Both Ash and Jake stepped toward her, but Moe shouted at them. “I got this! Watch for more of these bastards incoming, damn it.”
Reluctantly, Jake turned and began scanning the space around them—fore and aft. He spun up his autocannons and eviscerated another Wayfarer angling toward them. By the time he finished with it, only a tattered corpse was left to smash into the shuttle’s hull before flopping off into the void.
A second Wayfarer landed on the shuttle, near Ash. Jake was about to go help her when he spotted a third above them, on a direct crash course with Ash’s mech.
Without thinking, he deactivated his boot magnets and shoved off the shuttle’s hull, diving straight into the alien.
Jake had surprised himself with that move—but the Wayfarer seemed more surprised. It failed to spit acid at him as he closed with it, left bayonet extended.
The blade sank through the creature’s torso, and it writhed, reaching to grasp the blade with both claws.
Before it could, Jake shoved his autocannon into its face and fired. Armor-piercing rounds exited through the back of the thing’s head, and it went flaccid.
He fired his wrist thrusters, reorienting himself toward the shuttles, which had nearly reached the surface.
His team was still grappling with five Wayfarers, who’d managed to land on the shuttles’ hulls.
But that was far from their biggest problem. The four troop transports had nearly reached the asteroid, where dozens more of the aliens awaited them.
Firing his ankle thrusters, Jake made for his team as fast as he could.
Chapter 50
Relentless Marine Company
Above asteroid in Scion space
The shuttle pilot permitted himself a glance back at Gamble, and the man must have noticed his discomfort. “Not a fan of fast insertions?”
Gamble glared at him. “Will you focus on the God damned maneuver?”
The pilot faced forward again with a smile. “All due respect, I wasn’t going to miss the chance to watch a jarhead squirm.”
Gamble shook his head. Considering the fight happening all around them—Pythons clashing with Pseudopods and MIMAS struggling with Wayfarers—Rodriguez had to be certifiably insane to be so calm.
Something streaked past the curved viewscreen: a fighter, firing wildly at one of those enemy fliers and nearly hitting the shuttle in the process.
Good Lord.
Rodriguez engaged starboard maneuvering thrusters, and Gamble watched the universe tilt. He’d rather be in the back of this tin can, where he could close his eyes and ignore the viewscreens. But he didn’t have that luxury. His men were in the back. It was his job to stay in front, next to the pilot, and monitor the engagement so he could keep his men briefed on what they needed to know.
As a result, he didn’t miss a single energy blast, hurtling space rock, launched Wayfarer, or anything else that threatened to ruin his day.
The pilot grimaced as something darted past the viewscreen. That was one of the MIMAS mechs. Its thrusters were all engaged, sending it straight into a Wayfarer that had been hurtling directly toward the Little Beetle.
He breathed a sigh of relief. This wasn’t the first time Gamble had placed the lives of his men in Jake Price’s hands. He just hoped Oneiri Team came through.
At least it’s not a full orbital insertion. Dropping through a planet’s atmosphere meant more bumps and bruises on the way down. The asteroid they were approaching was cloaked in nothing but vacuum.
The shuttle bounced violently, and Gamble figured one of the mechs had pushed off the side of the shuttle to engage another Wayfarer.
“What’s the over-under on making it to that rock without getting crumpled like a tin can?” he found himself asking Rodriguez.
The pilot shrugged. “That’s crazy shit out there.” A massive understatement, as far as Gamble was concerned. “And the more we decelerate, the easier it gets for the enemy to hit us. Unfortunately, we don’t have a choice, unless we wanna go splat against the side of the asteroid. Can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
“What’s the plan for when we get down there?”
Gamble swallowed. The Little Beetle was no Python, but it was a combat shuttle, and it did have some teeth—hull-mounted turrets fore and aft, as well as armored barriers that would fold out to grant his boys some cover. He wasn’t sure how well those barriers would stand up to Wayfarer acid, but it seemed he was about to find out.
