by Richard Fox
“Hypothermia,” said Egan, taking his turn on the sleeping bench. “Freak cold front. Woke up covered in frost and my hands iced to my weapon. Florida. The ‘sunshine state’ my ass. Don’t know why so many guys retire there…or used to.”
“So that’s what you remember?” Standish worked a knuckle against a knotted muscle in his calf. “Because you’re a proccie. It didn’t…you know…happen.”
“Huh,” Egan frowned. The Marine was a procedurally generated human, his body flash gown in a tube and implanted with memories, skills and abilities from a supercomputer. “Guess you’re right. But damned if I don’t feel the ache in my fingers and my ears when I think of that morning.”
“So what if he’s a proccie?” Bailey asked. “Yarrow’s a proc. Rohen, God rest his soul, was a proc. Bet most every swinging Richard on Earth and the fleet came out of a tube.”
“It doesn’t matter to me,” Standish said. “Just hard to process. Egan’s memories are his memories. They’re just as real to him as mine are to me. Egan came to us purpose-built to fly Toth shuttles for the mission to Nibiru. If Ibarra can make someone that specific, why can’t he recreate any of us? That probe’s got a copy of his mind. Why isn’t he walking around in flesh and blood? Why didn’t he bring back Admiral Makarov and all of Eighth Fleet? Sure could have used them against the Xaros.”
“Rohen…” Bailey’s lips quivered for a moment. “He’s a good lad. Died for us all. Why couldn’t Ibarra bring him back?”
“They told me what I was,” Egan said. “I woke up in Hawaii, did a check flight in a Mule around the Big Island then went to debrief. Couple guys in suits said that I’d been ‘decanted’ that morning, and I was meant for a secret and dangerous mission. I took the news about as bad as finding out the mess hall was out of bacon…I was born that morning and went right to work. Never occurred to me that sort of thing was unusual. You think Ibarra made me so I wouldn’t care?”
“Well, you weren’t a big weepy mess like Yarrow when he found out,” Standish said.
“You remember his face when you told him he was a virgin?” Bailey snickered. “Thought the poor kid would—”
The door to the brig opened. The Marines scrambled to their feet as a single Ruhaald strode into the room. It was almost a foot taller than the guards they’d seen before, a constellation of black stars and alien writing stenciled across his enviro-armor.
The Ruhaald carried a metal box by a handle and came to a stop a few feet from the cell. Standish saw wide black eyes like a squid’s darting from side to side within the semi-opaque helmet.
“I render appropriate greeting,” came from a voice box mounted on the alien’s shoulder.
“Are you the slimy bastard they’ve sent to kiss our bums and apologize for kidnapping us?” Bailey asked.
“I am Septon Jarilla of the Ruhaald expedition. You will answer my questions.”
“How about you let us out of here and give me back my damned rifle, my Bloke, you calamari-looking mother—” Bailey stopped mid-breath when Egan raised a hand…then pointed to a light in the ceiling that faded and brightened ever so slightly.
“Your hostility is noted,” Jarilla said. “Your subspecies is cooperating in some locations, yet actively resists our efforts on the Crucible. Are you beyond command of your leadership caste? My soldiers are dying against your warrior breed. If there is a way to end the bloodshed, you will tell me. Continued conflict puts this station in danger. My subordinates and allies urge my brood mother to destroy one of your population centers to force compliance. She is merciful, but her patience has limits.”
“Most of what you just said doesn’t make any sense to us,” Standish said. “Didn’t you come here to fight the Xaros? They’re gone. Why are we fighting each other?”
Jarilla snarled and stepped toward the cell. A balled fist made up of a dozen armored tentacles slammed against the energy field.
“Your warrior spawn murdered a brood father. Treachery! Your commanders agreed to a cease-fire once we seized the void around this station. The battle was over yet you took him from us. Why?”
“Whoa there, buddy.” Standish held his hands up. “We don’t know why the doughboys attacked your brood daddy…guy. We were out there trying to help that pilot of yours. Your shuttle lands and then everything just got crazy. You guys are here to help, right? Why would we…wait—why would you attack the Crucible?”
