Trapped

by Scott Bartlett

  “Get ready to drop in. Let’s fire up those drag-behinds.” The hand-held thruster units, about the size of basketballs, had handholds on the back and a pair of thrusters that angled outward on either side. The asteroid was too small to generate anything but the tiniest amount of gravity, so the drag-behinds would be critical in getting his marines into the tunnel quickly.

  “Here goes nothing,” one of his squad members said—Tate.

  “Go!”

  Each man leaned forward and fired up their drag-behinds. The marines were plucked off their feet to hover over the hole. Then they began flying slowly down the hole, like scuba divers entering a cave.

  Gamble touched down on the tunnel floor to find it completely empty.

  Somehow, that was less comforting than if he’d found it crawling with Brood.

  His squad took the lead, with the knowledge a dozen more squads followed behind them. Over the coms, Gamble heard the chatter of three platoons’ worth of nervous marines.

  Like kids talking in the dark to mask their own fear. “Cut the gab. I want strict radio discipline.”

  Davis motioned from his point position. He was the farthest down of the squad. “We got company, Major.”

  “What kind of company?”

  “Wayfarers. Three of them. Not sure if they—”

  Before he could finish the thought, dark shapes rushed out of the green-tinted gloom. Then three more appeared, hard on the heels of the first.

  Gamble snapped his rifle to his shoulder and fired in one fluid motion at the nearest shape. The rounds sliced straight through the Wayfarer and clipped the one behind it, sending it spinning off sideways into space. It spewed green liquid as it shrunk away.

  “Don’t touch that shit!” Gamble screamed. “These things are full of that acid. Do not let it hit you!”

  The marines coming down behind him began clipping their drag-behinds onto their suit belts before turning their assault rifles on the enemy, firing as they fell.

  “Watch the friendly fire,” Gamble barked. The tunnel’s confines made it difficult to coordinate. Ahead, a marine managed to blunder into a cloud of acid. The stuff ate through his combat suit in moments, exposing him to the vacuum of space. He whirled, clearly panicking as the acid melted his faceplate…and then his face.

  The remaining Wayfarers fell to his squad’s fire, along with that of the next squad dropping in behind. Gamble grimaced as he passed his fallen comrade, unable to look away from his staring, ruined face as the man rotated in his pressure suit, tumbling slowly to the tunnel floor. Dead.

  “Watch your step, here,” Davis said.

  Gamble joined him. Here, the tunnel dropped away and opened up, into a cavernous space that taxed the limits of their night vision. After a certain distance, all Gamble could see was shapeless green gloom.

  Had the asteroid always been so hollow, or had the Brood spent the last hours expanding this hole? Can they work that fast?

  Branching tunnels stretched away to his right and left, but the cavern seemed much more promising. He motioned for his squad to follow him, and together, they made their careful way down into it. As they did, the green fog resolved into more and more detail.

  The Brood’s gone quiet again. Why?

  At least they had room to spread out, in here. He motioned for his squad to wait until other units had a chance to form up beside them. Once enough marines had gathered to satisfy him, he signaled their advance.

  With that, the far side of the cavern came into view. Nestled against it, bulging against an overhang, was something that looked like a miniature version of the Stomach ships he’d seen on the combat vid Callum had shown him in the mess hall.

  The thing pulsated. It had no face to speak of—just a slug-like outer carapace, riddled with wrist-thick blue veins. The alien form seemed to be heaving with some intense effort.

  Gamble swallowed. “That’s what we’re here for.” His voice came out in a hoarse whisper. He didn't need someone to draw a picture for him. Husher had told him he’d know it when he saw it, which Gamble knew was code for ‘I don’t know what the hell it looks like.’ But the captain had been right. This was clearly the hive mind. “You got the charges, Tammery?”

  The private didn’t answer, and Gamble glanced back. Through his faceplate, the man’s eyes had grown even bigger than they usually seemed. “We might have a problem, Major.”

  Gamble turned.