“Pretty simple,” he said, fighting to keep his voice level. Get it together. You’re the marine commander on a destroyer, and you’ve been through worse than this. Except, he wasn’t sure he had been through worse. He was finding it difficult to believe any of them would make it back to the Milky Way alive.
Nevertheless, with an effort of will, he steadied himself. “We’ll cluster around the shuttles and give ’em hell until we’ve secured a perimeter around that crater. After that, we’re heading inside to bag ourselves a hive mind.”
Rodriguez’s shoulders rose and fell. “I’m gonna level with you, Major. Once you’re inside, I’m not sure how long we’ll be able to hang around. There’s a chance we’ll have to push off while you’re underground.”
“Understood,” Gamble said, without hesitation. “This was always going to be a do-or-die operation. If we succeed, and the Scions are right about the hive mind being a single point of failure for their entire attack force, then things should get quiet enough for you to come back and get us. If we fail, then it’s a moot point anyway, ain’t it?”
The pilot nodded. Something flashed directly in front of the shuttle, forcing Rodriguez to engage port thrusters, hard. They both rocked to the left as an explosion painted the port half of the viewscreen with fire.
“That was a Python. The Pseudopods are closing in.”
“Where are the mechs?”
“I see them out there, but they have their big mechanical hands full.”
Gamble didn’t like the sound of that. “Now what?”
“Now, we dive.”
Rodriguez pushed the yoke forward, and the asteroid loomed large in the viewscreen, growing rapidly. Gamble resisted the urge to flinch.
The pilot jerked his head backward. “Might wanna tell your boys to hang on.”
But it was a little late for that. The asteroid filled the viewscreen, now, and Gamble felt like he could make out every little feature of its terrain. He was sure they were going to crash straight into it.
At the last second, Rodriguez pulled the nose up, just as a rocky patch of ground rushed up to meet them. They slammed into the ground, hard.
Gamble felt…tilted. He glanced at Rodriguez.
The pilot shrugged. “Not a whole lot of level ground here.”
The terrain immediately around the shuttle was clear, but through the viewscreen Gamble spied a group of at least thirty Wayfarers, charging toward them.
He opened his mouth to order his marines out, but before he could speak, something crashed into the asteroid a hundred meters ahead of the Little Beetle, streaming fire and debris. It impacted right on top of the incoming Wayfarers, sending dust and debris shooting spaceward. Gamble couldn’t see anything.
“What was that?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer. This time, he couldn’t keep the tremor from his voice.
“That…that was the Featherlight, Major.”
One of the four combat shuttles they’d brought with them. Forty of his marines. Almost certainly dead.
“Get out there, marines,” he growled over an open channel. “Give ’em hell.”
Chapter 51
Hangar Bay Alpha
UHC Relentless
Fesky was alone in the changing room. Rather than opening a locker, she threw down the bag she’d brought with her on the bench and started pulling out her old gear.
Without the doctor’s clearance, she’d get no new gear of her own. She knew that all too well.
As for why she’d kept he
r old flight suit from her time aboard the Vesta, she couldn’t quite say. She supposed, as horrifically as that had ended, the crew aboard the supercarrier had been her family. And the ship itself had been her home.
I wanted something to remember it by. I just had no idea that something would actually come in handy.
She’d kept the suit properly stored, and it was in good condition. She also had an old frequency scanner she’d managed to smuggle onto the Relentless, and she pulled it out now. Her first day aboard the destroyer, she’d talked one of the trainees into giving her the frequency code.
Today, it had let her eavesdrop on the air group’s communications in nearspace. Even now, as she pulled on the pressure suit, she listened to the Python pilots’ chatter. They were getting desperate. She couldn’t sit by anymore and do nothing.
“Now that’s old school,” a voice behind her said.
Fesky jerked in surprise, trying to cover the old IU badge on her spacesuit as she turned toward the entrance. It was pointless, of course. The man had clearly seen it.
“I haven’t updated my gear,” she said hesitantly.
