God Ship (Obsidiar Fleet Book 3)

by Anthony James

  “Reprimand accepted, Lieutenant, but you can see the problems.”

  “It’s not ideal,” said McKinney. “Maybe we’ll only be required to do some advance recon before the Space Corps sends in a dedicated team and a recovery vessel.”

  “The MHL Titan is the biggest lifter in the fleet and even that’s only twelve klicks long. Assuming it was big enough to carry off an eighteen klick Neutraliser, do you really think they’ll send such a valuable asset into a place where the enemy have been detected?”

  “That Neutraliser could be full of Obsidiar,” said McKinney. “If it is, they’ll do whatever it takes. Hell, they’d build a whole new lifter if they needed to.”

  “Yeah they might. In the future. We’re the only ones who are here now and capable of completing a full search of a spaceship type that’s causing the biggest worry in the high command.”

  McKinney couldn’t deny the logic. “If it’s to be a full search, then that’s what it’s to be.”

  “It’s not the searching that worries me, Lieutenant.” Bannerman gave a short laugh. “The searching part will be interesting – something to tell the grandkids when we’ve forced the Vraxar into long-overdue extinction. My worry is the enemy might want their Neutraliser back.”

  “You think they could turn up?”

  “At any moment, sir.”

  “We’d better not stop to admire their women, then.”

  “I’d rather not think about Vraxar women if you don’t mind.”

  McKinney laughed. “Me neither. Not that we’ve seen any yet.”

  “Not that we know of. It’s not as if they get nicely dressed and wear makeup, is it? Who knows what the Vraxar do to the bodies of the dead – we could have been shooting women and thinking they were men.”

  “Nah – most of the Vraxar are dead Estral. You’ve seen Ghast women before – they’re much smaller than the males.”

  “Almost attractive some of them. In a grey-skinned, alien kind of way.”

  “They’re not my type, Corporal.”

  “Nor mine. Doesn’t stop the talk though.”

  The conversation tailed off, with neither man desperate to pursue it. A new thought came to McKinney.

  “If I die, do me a favour and make sure there isn’t enough of me left to make into a new Vraxar.”

  “If you’ll make me the same promise.”

  For some reason it seemed important and McKinney stuck out his hand. Bannerman grasped it and the two men shook on their agreement.

  “Better to go home in pieces than spend a thousand years rotting with nothing more than a few metal struts keeping me upright.”

  “Amen to that, Lieutenant.”

  The moment passed and McKinney saw they’d descended to an altitude of three kilometres, which meant the shuttle’s autopilot was slowing them in preparation to land. Shuttle Two was many kilometres above and coming in steadily.

  “They sent drones first, but their engines shut off,” said McKinney.

  “This shuttle runs on Gallenium, doesn’t it?” asked Bannerman.

  “It does. Captain Blake reckons we’ll be fine as long as we don’t come in too close. The drones weren’t affected until they got inside.”

  “How close is close?”

  “We’re programmed to land five hundred metres away – wherever the autopilot can find that’s suitable.”

  “There’s no way we’ll be able to set down properly. There’s far too much slope from this crater.”

  “You’re right – it’s going to be a rough landing. I’ll need to leave the shuttle on autopilot to keep it from sliding down the slope.”

  “I can’t say I’m excited about a five hundred metre scramble down the side of an impact crater in this storm, sir.”

  “The crew on the Abyss have already done the looking – there’s a dramatic fall-off in the wind speed once you get right near to the bottom. Believe it or not, that Neutraliser’s going to act like a big wind-break.”

  “Great. Just like being on a beach holiday again.”

  McKinney smiled and shook his head in mock-despair at the cynicism of his fellow man. He accessed the shuttle’s internal comms and told the soldiers in the passenger bay to get ready.

  “This is your one-minute warning. Get your visors in place.”

