by Tim Marquitz
“Doing what I have to, Captain,” he answered, nearly choking on the words as yet another ship’s engines exploded into so much debris. “Every ship is infected with Xebedon offspring. Everyone’s already dead.”
Zane cursed Albion just as the fleet flickered in from hyperspace. The Indomitable loomed beneath the flotilla, a hundred destroyers at its heels. Albion growled, seeing the ships turn their guns on the flotilla without hesitation.
“Pull back,” he told Choi, and the helmsman did as he was told, Lyana yanking her hands away from her console in a show of her disgust.
Flashes erupted across the view screen as the fleet laid waste to the flotilla, bolts of cannon fire tearing through the gathered ships and leaving nothing but shattered pieces behind. What was left of the flotilla, the ships not fully infested, fled, scattering before the barrage of the Covenant fleet. It did them no good. The ships were mowed down as the fleet swept forward, merciless wave after merciless wave of weapons fire leaving the ships no safe place to run.
“You bastard, Albion,” Zane screamed at him over the channel, only to have his voice silenced as the comms were severed.
Albion sank lower in his chair, staring out at where the Bolton had just been. Around it, several of the flotilla ships fell away in pieces, spinning and tumbling out of control, yet Albion hadn’t seen them be fired upon, the fleet not yet that far along. He bolted upright in his chair, strangling the armrests as he realized what Zane had done. Albion checked his sensors. The fleet continued its onslaught, oblivious. He looked over at Lyana, and she stared back, her face pulled into a scowl. She knew what Zane had done, too, and she pleaded with him with her eyes to not issue the order he had to make. He shook his head.
“We have no choice,” he told her. “Choi, get us to Syrus.”
Choi sighed and did just that, the Excalibur slipping into hyperspace. Albion knew exactly where Zane would go. It was only a matter of getting there before the Bolton did, releasing its crew and passengers.
Albion hoped they got there first.
Twenty
Sector 59, Allied Space
Syrus
The Excalibur appeared above Syrus, the home world of Captain Zane, the registered planet of the Bolton. The land gate gleamed behind the Excalibur as Albion ordered the ship to phase. The Bolton appeared just moments later, slipping from hyperspace and slowing as it angled toward the land gate. It crept silently through space
“Open a channel,” Albion ordered. Lyana did so, and not long after, Captain Zane appeared onscreen.
“Come to kill us, Albion?”
Albion sighed, a knot forming in his throat. “You’re leaving me little choice,” he said, knowing putting the responsibility on the other captain did nothing to relieve the guilt that set fire to his guts. “Your ship is infested, Zane.”
“Maybe, but the bridge is sealed, Captain, as are several other compartments,” he answered. “We’re not overrun. People can still be saved from this. They can make it back to their families. Don’t do this.”
Albion rubbed at his temples, a headache surging through his skull at the choice he was being forced to make.
“I understand your position, Albion,” Zane went on. “I truly do, but you’re condemning all of us to death. There’s still time. Let us drain the affected sections of oxygen, kill the bugs, scuttle the ship, and give us the opportunity to get clear.”
Albion met the captain’s pleading stare, wanting so badly to let the man do just that before the fleet arrived and took the decision out of his hands. He glanced to Crate, and the engineer shook his head. Lyana and Choi held silent, and Mara squeezed Albion’s shoulder, fingers biting into the meat. He knew her hesitance, but his eyes made their way to the floor of the bridge where Genys had breathed her last, the bugs spilling from her corpse. That was the fate that awaited the crew of the Bolton, and if there was even the slightest chance that the bugs could reach the planet below, Albion had no choice.
He met the captain’s gaze once more and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Zane.”
“Don’t you dare—” the captain started, then stumbled back, his words choked off in his throat.
Albion stiffened in his seat as Zane fell to his knees. His chest swelled, the skin bubbling, great waves rippling toward his neck. He gasped and blood sprayed from his mouth, dotting the screen. Zane’s eyes flew wide, and Albion had seen enough. He killed the channel with a jab of a finger, sickened at how easy it was to silence Zane’s suffering.