  Swarming out of cracks, crevices, and depressions, Wayfarers poured into the open and charged toward the marines.

  “Behind us!” someone shouted.

  Turning again, Gamble saw more of the aliens pouring out of the tunnel where the marines had entered from.

  That’s why they were so quiet. They were waiting down those side tunnels. It was a trap, and we strolled right into it.

  The dark mass of aliens charged at the marines, all claws and teeth.

  Chapter 55

  Oneiri Team

  Asteroid in Scion space

  Jake had no choice.

  There was no time to wait for the others, even if he wanted to. He took the only action he could and went on the offensive, firing his one good autocannon, sending armor-piercing rounds raking across three aliens who were almost close enough to spit their acid at him.

  He downed two of them, but three more replaced them. All four sent acid-covered bone fragments his way.

  He dodged what he could, but knew some of the acid was going to get him. Thinking fast, he seized his bad arm, lifting it to shield his mech’s torso, protecting the vital components there—not to mention his own body.

  The acid splashed him, mostly melting the arm, but also eating away at the armor that surrounded it.

  His HUD lit up with damage reports. It must have corroded some of the wiring, because his thrusters cut out, throwing him off balance. The nearest Wayfarer took advantage of his stumble, rushing him.

  With practiced ease, he swung his good arm up as he extended the bayonet. The carbon-steel blade rammed through the creature’s head, bursting it open and sending a rainbow of sharp teeth arcing out, traveling slo-mo through the low gravity.

  He spun around the dead Wayfarer and launched himself at the next. His only defense was to push forward, rushing each creature before it could inflict deadly damage. The next Wayfarer raked its scythe-like claws across his suit, ripping open more of his torso.

  Alerts popped up about limited mobility, but Jake ignored them. He jerked forward, slamming the bottom of his foot into the central mass of the creature and sending it tumbling back, slamming into two of its friends. Those aliens hurtled upward, claws scrabbling uselessly at the void.

  He reached down and grabbed another creature, flinging it upward with a mighty heave, to join its friends.

  Before he could turn to the next one, it let loose with an acid bath. Jake had just raised his foot to kick it, and the acid splashed over his ankle’s thruster assembly. It melted, sparking. So did the foot it was attached to.

  He was now vulnerable to being thrown off the planet and into space as well. He only had one good foot, and keeping his balance already required a lot of concentration. His melted foot was still usable, but his balance was off now.

  One good leg. One good arm. He used what he had left to limp toward the four remaining Wayfarers. His mech’s internal systems were screaming out across his HUD. A message about life support systems seemed particularly ominous.

  Jake ignored them all. And at the last moment, he yanked his broadsword free.

  His final die cast, he dove forward with wild abandon, swinging the blade the same way they swung their giant clawed appendages.

  He struck the first one center mass, and using his thrusters to combat the weak gravity, he generated enough momentum to slice it nearly in half. The one next to it reared back, splitting vertically to vomit a stream of acid.

  Jake ducked around it, but the creature on the other side took advantage of his distraction to drive one of its sharp cla
ws right into the mech’s chest. When it ripped free, wires and hoses trailed along with it.

  His HUD flickered as power surged and then began to bleed out of the mech. He could feel his MIMAS losing strength.

  The Wayfarer reared again, opening that hideous fang-lined maw, aiming to send acid right into the mech’s torn torso.

  Jake knew it was over. The acid would eat through what was left of his mech’s armor before consuming him.

  Instead, the creature’s head exploded, bright threads of gunfire exiting through the front. The resulting shower of acid spattered his mech, but it missed the deep gouge in his chest.

  The shooting stopped, and Jake had the presence of mind to reach forward and grab the dead creature, remembering how he’d been able to use a dead one before to block another’s acid.

  He pulled it close as a shield to protect the exposed chest of his mech. It was a good move, because in rapid succession, the two other Wayfarers around him exploded, acid splashing everywhere. One took it right in the head. The other managed to duck away, but Jake was able to finish it off with his own remaining autocannon.