The tentacles within Jarilla’s helmet twisted into knots.
“Our reasons are not your concern,” the Ruhaald said. “We have observed your subspecies commanding the warrior spawn. They follow your orders. This is correct.”
“No!” Standish shook his head from side to side. “Just because we’re regular humans doesn’t mean the doughboys will do whatever we tell them. I don’t know who told you that but we sure didn’t get that memo.”
Jarilla set the box at his feet and opened it, slipping long tentacles into the box. The alien leader lifted up a doughboy’s severed head and held it toward the Marines. The dead bio-construct’s face was slack, one cheek burned away. Blood dripped through the alien’s digits and pooled on the floor.
“False. We have sequenced the warrior spawn’s cortex with the aid of the Naroosha. They obey you. You ordered the death of the brood father. You will suffer for it.” Jarilla dropped the head into the box.
“I don’t know what a Naroosha is,” Standish said, “but they sound like a bunch of lying assholes. We were trying to help that crashed pilot. That’s what friends do. They don’t attack your Xaros jump gate and throw you into a dark shuttle that smells like the bottom of a fish tank. OK?”
“You will order the warrior spawn to lay down their weapons,” Jarilla said. “I offer this clemency only because pilot Third-Vorinth confirms some of your story. You will do this or you will receive justice for the brood father’s death.”
“No,” Egan said. “We demand arbitration. The blood debt is not ours to pay.”
“How do you know of this?” Jarilla asked.
“That’s a good question,” Standish muttered.
“I know your laws. Our ambassador on Bastion told us you were coming to help. We prepared as best we could.” Egan glanced at the ceiling. “This is a normal human custom before joint operations.”
“It is?” Standish asked. Egan jabbed an elbow into the Marine’s side, and Standish added, “It is! Yes, I was just about to mention…that.”
“The ship loci will convene for arbitration,” Jarilla said. “It will take one and three-eighths rotations before a judgement is obtained.”
“Do we get a lawyer? What about our testimony?” Bailey asked.
“You’ve already given it,” Jarilla said and then picked up the box and left the room.
Standish looked over the small pool of blood beyond the cell and grimaced.
“So, Egan, what the hell?” he asked.
“Ibarra started talking soon as that thing came in here,” the Marine said. “Told me to stall, then gave me that line about arbitration. I don’t exactly understand what I was saying either. Figured you would, jailbird,” he said to Standish.
“You think I’m an expert on alien squid-monster jurisprudence? For all I know, that thing’s going to come back in here and tell us we have to swim to the bottom of some giant tank filled with tentacle-sharks and recover a gold coin tossed in by the Princess Froo-Froo or they’ll chop us into sushi.” Standish looked up at the now-still light. “Thanks, Ibarra!”
Bailey sat on the bench and crossed her ankles.
“Normally I’d tell him to shut up by now, but I’m about as nervous as a gypsy with a mortgage,” she said.
“Without better options I don’t know why we shouldn’t trust the…blinking light on the ceiling.” Egan’s arms flopped to his side. “Oh balls, what have I done?”
“If it is a giant sharktopus tank,” Standish said, “you are going in first!”
Egan’s hands balled into fists. He took in a deep breath, then f
roze, his gaze fell on something behind Standish.
Air shimmered near the doorway. An apparition in the loose shape of a human came toward the Marines with halting steps.
“Anyone else see that?” Egan asked.
“Egan, the light,” Bailey said, pointing to the ceiling.
“Clear,” Egan said, “it’s blinking the word ‘clear.’”
The shimmering air around the apparition ripped aside, and a woman in an armored vac suit stumbled to the ground. She ripped her helmet off and tossed it aside as she fell to the ground, her lungs heaving.
Standish crept toward the bars, his eyes on the woman with neck-length black hair who was gasping for air. Even under such duress, Standish couldn’t help but notice her exotic features and dark eyes.
“You OK out there?” he asked.
“Air…I love air,” she said. She struggled to her hands and knees then took a deep breath. “Had to use the suit’s air supply around the Ruhaald or their enviro sensors would pick up my DNA. Tanks went empty while you all were gabbing with that big one. Thanks for that.”