“All cannons on the bridge,” he called out.
Lyana hesitated, and Albion leaped from his seat and nudged her from her console, pulling them from phase and sending a barrage of fire toward the Bolton. The ship shuddered as the blasts obliterated its bridge, but Albion didn’t stop there. He fired until there was nothing left of the Bolton but dust and debris. Only then did he pull away from the console and return to his chair, flopping into it with a gasp, his breath caught in his lungs. Barely able to catch his breath, he clutched his head in his hands, clawing at his temples.
“You did the right thing,” Mara told him, but Albion didn’t give a damn.
It had been his decision to free the captain and his crew from Dev-ji 482, to free all of the hostages. Their deaths were on his hands and, right then, he couldn’t bring himself to care that his actions had saved billions of lives. There was no reconciling it. He growled into his hands as Mara clung to him, desperate to alleviate his grief. That would never happen, he knew.
“Sir?” Lyana’s voice stirred him from his thoughts. “Vice Admiral Vance is hailing us.” Albion’s frustration swelled, his cheeks warming at the mention of the admiral. He waved a hand, and Vane appeared on the view screen.
“Excellent work, Captain,” the Vice Admiral said, offering a respectful nod to Albion. “We might well have caught up with the Bolton, but not before it had disembarked its crew and passengers. Command owes you a debt.”
“Isn’t that something, huh?” Albion straightened in his seat, unable to keep the sneer from his face. “Command owes the disgraced Captain Albion a debt.” He shook his head. “How about you give back the lives of all the people whose deaths you caused by not believing us in the first place,” he said, motioning to Mara and back to himself. “Had you been less concerned with public relations, keeping the news of a bug infestation secret, maybe none of these people would have died.”
“Watch yourself, Captain? You don’t—”
“Or what, Vance?” Albion asked. “You’ll drum me out of the service? Court martial me?” Albion laughed, shaking his head. “Or maybe you’ll kill all of us so no one knows what happened on Dev-ji 482.” He turned to Lyana and mouthed for her to take them into phase space. She nodded, and he looked back to the admiral. “I did what was necessary, Vance, what was right, but that doesn’t change things. The mission complete, the executive order compelling us to be your puppets is over. You do what you have to do to keep your secrets, Vice Admiral Vance, and I’ll do what I have to do to make sure people know what happened here.”
“Don’t you dare—”
Albion severed the comms and slumped into his chair. “Get us out of here, Choi.”
Choi obliged, and the Excalibur darted past the Indomitable in phase space, slipping into hyperspace once they were clear the other side of the battlecruiser.
“Find us someplace we can lay low and get Randall seen to,” he said, the words spilling out as a sigh. “I hope none of you wanted to go home anytime soon.”
Lyana snorted and Choi just shook his head. Crate shrugged and left the bridge. Mara reached down and clasped Albion’s hand, squeezing it in hers. She offered him a reassuring smile.
“We all wanted to explore the systems beyond allied space, right?” The crew groaned. “Well, I guess this is our chance.”
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The Great Brain Robbery
A Demon Squad Story
High noon.
Shadows fled the sear of the Bisbee sun as it glared overhead. Muted voices chattered on both sides of the dusty street, anticipation hanging in the air like a warm nutsack. The crowd murmured while the scrape of impatient boots shuffled atop the wooden walks. The news had traveled through town as if it were wildfire, ears catching alight with fiery rumors. The people demanded blood. Come Hell or high water, they’d get it.
I just hoped it wasn’t mine.
“You sure you want to do this, nitis?” Mika asked from a safe distance.
I glanced over at my newly acquired Indian friend and grinned, which I did pretty much every time I looked at him. Both of his eyes were sunken into their sockets with dark rings of bruises encircling them. He looked every bit the raccoon his parents had named him after. I wondered just how young he’d been when he earned that distinction, but I could picture him throwing punches as he oozed out of his mother’s womb. He was a scrapper, that one. Mika had earned a deeper coloring of his rings the night before after the little misunderstanding that had me waiting in the street.
