Relic Tech (Crax War Chronicles)

by Ervin II, Terry W.

  “Understood.” I climbed out, drew and fired my duty revolver. I missed his face by six inches to the right.

  McAllister took hers with two blasts. Mine returned MP fire before I hit him in the chest, knocking him back. McAllister finished him. “Losing your touch, Keesay?” She stepped past the dead men. “Shuttle, remain for eighteen minutes.”

  “Didn’t have time to aim,” I said. “That’s why I carry this.” I affixed my bayonet and said, “Main access to reactor control, open.”

  There were only two security inside the main access. We surprised them along with the other personnel. In the end we killed or incapacitated the security along with nine engineers and maintenance techs. Three managed to escape into the reactor area despite McAllister’s lockdown command.

  “They’ll be able to call for assistance in eight minutes,” McAllister warned.

  “We’d better be gone by then.”

  “Maybe,” said McAllister, working again. “System’s up to 25.74 percent. They’ll regain security monitoring in eighteen minutes.”

  “I’m going to see what damage I can do,” I said. “Which door do you suggest?”

  Without looking she leaned to reach another console, and tapped. “That door. Straight ahead.” She hesitated. “You’re not planning to use that popcorn nuke?”

  “No suicide today.” I pulled out B’down’s timed explosive I’d been carrying since killing him. “And I have this and AP rounds.” I began to eject jacketed rounds and load AP. “We’ll never make it to the alien underground facilities. But I may be able to make it harder to access them in the future.”

  “Hey, Keesay,” McAllister said with a grin. “They’re in the middle of loading radioactive fuel. That door instead. Look for a large tracked forklift-bot carrying something with a ‘Danger Radioactive’ sign on it.”

  “I’ll be back in five minutes,” I said before stepping over several bodies. I should’ve felt guilt, but picturing my dead friends aboard the Kalavar trumped any sympathy.

  “Don’t get too close,” said McAllister, “or hang out too long and get a lethal dose.”

  “Didn’t know you cared.”

  “About you, no. About your ability to help shoot our way to the escape shuttle. Yes.”

  “Close enough.” I held my shotgun ready. “Door, unlock and open for two seconds, then close and lock.” I entered a corridor and headed for the stairwell up. Movement caught my eye. I filled a fleeing maintenance tech’s back with buckshot.

  He was still conscious. I stood over him. “The Crax have invaded and you guys are assisting them,” I said before kicking him in the face.

  I climbed three flights, then ran down another corridor. Crack! Crack! MP fire from ahead. One shot impacted my chest. My high-grade coveralls and plasticized breastplate beneath absorbed the hit. I scattered two buckshot rounds down the hall before I spotted the enemy fire source. Crack! Crack! An armored door with a slot. Another hit in the chest staggered my step.

  I dove. “Armored access door to reactor area, open.” When it ratcheted up I sent buckshot into the guard’s legs and followed with a killing shot after she fell.

  I reloaded my shotgun and climbed to my feet. Two sec-bots stationed themselves at the entrance to a cavernous reactor area, next to the fallen security woman. I threw my shotgun at the right-hand one when it prepared to deploy its stun net. The other grazed my cheek with an MP round.

  My shotgun entangled the stun net and clanged off the sec-bot. I dove and rolled so that the right-hand bot obstructed its partner’s line of fire. An MP round ricocheted into my right leg. I aimed my revolver and sent an AP round through the firing sec-bot. I took out the second when it maneuvered to fire on me.

  I wiped my bleeding cheek and held my bandana against it. My leg hurt and would be bruised. I pried open the access panels of both sec-bots with my bayonet and scrambled a few circuits before checking my watch. Almost out of time. I spotted several retreating engineers and the abandoned industrial forklift-bot. The blazing-red radioactive symbol marked a two ton canister resting on the floor in front of it.

  I ran forward and set the explosive for triple delay setting, 13.5 seconds, and slapped it onto the industrial-bot’s hydrogen fuel tank. My bruised leg didn’t slow me much as I ran back toward the door. “Armored access door to reactor area, lower in five seconds.” I cocked my revolver, and sent four AP rounds at the canister. Two deflected off. Two penetrated. When the door ratcheted down, I ran.