“Sheila,” Bailey said, “let’s get down to brass tacks. You here to get us out?”
“You,” the woman said as she got to her feet, “you’re the sniper. Boss doesn’t need you. Which of you is the commo expert, Egan?”
“That’s me,” Egan said. “Who’re you?”
“Shannon. I work for Ibarra.”
“Hold on, you’re getting us all out, right?” Standish asked. “Admiral Squid-Face is coming back and it’s not like we can explain how one of us is missing.”
“You’re all getting out.” Shannon took a small canister off her belt and shook it. “Just need to know which one of you I have to keep alive.”
“Nothing like an adventure where I’m expendable. Sure sounds fun, doesn’t it?” Standish asked. “Lady, you want to get us up to speed?”
“The Naroosha and Ruhaald came through the Crucible. The Ruhaald fleet made for Earth and helped turn the tide against the Xaros. Soon as the Xaros burned away—boss thinks Torni managed to hack their self-destruct commands after the General was killed—the Naroosha opened fire on the ships we had guarding the Crucible. Forced our fleet to stand down. The Ruhaald sent boarders and I got squeezed out of the control room. Managed to grab a Karigole stealth emitter and lay low until the boss got ahold of me.” She held up the canister and sprayed a golden mist onto the force field. Tiny particles seeped into the force field and hung like smoke in a dark room.
She traced the spray over the cell door and stepped back. The force field over the doorway flickered and vanished with a loud pop. Shannon pressed a small cube against the cell lock and pulled it open.
“Out. Hurry,” she said. “Leave your armor. It’s useless without power and enviro packs.”
“Nothing like running around a space station full of hostile aliens in our underwear, right?” Standish asked as he and the other Marines hustled through the open doorway.
“Neat toys you’ve got there,” Egan said to Shannon. “Maybe you’ve got a gauss rifle somewhere?”
“Boss and I have had contingency plans in place since he took over years ago,” Shannon said. “Naturally, all our plans didn’t survive contact with reality. At least one of you is useful.” She took a spindle of orange twine off her belt and handed it to Standish. “Burn cord. Lay out a breach hole big enough for one of us in the floor.”
Shannon jabbed a finger into Egan’s chest.
“Ibarra needs to get secure contact with Captain Valdar and the Breitenfeld in orbit around Luna. How can you make that happen?”
“Does the Crucible still have its IR network set up?”
“No, the Naroosha tore out everything. I can link you to Ibarra through the lighting system. That’s the boss’ only way of communicating,” Shannon said.
Egan chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, then said, “I need a KR-12 system with auto-connect base, and I need my gauntlet powered up. Do you have a KR-12?”
“No, but I know where we can build one,” Shannon said. “Trick is getting there.”
“Build one?” Egan asked. “The KR-12 is a precision piece of equipment. It took Tirium Engineering weeks to put them together. Back when there was such a company.”
“We have the omnium reactor in node four that can make anything from a pound of freshly ground coffee to a fusion bomb in minutes.” Shannon frowned. “Again, trick is getting there.”
“Got the burn cord set,” Standish said. “I would like to point out that us being in this room when the charge goes off will definitely kill us.”
“Different kind of cord,” Shannon said. “Step back and watch.”
Standish jumped back from the circle he’d made like it was a live wire. Tiny laser beams lit up within the circle, bouncing off the inner edge until a deep yellow field filled the interior. Heat emanated from the circle and it sank into the floor slowly.
“Wait until it cuts through,” Shannon said. “Won’t have much time before the floor repairs itself.”
“You want to fill us in on the rest of your plan?” Bailey asked.
“The Crucible’s nodes are linked through the attenuation thorns, which change position to create the wormholes used in jump travel. Thing is, this Crucible isn’t one hundred percent complete. Wasn’t when we took it away from the Xaros and finishing it hasn’t been our number-one priority. We’re in node one. Node four has the reactor. Because of how the thorns are arrayed and that there’s a giant gap between thorns, we can’t get to node four by foot.”
“No,” Standish said, wagging a finger at Shannon. “Not no, but hell no.”