“Don’t figure I have much choice.”
Mika shrugged, his reddened shoulder rippling. “You could run.”
That wasn’t gonna happen. Uncle Lou was very insistent that I remain in Bisbee until I met with his informant. He didn’t, however, specify whether I needed to be alive or not, but that really wasn’t a loophole I wanted to exploit. I kind of enjoyed breathing.
A hush washed over the crowd as I pondered my options, and I knew it was time. He’d arrived. I glanced down the way to see Reverend Ansell strolling casually across the hardened dirt road, spurs clinking at every assured step. Whispers hissed at my ears like I’d hunkered down in a nest of serpents, the townsfolk offering up their opinions and betting their Sunday tithes on the man of God. Ansell came to a halt in the middle of the street. His second, a grizzled young man I’d come to learn was his son, Jeremiah, stood at his side. He had as much malice in his gaze as his father. They were like two hawks ready to swoop on a mouse. Well-worn pistols hung heavy at their hips. Out of instinct, my hands went in search of the borrowed revolver hanging on my own belt.
“Keep an eye on the boy,” I said to Mika out of the side of my mouth. If daddy didn’t take care of business, I could count on his son to try to put a bullet in me. The Indian nodded.
A third man sauntered into the road between us with a crooked smirk. I’d learned last night he was the sheriff. Earl Conroy was his name and shit-eating grins were his game. His star glistened in the sunlight, but it was the only thing bright about the sheriff. He gave the Reverend a solemn nod, his smirk vacating his lips for just a moment before slithering back as he turned to look my way. The sheriff snorted as he appraised me.
“You know damn well why you’re here, boy, so let’s just get the formalities out of the way,” he said with a disappointed shake of his head. “The good Reverend here claims you pilfered his daughter’s innocence, and then, after he come out to investigate his child’s terrified screeches, you killed his prized heifer while making your escape.”
I sighed. How the hell was I supposed to know the girl’s daddy was a preacher? She’d lifted her skirts easy enough, and the only fear she’d displayed was that I’d finish before her. Maybe I should have paid more attention to the “Oh Gods” she’d been screaming into the hay pile. She must have meant them differently than I recall.
“Better to have deflowered his daughter and stabbed his cow than the other way around, me thinks, nitis.”
“Probably woulda caused me less grief,” I muttered under my breath.
“The Reverend here, being the generous and benevolent man he is, has offered you this generous clemency, the opportunity for you to confess your sins to these gathered souls,” he swept his arms wide to encompass the wide-eyed folks hovering about the horse rails, “and ask redemption so you might one day see the glory of Heaven with a clear conscience…”
Yeah, like that was gonna happen.
“Or you can take your chances against Mister Ansell’s vengeful hand and burn in the fiery pits of Hell when he shoots your defiling ass down here in the middle of the street.” The sheriff chuckled like there was a hunk of jerky caught in his throat. “What’s it going to be?”
Defiling? That field had been plowed barren before I got there.
No amount of restraint could hold back the grin that slid onto my lips as I thought that. I did manage to keep my mouth shut, though. You didn’t go badmouthing a preacher’s daughter right there on Main Street without consequence. I was in it deep enough already. My spade hands were tuckered out from all the digging.
Then again, given how hot it was in Arizona, I was half tempted to let the bastard gun me down. Hell wasn’t all fire and brimstone, except on Thai Fridays. That’s not a day you want to visit. But anyway, old Lou might be pissed if he had to resurrect me, but I’d be back on Earth before the sun set over Fissure Peak. His disposable minions’ plates were full so there wasn’t anyone else to do his grunt work. It was me or no one. I was a valuable commodity.
“Is that smile your confession, boy?” the sheriff asked, spitting out a glob of brownness that trailed sour rainbows.