  The lights dimmed after the muffled explosion. I ignored my throbbing leg while sprinting back to McAllister.

  She was standing against the wall. “About time. Three security out there.”

  “How are they deployed?” I pulled a bandage from my belt pouched and slapped it on my cheek. “How’re they armed?”

  “MP carbines,” she said. “They’re outside trying to override my lockout.”

  “I used my explosive. Can you cut the lighting in here?”

  “That’ll be easy. I just scrammed their online reactor.” She tapped at a console. “They’re on backup generators and battery reserve. With any luck, it’ll go critical after they restart it. Want their lights out, too?”

  “No. We want to see them.”

  “What if they have infrared?”

  “They’re cheap here,” I said. “Minimal equipment.”

  McAllister grinned as our lights faded. “Theirs are strobing.”

  “Okay, you call it. I’ll take the center and right. You get left.”

  “Counting down,” she said. “Three, two, one, entrance access door, open.”

  We achieved complete surprise. Their uniforms couldn’t withstand buckshot, let alone laser blasts.

  “They’ve locked out the shuttle,” McAllister said. “Not good.” She pulled her computer clip and attached it.

  “We’ll never make it on foot,” I said, looking down the strobing transport corridor. “Not on time.” I dragged the one surviving sec-specs to the cart and threatened her. “Get it running or join your friends.”

  The C3 sec-spec was bleeding from her abdomen and shoulder. “Warp-screw you,” she spat.

  “One brave one in the lot,” I said, trying to ignore the pulsing lights.

  McAllister smiled. “No need. Get in.”

  The C3 slumped. I pulled her up by the hair. “Crax are busy killing marines and civilians. Here you are defending them.” I took her MP pistol and threw her down. “Hope you can live with your treachery.” My brass knuckles broke her jaw. “Six minutes.” We sped away.

  “That blood’ll give us away,” said McAllister, glaring at my cheek. “As if your R-Tech cap and button uniform wasn’t bad enough.”

  I removed the patch from my face while dabbing a fresh one over the blood stain on my shoulder. “Still bleeding?”

  “Barely,” said McAllister. “Enough to show.”

  “Here.” I handed her a tube of skin-seal.

  She applied it. “Where’d you get this?”

  “From the LLTV first aid kit. How’d you get this running?”

  “Same program that enabled our system voice command. It should self-erase in about forty minutes. We should be on our way before then.” She handed back the skin-seal. “Should hold.”

  “We’d better be.” We sped out of the strobing shuttle corridor section. “They’re getting organized. And if your reactor trick works...”

  “Looks like we may have company,” McAllister said after examining the onboard monitor. “Shuttle, slow to thirty percent.”

  I checked the screen. “Two security. Damn, it could get rough. Maybe not.” Most of the security team’s response demonstrated training equal to Kent O’Vorley’s. “Should we risk contacting Guerrero?”

  McAllister spoke into her collar. “Party Four, are you in position?”

  “Affirmative, Party Five,” replied Guerrero without delay over McAllister’s implant and my com-set. “With our new found friend.”

  “Associate One?”
McAllister asked.

  “No word,” Guerrero replied. “Things are happening around us.”

  “Acknowledged. Out.” McAllister examined the shuttle’s chronometer. “Three minutes, fifty seconds.” She replaced the power pack in the butt of her laser carbine. “Shuttle, one-hundred percent.”

  Ca-chunk! McAllister watched as I pumped a shell into the chamber. “We won’t be able to talk our way past those two security.” She nodded. “I’ll run interference. You watch our back. If we run into any sec-bots, you hammer them with your laser.” I handed her the lifted MP pistol. “Here’s a backup.”

  The shuttle slowed. “You get the one approaching,” I said. “I’ll take the other.”

  Before the shuttle stopped I raised my shotgun and fired twice. The buckshot took out the unprepared man. McAllister knocked hers down with her second blast. We leapt from the shuttle and made it into the corridor. Station personnel scrambled to get out of our way. I was able to load two shells.

  Crack-Crack! Crack-Crack-Crack! Two sec-specs had taken cover near the maintenance room we had to get past to reach the hangar. “Keep behind me.” I ran forward and exchanged fire. One fell. The other hit me with two rounds. A sharp pain knocked me off stride. I stumbled and unloaded on him before he could do any more.

