Dominant Species

by Michael E. Marks

  Oh shit.

  The sound of gunfire hit Merlin's senses before the spray of gore shot skyward. Sixgun twitched violently as it disintegrated in a bloody fountain. Relentless muzzle flame vented up from the rubble at its feet amid the high pitched scream of a Gatling gun.

  Merlin exhaled in a burst of pent-up air as one hand groped reflexively across his own chest for the spike that had never fired.

  * * *

  Ridgeway heard the Gatling howl below but had no time to look. The beast on top of Stitch demanded his full attention. More symmetric than the others, it had the look of a thick, powerful spider sculpted from scrap metal. At a dead run, Ridgeway fired another long burst, trying to drive the thing back into the breached wall.

  Taz reached back and drew a short-barreled magnum pistol. Ridgeway could see the hanging Marine brace the pistol on top of Stitch's helmet and pump five rounds into the creature's low slung jaw. The heavy slugs whiplashed the creature's skull. It tore the pickaxe free in response, and raised the bloody pike above the medic's outstretched arm.

  A blur of fire streaked past the creature's head, covalent rounds that splattered burnt metal as they slammed into the wall. The Spider's head snapped left and a cluster of half-orb eyes flared malevolently at Ridgeway. Sections of shattered jawbone swung lazily on bits of wire or skin, giving the creature a hideous, gaping overbite.

  Ridgeway tracked in on the eyes, squeezing the trigger as the reticle pulled a slight lead on the turning skull.

  In a sudden lurch the Spider vanished into the torn wall, chased by tracer-streaks of gunfire. Ridgeway skidded to a halt at the mouth of the breach and fanned another long burst into the darkness.

  Rifle at his shoulder, Ridgeway scanned the void. Only erratic bangs and the shriek of bending metal receded into the distance.

  A groan at his feet grabbed Ridgeway's attention as Taz hauled himself up onto the mangled ledge. Ridgeway grabbed the back of the Marine's collar and heaved him the final distance to safety.

  "Thanks Majah," Taz wheezed breathlessly. "I was just about to kick his bloody arse."

  Ridgeway half nodded at the Aussie's bluster; the ability to crack a joke meant that Taz would likely survive. The more pressing concern was Stitch. Ridgeway quickly surveyed the damage.

  The puncture-wound in the medic's armor was square in cross-section, nearly two centimeters across. The pickaxe had struck the back of his thigh, just outside of center. Although the gelpack had constricted automatically, Stitch looked to have lost a good deal of blood at the onset of injury.

  If he could take any measure of consolation, Ridgeway noted, the medic's unbroken stream of profanity confirmed that Stitch had fight left in him.

  Ridgeway dragged Stitch away from the edge of the tier and helped him to sit up against a solid piece of wall. Stitch leaned forward and sucked for air, the hiss of every breath audible on the ComLink.

  "Mostly muscle," Stitch spat, scanning his own diagnostic. "Nicked the femur, missed the femoral." The medic struggled to continue as the painkillers hit his system, but the commentary quickly eroded.

  "M'okay." Stitch muttered weakly as he rocked his head back against the wall. "G'wan," he slurred, "check th' rest."

  Ridgeway watched the medic's vitals pulse solidly on the TAC until Taz flopped down, breathing hard, and draped an arm across Stitch's shoulder. "I got him Majah, he ain't goin' anywhere."

  Hardly fooled by the Aussie's weak bravado, Ridgeway quickly scanned his injuries as well; dislocated shoulder, stress cracks in the pelvis.

  He nodded solemnly before he turned to the center of the room and peered through the broken rail. Amid the settling haze he could see Merlin drag Monster out from beneath a pile of rubble.

  "You two all right down there?"

  Merlin looked up and waved weakly. "I think Monster busted a--"

  "We're fine." Monster snarled angrily.

  Ridgeway could see from Monster's unsteady rise that the sergeant was anything but fine. The big man's left shoulder drooped noticeably.

  As though reading Ridgeway's mind, Monster pulled himself fully upright and braced his left hand on his hip, forcing the shoulder into position. "I said," his gravel voice paused for emphasis, "we're fine."

