trying to surround you. We’re on our way. Head to the level below you, we’ll meet you at the far end of the tunnel.”
His marines moved toward the markers on their implants, checking every corner and cross tunnel for Graylings. Taru station was a labyrinthine honeycomb of ancient tunnels, both natural and dug by xenos before humans ever landed on their moon.
Red spun at the skittering behind him. A single Grayling was turning the corner, long legs scrabbling for purchase. He lifted the rifle to his shoulder and squeezed a burst before Bargult could bring up his own weapon. A few of the Teflon-coated tungsten rounds ricocheted off the Grayling’s protective carapace but enough penetrated, shredding the sensory band and nervous system beneath. The air filled with the smell of gunpowder. The Grayling’s momentum carried it to crash into the tunnel wall as Bargult’s consciousness fled it.
Red lowered his rifle and motioned to his squad. “Come on. We’re made, boys,” he said. He activated his transceiver, “Skipper, you finished sending your message? Things are getting hot. Can you make it to us?”
“I’m closer to Cohen, I’m going to link up with him and wait for you. No Graylings yet. I’m keeping an eye through both your implants. Try not to move your heads too much, I’m not used to seeing triple while sober.”
“Aye Skipper.”
The indicators for his docking bay marines went from blue to yellow.
“Report!” he shouted.
“Major, they tried to come in with the wagon, sneaky bastards. We got the door closed but it won’t hold them. There’s too many, and we’re already light two. Looked like almost fifty of the buggers.”
“Right, hold them off best you can. If you have to, retreat to the Condor.”
“What about you?”
He frowned. “I’ll figure something out. Just take as much of the bugger down as you can before you give yer ground. Don’t let him bug-zap you.”
Gunfire rattled in his earpiece, echoing through the tunnel shortly after. They were getting closer. He raised his gun at movement to the left. A small group of Stodun retreating from the conflict as fast as their four legs could carry them. They screamed when they saw him, but did not draw their own weapons. He spat on the tunnel floor and moved on. No one on Taru wanted to take a side between Graylings and humans, all it offered was a quick trip to the lower level kitchens.
One of his marines shouted and opened up with his rifle. Another Grayling had crashed into view while Red was distracted, knocking the marine over and putting both forelegs through his chest, piercing the composite armor like paper. Red shot it dead. Two more rounded the corner as fast as lightning and were put down by the thundering rifles. Red turned around again as the Stodun let out a second high pitched peel, warning him of another Grayling behind him. His snapshot tore apart the legs on the Grayling’s left side and it collapsed, electro-plasmic discharger carving the wall beside Red with arcs of blue-white lightning. He dove to the floor behind a stalagmite and the EPD petered off as Bargult abandoned the crippled Grayling’s mind to focus elsewhere.
This wasn’t going well. Bargult could afford losses, Red couldn’t. They couldn’t fight Graylings on two fronts with six men. Something had to be done. He got to his feet and grabbed the dead marine’s rifle, wedging it between the stalagmites he dodged behind. Through his suit’s computer he ordered it to fire semi-randomly, and slaved its camera to his retinal implants. For good measure he left a grenade with it.
“Let’s move, eyes forward,” he ordered. Now with the rifle deterring pursuit, the marines fanned out in a wedge, trotting forward. Bargult prodded again, but meeting a unified front lost him three bodies before the bug could get close enough to use his weapon.
“Cohen, we’re coming up on you, check your fire.”
“A-firm, Major. Be advised, they’re coming from a tunnel on your left. I couldn’t mine it in time.”
“Roger, you got eyes on the Skipper?” asked Red as he motioned for one of his marines to set an explosive. “Vick, where are you?”
The sound of a .45 automatic filled his radio. The skipper spoke after the last shots ceased. “I’m two levels up, looking at a service ladder that leads to the upper deck of the hangar. We don’t have the rounds to handle more Graylings, but you better tap into the Condor before you worry about me.
Ahead, his squad linked up with Cohen. His marines were battered and scuffed, but none the worse for wear. Booming reports vibrated the cavern tunnels and dust shook from the sparse lighting fixtures.
“Those’d be the proximity grenades,” said Cohen. Red took a look at the rifle he’d left behind. It had run empty, and Graylings were advancing up that corridor. He blew that grenade too. Then he did as the captain suggested and tapped into forward cameras on the Condor. The bay was swarming with Graylings.
“Huian,” he said, switching to a wider channel, “You got a count on those buggers?”
“Major, this is Huian, the marines are back on board and we’re sealed up tight. Bargult can’t get in, but there are forty strong in the bay. Should I heat up the anti-personnel cannons?”
“Negative Miss Wong, we fire shipboard weapons in the bay and we’ll never dock at Taru again. Hold fast.”
“Aye Major.”
He returned to the captain’s channel. “Vick, they’ve got the bay locked down.”
“I heard, asshole. Tell me something I don’t know.”
Bitch. He grinned. He could see her in his mind, there would be no fear in the captain’s eyes, only rage and righteous indignation. He cycled through the other external cameras on the Condor. “They left the catwalk entrance unmanned,” he said.
“That still puts us in a hangar with forty fucking Graylings,” said Victoria. He could hear her eject the magazine as she spoke, checking the remaining rounds in her sidearm. Completely unnecessary as the 1911 was networked to her implants, and therefore, to his. He knew as well as she did that there were two rounds in the magazine and one in the chamber. But Victoria never trusted anything she couldn’t see with her eyes. He also knew the vast majority of her spent rounds were probably lodged in some Taru bulkhead. Vick couldn’t shoot for shit, and he never had figured out why every spacefaring captain seemed to gravitate to the 1911. Seven rounds weren’t enough for her to hit anything.
“Don’t worry, I have an idea. Stay put,
Skipper,” said Red. He motioned to Aesop, “Take the men, I’m transferring them under your hierarchy now. Make like you’re going for the bay doors, but don’t get so aggressive that he puts you down.” He gestured to another of his marines, Edwards. “You, with me. We’re going after the Skipper.”
His marines followed Aesop, fanning out ahead to present a concave array to any Graylings. Splitting up was risky, but he needed Bargult completely focused on the bodies in the bay, so someone had to shoot at them. He and Edwards veered off into a side passage too narrow for the Graylings to follow, leading up to the next level of the station. Through Aesop’s camera, he could see the exchange of fire as he engaged Bargult again. He could also see the dwindling ammo counts. Damn, he thought, should have given them my spares.
He ascended a ladder, lifting the hatch to peek through as Edwards kept an eye behind. A single Grayling patrolled the corridor. He lowered the hatch, looking to the marine just below him.
“What’ve we got, Major?” she whispered.
“Just one, but that’s all he needs to figure out what we’re about,” he replied. He radioed Aesop again, “Cohen, we need you to make him focus harder, step up your fire.”
Aesop locked another magazine into his rifle. Focus harder? The Graylings were already practically turning their asses black with scorch marks from their bug-zappers. How much more focused could they get? He risked a look around the corner of the iron box that he had taken shelter behind. With no oxygen in the atmosphere there had been nothing to rust it. Funny the things you thought about when there were three meter bugs trying to fry you. Luckily the EPDs were, while destructive and deadly, relatively imprecise. Inter-Grayling warfare involved stunning rather than killing, that way you could assimilate surviving bodies. The voltage would kill a human though. If they were lucky.