Just passing through, there wasn’t anyone in town who’d risk their standing with the Reverend to defend me, so wasn’t much point in delaying the obvious conclusion to our little Pow Wow. Someone was getting shot.
“Let’s get this bosh over with.”
A gasp rose from the spectators, followed by muted applause. The people were gonna get their show. Even I knew how good a gunslinger the old man of God was and I’d only been in town a few days. He’d been mowing down heathens for years if you could believe the gossip floating around the saloon. In fact, the cemetery right outside of town had been named after him considering he’d apparently put about half those bodies in the ground himself. Too bad for him he wouldn’t be adding another one today.
The sheriff grinned, the worm of his mustache wriggling as he hurried to get out the way. I was half tempted to shoot it off his lip just to wipe the stupid grin of his hound dog face. Probably didn’t matter, though, seeing how, if things went as planned, I’d end up having to kill him anyway. Wasn’t like he was gonna let me mow down the town’s patriarch without getting involved. Him and the kid were gonna be trouble. I made sure to note where the boy was before things got hectic.
“On my mark,” the sheriff called out once he was safely on the sidewalk. The air stilled as his voice wafted over the assembly. “Get ready.”
I smiled as Conroy looked my way. His precious preacher might have the experience advantage with pistols, but he’d never drawn down on a demon before.
“Draw!”
While I was probably the slowest kid in the demonic school house, the preacher was human. I was the quick one here, and I don’t just mean with his daughter.
The gun was in my hands in an instant, my finger caressing the trigger as the palm of my other hand fanned the hammer. Black smoke roiled around me as I emptied the gun, its reports devouring every other sound in town. The Reverend stood hunched and cowering as the last bullet zipped down the street. I grinned and pulled the pistol to my lips to blow the barrel clean.
The Reverend straightened. The wisp of a smile on his lips grew wider and wider until a deep-throated chuckle burst out. My eyes surveyed him as he laughed. He’d a dark crease across his left arm where a bullet had grazed his coat, but there wasn’t a single hole in the man. I’d missed every shot.
He raised his gun and aimed as I scrambled with mine, staring down the barrel. My stomach churned as I spied the twisted angle of the sight for the first time. I went to reload but the cylinder fell out the gun and lan
ded with a dusty thump in the dirt. It bumped heavily against my boot.
“Where the hell did you get this thing,” I asked Mika as I stared at the defective pistol.
“Some drunken Apache traded me it for peyote.”
I sighed and met the Reverend’s steely gaze.
“It would appear God has sided with the righteous today, stranger,” Ansell told me as sighted his pistol on my chest. “I’m guessing you might want to take a moment to think of something to say to the Devil when you see him.”
Sorry, Uncle Lou. Some God-fearing cowboy shot me for diddling his daughter. Yeah, somehow I couldn’t see Lucifer appreciating the irony of the situation. So rather than have to explain it, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I’d just have to do it right this time.
I ducked as the Reverend’s first shot burst from his pistol. Come to find out, I wasn’t faster than a bullet. It slammed into my right shoulder like I’d been kicked by a mule but it didn’t stop me.
Arm already in motion, I threw the defective revolver at Ansell. It looped through the air. He saw it and tried to dodge, but it was too late. The grip thudded into his forehead, and his eyes rolled back until all that was visible were orbs of white. The Reverend crumpled to the ground, a boneless sack of meat. A small gray cloud fluttered around him. The crowd went silent, the last echoes of gunfire fading against the hills.
Jeremiah screamed and went to draw, but Mika was on him before the gun even cleared the holster. A quick one-two dropped the boy in the dirt alongside his pa. The rest of the assembly stood in awe, wide eyes taking everything in but doing nothing. Only the sheriff had the coal to act. He just didn’t have the time.
I snatched the gun from his hand and thumbed back the hammer while I leveled it at his eye.
“Settle your britches, duk-shaaaa…”
“Duk-shan-ee,” Mika corrected.