  Ridgeway nodded wordlessly, knowing that argument was pointless. Monster would be fine until Monster was dead, with no grey zone in between.

  In a typical move that blended diversion with genuine concern, Monster turned the focus to his men. "How's Stitch and Taz?"

  "Better'n you," Stitch growled as he climbed to his feet, Taz under his left arm. "Wanna arm-wrestle?"

  With a short laugh that sounded more like a cough, Monster waved off the challenge with his right hand. "Nah," he replied with a suppressed groan. "But I'll kick your ass in a footrace."

  A soft grin tugged at Ridgeway's lip. As long as you got heart, he recited from the book of Grissom, you've got a chance. As he quietly regarded his haggard team, Ridgeway tried to put that chance into definable terms.

  His Marines were alive, at least the ones he could see. Darcy was a question mark but with no mayday call, Ridgeway had to hope for the best. Several enemies had been engaged, leaving two dead and at least one wounded. The latter was no small achievement. The aliens, or whatever the hell they were, were big, mean and damn tough. The Marines had burned a lot of ammo, for which he had no re-supply. The combination of attrition and injury was relentless. Time was running out.

  "Merlin," he barked. "Where'd they go?"

  The engineer had steered Monster to a spot clear of rubble, where the big sergeant now leaned against a rack of monitors that had survived the collapse. At Ridgeway's query, Merlin turned to the main console. "I'm on it boss."

  "Find ‘em Merlin, we can't lose them."

  "Roger that." Merlin's fingers flew across the keys. His response came back in moments. "I got nothing Major."

  Ridgeway's fist closed fiercely and bent the railing in his grasp. "Dammit Merlin, it's as big as a fucking car, how the hell do you lose--"

  A female voice interrupted. "I'm on ‘em, Major."

  Ridgeway stopped short, the sound of Darcy's voice more surprising than the content of her terse report. The sniper's tone was cold as ice.

  "Darcy! Where are you?"

  "Out in the cave. While you guys were duking it out, the bad guy's Team B snatched Jenner and hauled ass. I got a shot off at one before they dropped behind cover."

  A cold sickness crept into Ridgeway's gut. "Tell me you saw where they went."

  "Damn straight Major," Darcy replied, "I'm looking at the back door."

  Ridgeway closed his eyes and exhaled, head tilting back as he spoke. "Good job Darce, good job."

  For a long moment Ridgeway stood silent as the faint glimmer of hope grew within him. They had a doorway out. But the door would likely be guarded and that meant another fight. He looked down at the Marines huddled on the Island.

  "Last play." Ridgeway's voice was thick with conviction and fatigue. "This one is for all the marbles. If we die, everything we've learned dies with us. We're gonna take that door and anything, I mean anything, that so much as twitches in our direction gets toasted. Do you read me?"

  Before anyone could answer, a low rumble surged through the floor. The mountain of debris on the Island shifted, cracking apart into rough landslides of wreckage as the Ram struggled from where it had lain buried. Black fluid streamed from its cracked outer shell as it dragged itself across the still-smoking corpse of Sixgun.

  A sharp, descending whine cut through the air as the crane dropped like a guillotine. Three steel blades slammed through the Ram's torso before the lifting arm followed suit, driving the creature through the floor and out of sight.

  Merlin looked up from the console where the words SAFETY LOCKS DISENGAGED burned brightly beneath his fingertips.

  "We read you loud and clear Major."

  CHAPTER 30

  Dan Ridgeway slogged through the lake at a determined pace, his arm
ored legs churning through the sapphire liquid. Monster and Taz flanked him to the right and left respectively, matching his aggressive stride. The three Marines drove towards the far shore, leaving Papa-Six, and in fact the entire ship, far behind.

  And two Marines as well. Ridgeway frowned at the thought, but he told himself that the decision still made sense. Stitch was all but immobile and Merlin would watch the medic's back while the rest of the team cleared the way.

  At least one thing had changed in their favor, Ridgeway noted. Restoration of power had produced yet another unforeseen side-effect. As the engine pumped out heat in abundance, the fog around the ship had literally tripled in density. Instead of a waist-deep layer that highlighted the Marine's passage, the Londonesque fog now devoured them, masking their movements within its great amorphous boundaries.