  In spite of the reassurances, the shuttle reached an altitude of a thousand metres without any let up in the storm. Some of the gusts were in excess of two hundred kilometres per hour and McKinney was seriously worried he’d lose half his men before they even reached the Neutraliser. Then, with only a few seconds until touch-down, the winds lessened significantly. The external monitoring tools on the shuttle showed the average windspeed at nearly sixty kilometres per hour, with frequent gusts reaching past one hundred kilometres per hour.

  “That’s not so bad,” muttered Bannerman. “Just like exercises on Tourmaline.”

  McKinney smiled at the memory. “The Space Corps’ favourite torture chamber.”

  In spite of the lightness in his tones, McKinney was nervous about the landing. The shuttle was designed to handle pretty much anything, but it only needed a small miscalculation from the autopilot, or a misread from one of the sensors and the whole mission could become a disaster before it started. He watched the approach intently.

  “The autopilot’s going to set down the four portside landing legs and use the engines to keep the starboard side level. We’ll jump out through the portside exit and come around the nose. After that, it’s all downhill. Shuttle Two is ninety seconds behind up and they’re aiming to set down three hundred metres to our north.”

  Bannerman didn’t respond and the set of the man’s jaw indicated he didn’t relish what was coming.

  The sound from the shuttle’s engines increased in volume and they grumbled under the strains of the autopilot’s fine tuning. If this had been a normal landing, McKinney would have already been in the passenger bay with the others waiting to disembark. In the circumstances, he thought it better to stay in the pilot’s chair and keep an eye on things.

  The altimeter counted down the last few metres until a thump in the cockpit indicated the port legs had made heavy contact with the ground. The gravity engine developed a lumpy note which suggested to McKinney the autopilot was having to vary the power constantly in order to keep the craft level.

  “Is that it?” asked Bannerman.

  “As good as we’re going to get.”

  McKinney spoke briefly to the pilot on Shuttle Two – a sergeant called Chester Goodman – to ensure he knew what to do. When he was satisfied, McKinney pulled down his spacesuit visor and left the cockpit. The rest of the soldiers were on their feet, their faces pointed towards the port exit door. There was plenty of nervous chatter in the comms open channel and McKinney asked for silence so that nothing important would get lost in the noise.

  “Everyone get your visors down or you’ll die an agonising death within ten seconds of departure. This is the real thing folks – your chance to put all that training into practise. Maybe even shoot yourself a genuine alien instead of one created in a simulator.”

  There was no indication the troops were anything other than fully prepared, so McKinney activated the portside exit door. The shuttle’s life support knew this was a hostile environment and it demanded confirmation, which he provided. Without further delay the rectangular door fell open, becoming an exit ramp for the soldiers to disembark.

  Details flooded into McKinney’s brain, fed through the visor sensor. It was much gloomier outside than he’d expected and it was easy to forget the shuttle’s sensors were programmed to boost the natural light. A rocky slope stretched upwards until it was lost in the swirling clouds of windborne dust. Grit covered the uneven ground, moving constantly as it was whipped up by the larger gusts. Warnings on McKinney’s HUD advised him it was well below zero – easily cold enough to kill a human in minutes. As well as that, the gravity was higher than usual, meaning the squad was going to feel like crap if
they needed to exert themselves too much.

  “Welcome to the Space Corps, lads and lasses,” said Sergeant Li.

  “Shuttle Two is due in less than ninety seconds. I’m going to take a look outside while you wait here,” said McKinney. “Once the second shuttle is down, we’ll move.”

  McKinney went down the ramp. He was immediately caught by a strong gust and he staggered to the side before recovering his balance. The gust faded, to be replaced by a persistent wind which changed direction at irregular intervals. It took most of his concentration to keep from being swept off his feet. He looked towards the shuttle’s nose a few metres away and staggered towards it, keeping one hand pressed to the side wall of its hull. The sporadic beat of its engines was easily felt.