The man shrugged. Because Fesky hadn’t been cleared to fly, she didn’t know many of the flight crew members. That included fellow pilots as well as the deck hands that worked the hangar bays. In many ways, hangar crew were the most important members of the flight crew. Without them, there was no getting your ship prepped and out the hatch. And as any pilot knew, if the hangar crew didn’t like you, your life would be a living hell.
“You aren’t the only one with out-of-date gear,” the man said. “I’ve seen plenty of stick jockeys launch with IU gear.” He was older, Fesky was sure of that. Thanks to her years around humans, she was pretty good at figuring their ages. This one was probably nearing retirement.
“I just haven’t had the time to update.”
The man smiled and ran a hand through salt-and-pepper hair. He was thick around the waist, but he looked strong. Tattoos ran up both sides of his neck. “I’m an old-school guy myself, so there’s no need to apologize.” He tapped his chest. “Paul Decker.” He nodded toward the flight deck. “Decker by name, decker by trade.” He winked.
Even with years of experience around humans, she still struggled sometimes to read their unspoken communication. The man seemed genuine enough, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t stand in her way. She wasn’t supposed to be here, after all.
“Fesky,” she said, not really seeing a reason to lie. It said so on her gear, after all. It wouldn’t be hard for him to figure out.
She finished gearing up and grabbed her helmet. With that, she turned to walk out of the changing room and into the hangar bay proper.
She had no plan. Hell, she didn’t even have a fighter. There would be fighters that were hot, of course. There was an engagement going on. But that was someone else’s bird, not hers.
“Hey,” the man said, just as Fesky got to the hatch that led to the flight deck. She stopped, and just for a moment, she considered making a run for it. Or just ignoring the man and seeing what he did. But either move would raise too much suspicion. She figured once she was in a fighter that was primed in a launch tube, they couldn’t stop her. Until then, anybody could ask a few questions and figure out she didn’t have clearance to be here.
She turned hesitantly.
“You forgot your bag,” the man said, holding up the duffel bag she’d carried her contraband gear in.
“Oh, right.”
“Can’t take it into a Python with you, of course.” He chuckled. “I’ll just leave it in your locker.” Decker hooked a thumb back at the locker she’d been changing in front of. She had no idea who it belonged to.
“Sure. That’s fine.” She turned toward the hatch again.
“You know,” he said to her back, “it’s a little strange, you being here. As far as I was told, every pilot available was already called out. Hell, they aren’t even holding back the kids for the alert fighters. I think the only pilots we got left in reserve took their training wings off last week.” The big man chuckled to himself. “So it’s weird, you know. You being here, all of the sudden, when we didn’t hear anything about another pilot coming down.”
Fesky felt her cold blood run even colder. The feathers on her neck stiffened—a sign of stress, though she doubted the human would recognize it.
“I….” She didn’t actually have a lie for this. Everything she was doing suddenly seemed incredibly stupid. Did she really think she was just going to walk out into the hangar, hop in a Python, and take off without anyone asking her a single question?
“I was grounded. But the doc cleared me.” She clacked her beak nervously. “Just now. He cleared me just now.” She winced. It was probably the worst effort at lying in the history of lying. “So, I’m cleared now.” She couldn’t stop herself from talking. She felt the urge to physically restrain her own beak.
“So, you’re that Fesky,” the man said, shaking his head and chuckling to himself. It was a strange thing to say, since she’d just given him her name.
“Do I know you?”
“Nah. They just told us to look out for you.” He smiled and walked up to her.
Fesky tensed, ready to strike. She’d ripped Husher’s double to shreds without trying. This human might be bigger, but he’d cut into ribbons just as easily.
Rather than grabbing her, the big man walked past her. As he did, he winked again. Or maybe it was just a tic. She still couldn’t tell what he had in mind. Reading human faces was an infuriating experience.
“Hey, Robbie,” Decker shouted into the hangar bay as he cleared the hatch. “We still got little Anne up?”