  He was grateful for the concealment and the speed it allowed them. Darcy was still far ahead, keeping watch on the cavern exit. Given the durability of the alien species, Ridgeway didn't want his sniper to tangle with one by herself, much less with several. The sooner they regrouped, the better.

  The fog thinned as they left the lake behind. On bare rock they struck a balance between speed and the amount of pain their damaged limbs could withstand.

  Ridgeway scoured the jagged terrain ahead. Most of the cavern's inner surface was made of bare, irregular rock. His night vision peered deep into the gloom where a forest of jutting stone extended boundlessly.

  Darcy was somewhere among those rocks. Even now she would be using the powerful scope to burn across the expanse of cavern. Motionless against a rough terrain, the sniper's camouflage would render her almost invisible. If one of the creatures appeared anywhere but on top of her, the first clue it should have of her existence would be a bolt of molten uranium through the skull.

  With luck, Ridgeway hoped earnestly, that first fiery clue would be its last.

  As he jogged steadily, Ridgeway glanced at his companions. The tower-sized Gunnery Sergeant kept pace with a fierce determination. With every jarring step the crack in his shoulder would flex and trigger a fresh dagger of agony. At Stitch's insistence, Monster had quietly locked out some thirty percent of the mobility of his left arm. Inducing a degree of rigidity to the armor at both the shoulder and elbow, the tactic allowed the carbon sleeve to support his arm and act as something of a cast. The measure was a subtle one, but doubtlessly a profound relief.

  Taz was another story altogether. Sporting a severe concussion and a shopping list of cracks and contusions, the scrappy Marine held together remarkably well, a small miracle considering his dangling act from the balcony. Judging from his uneven gait, the injured hip had been badly aggravated. Taz mimicked Monster's lead, but he was anything but stoic. The loss of his rifle was driving the Aussie to distraction.

  The missing weapon sat uneasily on Ridgeway's mind as well. Lost somewhere in the battle of the CryoSphere, it seemed likely to have fallen into the moat around the Island. But transponders in each primary weapon had long been standard equipment for the Corps and no amount of scanning could pinpoint the CAR's location. Either the drop into the electrified cryogenic soup simply slagged the weapon altogether...

  Or it had been carried off. Ridgeway grimaced at the thought. From everything they had seen, the oversized creatures lacked the comparatively small digits needed to pull a trigger. But the prospect of a covalent weapon in the hands of the enemy was a sobering one.

  While a tactical consideration to Ridgeway, the loss hit Taz like a slap in the face that spun him into a whole new level of incendiary malice directed at the alien species. If there was one way to truly piss off a Marine, it was to mess with his rifle. Though perhaps less dramatic than the attachment felt between Darcy and her Hammer, each Marine has a personal relationship with his service rifle.

  "We're gonna slag the whole bloody lot of ‘em, you know that?" The Aussie's statement was more affirmation than question, spoken to nobody in particular. The sentiment was re-expressed every few minutes with varying degrees of color. As he jogged along, Taz's fingers flexed energetically on the magnum pistol, steadily milking the grip. "Oh yeah, they're fuckin' dead."

  The muttered monologue faded out before once again expounding on the details of their imminent vivisection, although Ridgeway was certain that point would resume anew in the next few minutes. And it might have, had Darcy's voice not broken the silence of their advance.

  "I've got blood."

  Without breaking stride, every weapon in Marine hands snapped up, the barrels locked ahead toward Darcy's location. Between the darkness and the sniper's ECM, they couldn't actually see her, but the TAC displayed a familiar icon that marked her position. Ridgeway noted the display. Four hundred meters and closing. The sniper hid along the shallow wash they now followed, just on the edge of a traversing ridgeline.

  That they could see the terrain at all was another improvement. The volume of light that poured from the revived ship had illuminated a great deal of the cavern, although this far away the Marines had engaged night vision to enhance the diminishing glow. The real advantage was the ability to move without searchlights.

  The sniper expanded her report with a small note of professional pride. "I've got a good spray pattern, solid hit. Too dark to make out the color but from the shine I'd say it's fresh. No body, but I'd bet my rifle that it couldn't have gone far."