  As the thing fell, Jake saw movement beyond it. He raised his arm to fire, then slowly lowered it as he recognized the figure standing there.

  He realized he probably looked comical, wearing a dead alien like a towel. But when Tucker’s voice came through clear in his earpiece, he didn’t sound amused. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Improvising.”

  “You look like shit.”

  Jake cocked his head. “You should see the other guy.”

  With that, Tucker let a chuckle loose. “Hope you don’t mind my paying you a visit. It looked like you could use a hand.”

  “I obviously had everything under control.”

  “Right. Of course you did.”

  “Is the crater still secure?”

  Tucker nodded. “The combat shuttles seem to have it locked down, for now. Not sure it matters, though. These things are burrowing down all over the asteroid.”

  “I noticed. We still need to stop them as best we can. On that subject, is your grenade launcher working?”

  Tucker’s mech looked like it had taken an acid bath of its own, but he seemed to be fairly mobile. “Yeah, why?”

  “Let’s make some fireworks.” He let Tucker half-drag him over to yet another hole the Wayfarers were digging.

  Because it was an asteroid and not the hull of a ship, they had a lot farther to dig to get to wherever they were going. Jake had to assume the marines were down there somewhere, along with the hive mind, and that it was calling to its mindless vassals for help.

  Jake and Tucker hung back behind a hill, to avoid attracting the aliens’ attention.

  “Think you can hit them from here?” Jake asked.

  “Let’s find out.” Tucker emptied an entire rack of grenades from his shoulder-mounted grenade launcher. In the zero-g, they arced slowly, then floated into the hole. With his timer assist, Tucker was able to trigger them at exactly the right moment.

  The explosion shook the ground, sending pebbles and dust sifting down the hillside toward them. A geyser of Wayfarer parts sprayed upward, along with spurts of blood and acid, before reversing direction to drift back down toward the asteroid.

  The two MIMAS pilots took in the spectacle, neither talking.

  Then, Tucker broke the spell. “Is your life support going to hold?”

  “Maybe. I honestly don’t know.”

  “I hope you’re not going to stop me from giving you a lift off this rock, back to the Relentless.”

  “The marines—”

  “The marines are beyond our help, now. The combat shuttles have that crater covered, and the other mech pilots will handle the rest. If you stay here much longer, you’re done for, Clutch. I don’t need to be some spaghetti-armed tech to see that.”

  Jake tried to muster a counterargument, but found none. “Fine.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up. You did pretty good, for an old washed-up mech pilot.” Tucker grabbed him by the waist. “Don’t get any ideas about this, now.” He fired his ankle thrusters, and they both lifted off the asteroid.

  Jake smiled in spite of the insistent alarms blaring in his ears, desperately telling him to do something about the critical damage to his mech. “Hey, Tucker?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You did all right too, for a know-it-all asshole.”

  Tucker surged upward. Jake’s HUD still functioned, so he could see there were almost no Pseudopods in nearspace—at least, none that networked friendly sensors had picked up on, other than the few being mopped up by Python squadrons.

  A little farther out, though, a mass of Pseudopods seemed to be gathering.

  Apparently, Tucker had seen the same thing. “I think there are even more of those flying bastards inbound.”

  “There always are.”

  “Any ideas?”

  Jake thought about it for a moment, as they rocketed closer and closer to their destroyer.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Pray for those marines.”

  Chapter 56

  Combat Information Center

  UHC Relentless

  Husher watched as the O’Kane’s reactor core went critical.

  For a split second, it was the brightest light in the galaxy. But the void soon quenched the fires, the cruiser going completely dark as it broke in half. Her crew, like so many before them, were lost to the vacuum of space. Sensors hadn’t detected a single evacuation pod leaving.

  “It was the Wayfarers,” Winterton said quietly. “They got to the reactor core. It was just a matter of time before she went down, sir.”