  While the other soldiers waited anxiously in the passenger bay, McKinney advanced along the shuttle’s flank. The angle of the craft kept the Neutraliser hidden until he reached the wedge-shaped nose and was able to see around. It was an awe-inspiring sight. The Vraxar ship rose from the gloom, towering hundreds of metres above the tiny Space Corps vessel. Much of it was lost from sight in the dust and the darkness, but it was the hints and suggestions of size which make McKinney shudder. Seen through a warship’s sensors from half a million kilometres, the Neutraliser appeared spindly. Here, viewed from five hundred metres away, it was nothing of the sort.

  A figure joined him, hunched against the wind and with its visored face aimed towards the Vraxar spaceship.

  “Holy cow,” said Sergeant Li. “You wouldn’t want that thing landing in your back garden.”

  McKinney was accustomed to Li’s approach to the universe and didn’t respond to the comment. “Can you get a visual on Shuttle Two?” he asked, his neck craned to the skies. “They should be on the final approach.” The visor sensor showed nothing.

  “Can’t see a damn thing,” said Li.

  McKinney opened a channel. “Shuttle Two, please report.”

  The spacesuit comms spat and squealed.

  “Shuttle Two, please report.”

  “No answer?” asked Li, his voice filled with concern.

  “I’m going to try the Abyss.” McKinney requested a channel and got one immediately, though the static remained. “We’ve lost contact with Shuttle Two.”

  It was Lieutenant Cruz who answered. “Same here. Lieutenant Pointer is trying.”

  The background sounds of activity on the warship’s bridge came through the channel, though McKinney wasn’t able to determine exactly what was going on. Cruz spoke again.

  “They’ve lost power, they’ve just gone into freefall.”

  “Oh shit.”

  Cruz spoke quickly and with a tautness to her voice. “Lieutenant Quinn is attempting a remote restart on their engines.”

  The movement sensor in McKinney’s suit picked up an object a few hundred metres overhead and highlighted it in a smear of orange. Shuttle Two was coming down. Its descent appeared gradual and his heart jumped at the thought they might have got the gravity drive online again.

  “You got them working?”

  “Negative, they’re still offline.”

  Then McKinney realised it was his viewpoint which made the approach appear to be a controlled one. As it neared the ground, the shuttle seemed to accelerate until it was hurtling at an unstoppable speed.

  “Get their engines started!” he shouted.

  It was too late. Shuttle Two smashed into the ruined front nullification sphere of the Vraxar Neutraliser. The shuttle’s armoured hull was built to withstand high-speed impact and it only buckled, rather than breaking apart. The vessel bounced once, hit the sphere a second time and then fell several hundred metres until it landed nose-first on the stone ground at the base of the Vraxar spaceship. Slowly, it toppled to one side before coming to a rest.

  McKinney swore and began running down the slope, heedless of the danger.

  “Lieutenant, wait up!” Li called after him.

  “Help me! Get Grover and Sandoval. Tell them to bring their kit.”

  This part of the Neutraliser’s impact crater was steep and treacherous with grit. McKinney lost his footing and slid for a few metres, his body fighting for balance and against the wind’s determination to knock him into a headlong fall.

  “Lieutenant, stop!” said Lieutenant Cruz.

  It took McKinney a moment to realise the crew of the Abyss must be tracking his movements from above. “I can’t. They might be alive.”

  “They’re gone. The life support unit went offline along with the engines.”

  “I’ve got to see.”

  “Eric, stop! You’ll break your neck.”

  Cruz had that touch and the use of McKinney’s first name brought him to a slithering halt.

  “Gather your men. You need a controlled approach,” she said.

  McKinney took a deep breath, numbness seeping into his brain. He shook it off angrily. “Yes.”

  For the next few seconds, he barked out orders. He instructed the two onboard medics to leave the shuttle, along with a handful of the other soldiers. His sprint towards the crash site hadn’t lasted long and he was surprised at how much distance he’d put between himself and the shuttle. It was two hundred metres away, its edges made indistinct by the storm.

  A group of soldiers came towards him, their tentative footsteps clearly at odds with their desire to make haste. They had their rifles ready, which made the approach even harder. By the time they reached him, McKinney had accepted everyone on the second shuttle was dead. The network he’d set up between the spacesuits allowed him to access the vital signs of his soldiers and there was no reported life from the squads on Shuttle Two.