  Ridgeway picked up speed. Dead opponents were not a concern, but wounded ones could be very unpredictable. Ridgeway was the only one who gave voice to the question. "What's your threat assessment?"

  The Com hung silent for a long moment. Ridgeway knew that Darcy would be scanning the area once more to insure that her next words were accurate.

  "I am negative on threat, Major. The ground drops off just past this point, sloping down fairly steep with a lot of intervening stalagmites. I've got a crevasse just ahead, maybe another hundred meters from here. Can't see how deep but the sucker is wide, easily three hundred meters at this end."

  "Good. We're on your position in two mikes."

  "Roger that, I'm pushing ahead to the rim."

  Moments later, the Marines crested the small ridgeline. As the sniper had reported, a distinct splatter of gore decorated several meters of stone floor. A significant puddle of liquid had formed just beyond the point of impact.

  "Looks like LT put the bloody Hammer to one of ‘em," Taz muttered, his voice thick with obvious pleasure. "From the gut-pile I'd say she right turned the pommy bastard inside out."

  Ridgeway knelt and considered the scene in silence, mapping the physical evidence against his knowledge of catastrophic injuries. As he absorbed the image, the event played out in his mind.

  You never saw it coming. One second you're crawling along, then it's flat on your back with your guts draped out of a steaming hole.

  Though it had lain here for some time, the lack of a corpse meant that the damned thing had managed to crawl away. His eyes looked up and scanned the perimeter. It would not have gone far.

  A wide smear of fluid streaked away from the puddle. Intermittent splotches zig-zagged through the rocks ahead, the erratic path of a dying beast drunk with pain.

  Ridgeway raised his hand, two extended fingers making a rapid circle. The Marines fell into a tight circle, weapons bristling in all directions as they crept forward.

  Ridgeway spotted Darcy only a few meters ahead, wedged tightly behind a large outcrop of rock. The rifle was at her shoulder and she peered silently downslope. Without a word the sniper extended her right hand palm-down, moving as though gently patting a dog's head.

  Ridgeway stopped instantly and squatted low, ducking into a shallow vale as each Marine sought his own point of hard cover. He eased himself into a seated position and leaned back against a broad slab of near-black stone.

  Darcy remained on the scope, wrapped in subtle shades of obsidian and granite. Had it not been for the motion of her hand, it would have been easy to take her for a statue carved from the ver
y rock upon which she leaned.

  Ridgeway caught the crescent of orange that gleamed along the curve of her faceplate. The glimmer might have been unnoticeable but for the dull, monochromatic surroundings. It took half a heartbeat for Ridgeway to realize that the sniper had trained her weapon on some new source of light, something that came up from the ground.

  He pushed himself up to peer over the rim of the chasm.

  "Uh-uh," Darcy whispered urgently as her hand snapped into a tight fist. "Ghost me."

  Ridgeway grunted as he caught himself. Whatever lay ahead, Darcy didn't want to risk being observed. He eased back and, with a soft mental push, allowed the sniper's senses once more to become his own.

  In the flicker of synapse, a set of graduated reticles bisected his view, testament that he once more gazed through the scope's powerful optics. That much he expected. What he saw through the scope left him stunned.

  The chasm stretched down for several hundred meters, a jagged highway of sharp ridges set row upon row that gave the intervening space the look of a demented trench warfare exercise. The tunnel snaked downward, leading to a warm orange glow that pulsed steadily from the far end.

  Unbidden, the crosshairs tracked down to the end of the washboard passage. At the base of the slope it dumped out into a cavern room of moderate size. The texture of the walls inside seemed odd and it took a long moment for Ridgeway to realize why.

  The whole cave is lined with machinery. Equipment flowed up the walls and across the ceiling. Glittering streams, like fiery veins, appeared to flow among the cluttered patches of hardware. Wide channels of ember-red branched endlessly throughout the blackened hollow. For a moment Ridgeway was struck with the irrational thought that he was somehow inside a huge artificial heart.

  "It's Escher drawn by Geiger." Darcy offered with what seemed an uncertain balance of amusement and revulsion.