  McAllister caught me under the shoulder. “Keesay, how bad?”

  “Took rounds in the thigh. Didn’t penetrate.” I hobbled forward, then continued in a galloping run toward the last cross-hall. Ahead, two more security blundered into view.

  McAllister burned them before they recognized their peril. “I’ll take lead.”

  “No.” I loaded a shell as I galloped. “Take out that camera. Watch our back.” She did, and we made it to the hangar area. Shouts, screams and the cracking of MP fire echoed from within the shattered entryway. Arctic air rushed past us.

  Inside we encountered a melee between pilots, ground crews, maintenance and engineering techs. At least fifty fought across the entire hangar.

  “Which shuttle?” I asked.

  “We’re on the far right,” came over my com-set. “Hurry!”

  A fighter hovered before accelerating through the gaping hangar doorway.

  “Let’s just run for it,” I said.

  McAllister was wide-eyed. “Go!” she yelled, tearing past. “Crax behind us!”

  I didn’t bother to look. I simply tried to keep pace.

  The fighting raged with fists, stun batons, makeshift clubs. It was impossible to tell who was on Boyd’s side. McAllister was almost there, with me ten yards behind. The shuttle ramp was extending when I got blindsided. I went down hard with a brawny engineering tech on me, grappling for my shotgun.

  He’d succeeded in tearing it from my grip before rolling away, bellowing. He’d dropped my shotgun and came to one knee, struggling with a brown-furred mass gnawing into the base of his neck. Somehow, the tech had snagged the Chicher’s tail, holding the deadly tail blades at bay.

  I grabbed my shotgun and rammed my bayonet into the engineering tech’s chest, but not before he’d slammed the Chicher to the floor. I grabbed the stunned diplomat by his harness and ran for the shuttle. McAllister and Kalger stood atop the ramp. Instead of urging me forward, they sent a rain of laser fire over my head. I didn’t have to guess why. A line of caustic bubbling burned alongside my path up the ramp.

  Kalger yelled, “He’s in!”

  We all staggered and fell to the floor as Guerrero lifted off. McAllister managed to close the hatch before anyone tumbled out.

  I rolled over to see the Chicher writhing in agony. “Pain meds!” I shouted. “First aid kit!” Kalger crawled on all fours to comply.

  “McAllister, get over here,” I said. Along the Chicher’s ribcage a fist-sized hole frothed. I recognized the caustic stench. “Hurry.”

  The diplomat stared at me, eye-to-eye, and chattered something. I couldn’t hear, so I leaned closer.

  The Chicher chattered a short pattern, three times. It was strained. His smashed translator dangled from its harness. He beckoned me closer. I leaned in and his jaws shot forward. His teeth pierced my neck, but his jaws didn’t close. He fell back before I could respond.

  I sat up. Kalger shoved something in my lap. The diplomat’s ears and face were drawn back in agony as he squealed. I took his hands. “Hang in there, Diplomat. Pain meds, man!” His tail curled around my leg.

  Kalger took back the meds and injected two emergency doses.

  “That should help, Diplomat,” I said. I spoke in Chicher, “Help, yes.”

  The diplomat chattered the same short phrase as before, three times before clenching his teeth. His tail tightened, as did his handgrip. Then he fell limp.

  “Acid got his innards,” said Kalger.

  “Brilliant observation,” I snarled, causing Kalger to back away. McAllister was nowhere to be found. But Skids sat strapped to a nearby seat, taking the horrid scene in. I took a breath. “I’m sorry, Skids.”

  “Better stow yer gear and get seated,” warned Kalger. “I’ll show you where you can lay yer friend.”

  I lifted the diplomat by the harness, mindful of the acid.

  Kalger grabbed my shotgun. “Darn brave alien,” he said. “Interestin’ death ritual.”

  Chapter 39

  The use of modular docks established a more rapid system of expansion across the galaxy. A series of specially designed ships travels to a destination. Upon arrival, each ship’s aft thrust engine section and forward cascading engine compartment detach from the vessel’s central hull section. Engineers and construction-bots weld center sections together, forming a functioning dock. The forward and aft engine sections then unite for a return trip.