  Medic Amy Sandoval put her arm around him for the briefest moment to show she understood. Then, she walked by, her heavy med-box dangling by its strap from one hand and bouncing against her leg with each tortured stride.

  Confirmation of the sixty deaths, when it came, made McKinney feel no better and no worse. The doors to Shuttle Two could be opened by mechanical means when there was an emergency and the interior was a jumble of broken, lifeless bodies. The vessel had ended up more or less on its base and the two medics were able to move from body to body, until they were absolutely sure there was no one who could be saved.

  Captain Blake spoke to McKinney privately. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” he said simply.

  “What happened, sir? Shuttles don’t fail like that.”

  “We think their autopilot took them through a randomly-generated negation zone.”

  “I thought the Neutraliser was no longer functioning.”

  “So did we. It seems likely there’s sporadic activity in there somewhere.”

  “Are we aborting, sir?” asked McKinney.

  “We can’t. This is a mission to gather intel and we can’t allow tragedy to put an end to it.”

  “What about our return flight? Will we hit another negation zone?”

  “I don’t know, is the honest answer. I’ve got my crew working on finding you a definite answer.”

  It wasn’t what McKinney had wanted to hear, though he had no choice other than to accept the situation.

  “Do you have any more specifics on what we’re looking for, sir?”

  “Anything you can find, Lieutenant. Examples of their technology, weapons. Whatever your eyes see, chances are it’ll be new to the Space Corps.”

  “I’ll gather my men, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  The comms link went dead and McKinney set himself to the task of organising the remaining sixty soldiers for the coming job. It didn’t take long and within twenty minutes, they were standing at the base of the Vraxar Neutraliser. The hull breach was vast and it vanished through two hundred metres of black armour plating as well as another metallic substance which neither McKinney nor his visor computer recognized.

  “Plant the comms beacon right here,” he said, pointing at the ground nearby.

  Two of the soldiers were carrying the booster device, whic
h was a cloth-wrapped metal cube with a screen, an input pad and an extendible aerial. They placed it carefully at the place indicated and pulled out the aerial. As soon as it was switched on, McKinney noticed the signal strength on his suit comms became much better.

  “You’re aware that booster won’t do shit once we’re inside, aren’t you Lieutenant?” said Bannerman. “The walls of the Neutraliser are far too thick for the suit comms to penetrate.”

  McKinney was lost for words. “What the hell did we bring the booster for? Are you saying we’ll be comms blind once we get inside?”

  “I thought you knew, sir.”

  “I wasn’t expecting perfect clarity on the comms, but I thought the booster was enough to get around that.”

  McKinney felt sick. Out of the entire Space Corps, he was amongst the small group which had real combat experience, yet it wasn’t enough to prevent him making mistakes like this.

  “Look on the bright side, Lieutenant – we’d be going into that ship regardless of whether the comms were working or not.”

  “Yeah. We’ll have to make do.”

  He connected to the ES Abyss and advised the crew what to expect. Either they’d also overlooked the facts about the comms or assumed the soldiers would know what they were doing. There was no finger pointing and McKinney finished his conversation quickly.

  “If it’s a maze inside, we’re splitting into groups,” he said to Bannerman. “I assume we’ll not be able to speak to each other once we go our separate ways?”

  “That would be correct, sir.”

  “It just doesn’t get better.”

  With no other way, McKinney set a six-hour time limit for the different squads and made sure the group leaders fully understood they were to get out right on schedule. It wasn’t going to be easy, especially when they had no idea what lay ahead.

  With preparations as much in place as he could make them, McKinney turned his attention to the gathered troops. The delay hadn’t been long but they were getting restless and a jumpy soldier was far more prone to error.

  “We’re set,” said McKinney.

  “I think there’s light through there,” said Sergeant Woods.

  “Someone’s home,” said Mills.