“So we need to do a little space walk,” Shannon said.
“We’re in our skivvies,” Bailey said, “and your suit’s out of air. How’re we going to get through hard vacuum?”
“We need to make a pit stop.” Shannon looked into the hole, then grabbed Egan by the arm.
“Few more seconds. Should be good, but don’t touch the screen.” Shannon jerked Egan off balance and sent him down the hole. Shannon stepped on the edge of the hole as she peered down. She tried to step back, but her foot caught on the edge. She twisted her foot loose and went pale.
“Shit, self-repair just started. Go. Go!” Shannon jumped into the hole.
“I hate me job,” Bailey said and jumped in after Shannon.
“Should we get—” Standish looked at the armor in the cell. He turned his gaze back to the hole and found a rapidly shrinking opening.
Standish dove headfirst into the pit. He bounced off the smooth side, scraping his scalp. There was a light at the end of the tunnel, but it was getting smaller by the second. Air whistled past Standish’s face as he fell, the thought of being buried within the alien construct filling him with a newfound sense of claustrophobia.
He reached out, grasping for the light as he bounced off the now gravelly walls, ripping the outer layer of his body glove.
Standish jerked to a halt as his leg caught against a spur growing out of the wall…several feet short of safety. A hissing sound squeezed around Standish as the hole tightened.
“Son of a—” Standish kicked his legs and tore loose from the wall. He fell and his body passed through the opening a little wider than an escape hatch. A floor rushed up at him and he barely had time to throw his arms in front of his face. His body glove tightened across his body with a jerk.
Standish looked through his fingers. The floor was several feet away. He bent at the waist and found the right heel of his body glove held fast in the ceiling. The fabric stretched away from his foot, distending like pulled elastic.
He went slack and found the other three staring at him.
“Ideas? Anyone?” Standish asked. “Great timing on the cord. Real fun on the way down.”
“He always talk this much?” Shannon asked.
“You have no idea,” Bailey said.
The ceiling released its hold on Standish and he fell to the floor with
a yelp. He popped to his feet and brushed dust off his suit.
“No points for that landing,” he said. He turned around and froze.
A dead doughboy sat against a wall, legs as thick as tree trunks sticking out straight, his head lolling against his chest, his hands at his side—palms up. A smear of blood ran down the ceiling to the soldier’s back.
“Franklin,” Standish said. “Neither of you knew him. He died here, on the Crucible, saving Stacey Ibarra from a drone. He was just like that when we found him.” He backed away from the body. “He was…he—” Standish took a quick breath and started gulping for air.
Bailey grabbed Standish by the arms and shook him hard enough to snap his head back.
“Hey! Come back here right now, Marine,” Bailey said.
Egan touched Standish’s shoulder.
“We’ve had a long…shitty day,” Bailey said. “It’s not over yet, Standy. We need you to keep it together a bit longer, all right?”
“Yeah.” Standish wiped his sleeve across his eyes. “Sorry. It’s just…” He looked around. “I hate this place.”
“Try living here,” Shannon said. “The body’s a good sign. Means the Ruhaald came through. Haven’t seen them spend much time or effort covering cleared ground. We aren’t too far from the crèche. Let’s go.”
****
The situation within the holo table hadn’t changed in hours, but Captain Isaac Valdar kept staring at it, looking for a missing detail, a hidden bit of data that would change his objective assessment.
Valdar tapped a screen and called up the damage reports for each of the ships circling the moon alongside the Breitenfeld. None were unscathed. Many teetered on the brink of being abandoned to the void, their crews transferred to other ships in the hopes of adding one more ship capable of manning a battle line.
A battle line that had no hope of saving Earth.
The Breitenfeld had survived the conflict over Pluto, the skies of Mars and the assault on the extinction arch over Japan with minor damage. Also exiled to lunar orbit were twelve Manticore-class frigates armed with Toth energy cannons, sixteen cruisers, a dozen frigates and destroyers and a hodgepodge of Eagles and Condor bombers from hundreds of different aviation wings that found refuge on the ships like wet navy sailors clinging to lifeboats.