  The modular docks require higher degrees of maintenance and the return trips are difficult on crews as ship facilities are limited. The price endured for the ability to swiftly establish distant footholds.

  The gravity plate’s strength fluctuated between 80 and 110 percent during the rough ride out of the atmosphere.

  I asked Kalger, “Grav control’s shot. How old is this shuttle?”

  He held his stomach. “Shoulda known better than to eat before boarding this ol’ boat.” He burped. “Was refurbished before her trip out three years ago.”

  I said to Skids, “Stay here,” and went forward, entering a cabin lined with cold sleep tubes.

  A med tech with a curly mop of hair and straight, manicured beard, smiled. “Specialist,” he nodded.

  “Thanks for all the help.” I brushed past him.

  “Heard you were a real Crax killer,” said the med tech. He shook his head. “Saw more running than killing.”

  I turned. “In a minute you’re gonna be doing more bleeding than grinning.”

  “Whoa there, fellas,” called Kalger, lumbering into the tight area. He put his hand on the med tech’s shoulder. “Stenny, you don’t wanna mess with this fella. And you, Specialist, probably don’t wanna piss off Tech Stenny here.”

  I checked my temper and strode out. I heard Kalger telling him about my buddy, the dead Chicher. I climbed the access ladder and continued forward into the cockpit where Guerrero sat at the controls.

  “Keesay, got an open seat,” she said. “How’s the diplomat?”

  I plopped into the co-pilot seat. “Dead,” I said. “Situation?”

  “Sorry.” She didn’t look up from the controls. “McAllister is down with the cascading engine. Engineering Tech Popova is in the rear getting the most she can out of the thrust engine.”

  “One engine?”

  She nodded. “And it’s an old one. We’re tailing Boyd and four of her squadron. Two yachts launched ahead of them. I think they destroyed the second shuttle on the ground.” She glanced my way. “Heard the Crax are scrambling fighters. Five station fighters are forming up with them.” She checked the controls. “We may be joining the diplomat very soon.”

  “Those fighters on the ground looked like military trainers.”

  “Tech K
alger informed me of that. At least they have weapons.”

  McAllister announced over the intercom, “Eighteen minutes till the cascading engine will be cycled.”

  “Acknowledged,” said Guerrero. “Following escort. Twelve minutes until we’re aligned for Tallavaster.”

  “Rogue One to Rebel One.” It was Boyd. “Tug destroyed yachts on approach. Two friendlies on your six. We’ll get you through.”

  “Acknowledged, Rogue One,” said Guerrero before turning to me. “We couldn’t do anything about it if they were hostile.”

  I scrutinized the display. The orbital platform came into view over the horizon. “Tug accelerating. Moving away. Five hostiles, possibly nine, if those four shadows are Crax. On intercept course.” I cautiously manipulated the display.

  Guerrero reached over and tapped. “Here. This rotates the tactical display.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Two closing on our tail. Four bogies exiting the atmosphere in pursuit.” I watched. “Friendlies turning to engage.”

  “Tech Popova,” called Guerrero. “Any more?”

  “Negative,” she replied. “Maximum thrust, plus three percent.”

  “One Behemoth class transport in orbit,” I said. “No Crax vessels.”

  “Rogue One to Rebel One,” said Boyd. “Good luck. Rogue Two with me. Rogue Three, Four and Five, cover Rebel One.”

  “Two friendlies are splitting off,” I said. “Vectoring toward the Behemoth.” I worked the display. “Three shadows appear to be leaving enemy formation.”

  “Going to protect any Crax ships they might be harboring,” said Guerrero.

  “Correct,” I said, adding the understatement, “but one Crax and five trainers might be too much for our escort to handle.” I watched the display. “Looks like a real dogfight behind us.” Fighters disappeared from the screen. “Three fighters left. Two are friendlies. What happened on the ground, Guerrero?”

  She continued to monitor, but answered. “Apparently Boyd made contact with some loyal ground crews. They loaded and fueled the fighters, yachts and shuttles. Word must have gotten out and a group of maintenance and engineering techs arrived, at first to inquire. Then fighting broke out. I think communications were down because only a few more reinforced the bad guys.”