“The speed demon?” one of the flight mechanics said as he walked over. “Yeah, she’s in the far tube. They said to hold her back for the alert package.”
“How many we have on alert?”
Robbie shrugged. “Maybe six.”
“We can spare it.”
“Sure, if you—hey.” Robbie looked over at Fesky. “You’re the Winger.” He looked back at the big man. “That’s the Winger we’re supposed to be watching out for, chief. The one who isn’t cleared to fly yet.”
Fesky suddenly felt stupid. Of course they all knew who she was. Of course they would have orders not to let her fly without clearance. Why did she think otherwise?
“Yeah, that’s the one,” Decker said.
“So, what gives? Did she get clearance?”
“Sounds like it.” Decker looked back at Fesky. “She did just tell me so.”
Robbie frowned. He looked from the chief to Fesky and back again. “She told you so?”
“That’s what I said, Robbie. You get that big head of yours too close to a thruster assembly again? Ears ringing too much to hear me?”
The mechanic looked confused. “Shouldn’t we, like, hear from someone else? I mean, I thought for sure we’d—”
“You thinking again?” Decker asked. “What did I tell you about thinking?” He looked back at Fesky and winked. He really liked winking at her. At this point, she was so confused she didn’t know what to think. Humans were impossible.
Decker continued. “While you’re thinking, Robbie, think about this. How long have I been a flight operations chief?”
Robbie sighed. “Forty-three years.”
“Forty-three years! And how long have you been alive, Robbie?”
The young man sighed even heavier. “Twenty.”
“Wow!” Decker said. “That means I’ve been running a flight deck more than twice as long as you’ve been alive, Robbie!”
“Yes, chief.”
“So, Robbie, do you think you can take some time out from all that thinking and go get that Python prepped for our pilot, who tells me she’s clear to fly?”
“Yes, chief.” Robbie ran off toward the far tube.
“Good kid,” Decker said, turning back to Fesky. “But check your power levels before you light the fire, if you know what I mean.” Decker gave Fesk
y a pat on the shoulder and started to walk off down the flight deck, waving at one of the other deck hands as he went.
“Chief,” Fesky called after him.
Decker turned.
“Thanks,” she said.
He smiled. “For what?”
“I think you know.”
The chief shrugged. “I told you, I’m old-school. I’ve been around you cocky stick jockeys my whole life. You know how I know when one of you is ready to fly?”
She shook her head.
“You tell me so.” He winked a final time, then turned around. “Happy hunting. And seriously, check those power readings. I hardly trust Robbie to take a piss without help.”
Chapter 52
Oneiri Team
Asteroid in Scion space
Jake, Maura, and Ash began a rapid descent to the surface, following hard on the heels of the shuttles. Jake signaled for the rest of Oneiri Team to follow suit.
Moonboy and Frog were still shepherding the middle shuttles in. They were both grappling with Wayfarers atop the Featherlight—there were five of the aliens to their two.
“Bulldog, Whiskers, Zephyr,” Jake yelled, willing his thrusters to propel him faster. “Drop back and give Bo and Driscoll a hand.”
“We got problems of our own, Clutch,” Bulldog said.
Jake cursed under his breath as two Wayfarers converged on Driscoll, claws flashing. Frog had both bayonets extended, and he was holding his own—but not well enough. A Wayfarer landed a blow on his wrist, creating a shower of sparks. Driscoll staggered sideways, and one of the alien brutes followed, bringing a clawed appendage down on his lower leg.
Moonboy was faring no better. Three aliens closed in on his mech, one of them already splitting down the middle to project its deadly acid.
One of Frog’s opponents hit him with a blow to the chest, hard enough to detach his boot magnets from the shuttle’s hull, knocking him into space. That done, both Wayfarers ripped into the shuttle—directly above the tiny reactor.
Seconds later, it blew, vaporizing both aliens. The shuttle streamed smoke and flame, now on a collision course with the asteroid.
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