  Husher nodded. He hadn’t needed the explanation—it had already been clear from the way the ship had gone—but he sensed Winterton had needed to give it.

  He could see the man’s tension reflected in the rest of the CIC crew. They weren’t made of stone. To watch a ship like that go down…a ship not much different from the Relentless, and crewed by just as fine a group of men and women…that was devastating to witness. It didn’t matter who you were.

  And that included a captain who had watched entire galaxies burn.

  He took a deep breath, taking a moment to compose himself. “Helm, take us wide of that largest asteroid. It should provide us some much-needed cover. Tactical, prepare another missile barrage. Target the location of the O’Kane, and the second wave of Stomachs that’s joined the engagement.”

  “Sir,” Winterton said. “Sensors are indicating…” He paused. “Eighteen more Stomach ships are inbound.”

  Husher felt his chest sag.

  “Eighteen?” his XO said incredulously. “Eighteen?”

  “Yes, sir,” Winterton said, his tone steady. “I can only speculate that the Brood were keeping them in reserve, to attack the Scion home planet once they’d finished with us.”

  Shota’s hands were balled into fists. “The bastards didn’t expect us to put up this much of a fight.”

  The sensor operator kept his eyes on Husher. “I’m also picking up on activity farther out. There are more coming.”

  “Is Admiral Iver aware of the new targets?” Husher said, trying hard to keep the sound of defeat out of his voice.

  “Yes, sir,” Long said. “The Providence has just informed us that that the forward ships are ten minutes away from our position at present speed.”

  Husher knew that “present speed” didn’t quite give the full picture. To meaningfully engage with the enemy surrounding the Relentless, the rest of the battle group would have to spend part of their journey decelerating. Probably more than usual, given the amount of debris in this section of the asteroid belt. “Understood. And the eighteen Stomachs?”

  “They’ll be here in two minutes,” Winterton said.

  “Sir, I have a transmission from the Scions,” Long said from the Coms station. “They’ve seen the incoming ships and are moving toward us.”

  Husher felt a slight lightening o
f the mood throughout the CIC, and he didn’t want to dampen it by sharing the doubts he and Shota had discussed earlier—about whether Regan’s fighter force would be able to arrive in time to make a difference.

  Shota had no such qualms. “It won’t do us any good,” he spat. “They’ll never get here in time to save us.”

  Husher frowned at the XO, a flash of irritation heating his face at the man’s careless mishandling of the crew’s morale. “We can hold firm.”

  Shota looked at him with eyebrows raised, perhaps surprised at the severity of Husher’s tone.

  He didn’t care. “We will hold firm. And when the Scions join us—and when the rest of the battle group joins us—we’ll show them what we’re made of.”

  “How exactly do you propose we hold firm against this, Captain?” The XO waved a hand at the main display.

  Husher breathed deep, pulling air into his diaphragm in an attempt not to strip his XO down on the spot, at top volume. Instead, his voice came out level—and steely. His eyes never broke from Shota’s. “The same way Captain Keyes held firm at the end of the Second Galactic War, sacrificing his life to buy us enough time to take down Baxa. The same way the Vesta held firm, deep inside the Progenitor universe—the way we forced the enemy to stand down at last. We’ll hold firm against the odds, no matter the cost. Because that is how peace is won.”

  Throughout Husher’s speech, Shota had grown steadily paler. Now, his eyes fell. “Yes, sir.”

  With that, Husher turned toward Tremaine. “Tactical, full missile barrage.”

  “It’ll have to be mostly Hydras, sir. We’re limited on Gorgons.”

  “We can’t afford to hold anything back now, Tremaine. Put everything we’ve got in the tubes. And prepare our point defenses. Helm, bring us about and close distance with those incoming Stomachs. We’ll ram hellfire straight down their throats.”

  “Understood,” Moens barked, his hands flying across his console. The Relentless turned hard into the incoming ships.

  “Sir,” Long said, “Major Callum is hailing us. The fighters are requesting to fall back to our position and form defensive lines around the Relentless.”