Cybership

by Vaughn Heppner

  “Roger, Captain,” Stark said.

  The next fifteen minutes proved critical. At the head of the column, the “drones” kept running at the retreating scouts. The Centurion reported that sweat dripped off the drones. His scouts picked off the real sprinters. Otherwise, the Centurion’s company kept retreating.

  The corridor shook then. A quick call told Jon the Old Man had laid a plasma-satchel ambush, taking out twenty or more spheroids. The rest had then spread out, following at a slower pace.

  “I don’t like this,” Stark radioed. “I expect a ceiling or deck breakthrough any minute.”

  “You’ll make another breach in the second corridor,” Jon said. “We’re going to run circles around our attackers.”

  “Hope you’re right, sir,” Stark said.

  The retreat continued. Some of the drones dropped onto the deck from exhaustion. Two of the Centurion’s squads laid down concentrated fire, killing two hundred fast, causing several explosions, buying the retreaters a little more time.

  The supply vehicle holding Da Vinci and Gloria clanked through the bulkhead breakthrough into another corridor.

  Stark’s men blasted a second opening fifty meters ahead.

  At the rear of the regimental snake, the spheroids made another rush. Massed 100mm shells stopped them cold.

  “We’re running low on those,” the Old Man radioed Jon in code.

  An icicle of worry stabbed Jon in the heart. He didn’t want to hear that. Once they ran out of ammo, it would all be over.

  “Don’t hold back if you need the 100s to stop them,” he radioed the Old Man.

  “And once we’re out of 100s?” the sergeant asked.

  “We’ll use something else,” Jon said.

  “What else do we have, sir? I’d really like to know.”

  “Chin up, Old Man,” Jon said. He’d heard the colonel say that to the Old Man before.

  “You’re right,” the sergeant said a half-beat later. “We fight until we can’t. I have to say, sir, I’m glad you’re running the show. I like the cut of your chin.”

  “I think it’s supposed to be jib.”

  “I have to go, sir. One of my squad leaders is getting frantic.”

  The retreat continued.

  “Sir,” Stark said a few minutes later. “I got bad news. There are alien tanks coming. They’re big suckers. It looks like we’re going to need plasma charges to take them down.”

  Jon knew they were running low on those, too. “Can you blast a new bulkhead? Make it smaller than the alien tanks so we can slip away from them?”

  “What do we do about our supply vehicles then?” Stark asked.

  Jon didn’t have the answer to that. Without the supply vehicles, they would have to leave the seriously wounded behind. He noticed a marine waving to him. The man pointed at the Centurion’s supply vehicle.

  Jon shook his head. He didn’t have time for that now.

  Gloria broke into the command channel. “I have to speak to you on a secure line.”

  “It’s going to have to wait,” Jon said. He didn’t know whether he should tell her about the approaching alien tanks in the other corridor. That might be too much bad news to hear at once.

  “Jon,” Gloria said, “Da Vinci had a breakthrough.” She paused. Maybe she wondered if she should tell him on this channel. Finally, she said, “Our friend can cut alien signals.”

  Hope sprang anew in Jon’s breast. “You’re sure of that?”

  “No,” she said. “I’m not sure. I’m just telling you what Da Vinci is saying. Do you want to give it a try?”

  Jon laughed. “Get that little bugger out here.”

  “Uh…I don’t know if he’s going to want to do that.”

  “I don’t care. Tell him to move his scrawny butt. He knows how to work the device. Thus, he’s going to do it and be the hero. Tell him I am promoting him.”

  “Jon—”

  Jon whirled around, clomping fast. This might not work. The alien tanks might kill Da Vinci and him. But that was the risk he’d have to take. It was do or die time.

  -15-

  “I shouldn’t be here,” Da Vinci whined. “I’m gonna die. And I’m no good to you dead, Chief.”

  Jon slapped the back of the Neptunian’s bubble helmet, making him bend forward.

  Da Vinci turned to stare at him. “Why did you do that? You could have cracked my helmet.” His eyes roved over the interior helmet. “I think I see a hairline crack.”

  “They’re coming fast,” Stark growled.

  The three men were sheltered around a bend in the corridor. Behind them by two hundred meters, marines set up heavy 100s. The squads had the last major supply of the vehicle-killing launchers.

  Jon peered around the corner.

  The alien tanks were squat and low with multi-jointed treads. Some had tri-barrels with orifice openings that glowed a sinister red color. Each of the squat turrets sprouted a forest of antennae. According to Da Vinci, the tanks received transmissions from somewhere deeper in the ship.

  “The ship has too much interior firepower,” Stark complained. “Fighting all the way to the center isn’t going work.”

  “That’s why we’re here, Sergeant.”

  “You do it,” Da Vinci said, shoving the stolen alien device at Jon.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Jon said. “You’ve been working on it ever since we got back. You’re the only one who knows how it ticks. Are you ready?”

  “N-no…” the thief said. “The tanks are still too far away. You have to be close in range to cut the transmission. I don’t want to be that close.”

  “What are you worried about?” Jon asked.

  “Dying. What else?”

  “They can’t see us.”

  “They’re scanning,” Da Vinci said. “I don’t know why they’re not firing yet. The shells could slice through the bulkhead.”

  “Those look like laser cannons.”

  Da Vinci moaned pitifully.

  “How did you ever become a Black Anvil?” Stark snarled.

  “It’s a sad story,” Da Vinci said.

  Jon grabbed the back of Da Vinci’s spacesuit. “Get ready. I’m going to haul you in front of them.”

  “Please,” Da Vinci whined. “I have to be closer for this to work. Wait until they come closer.”

  “We’ll wait then,” Jon said.

  “But what if the tanks are rigged to detonate?” Da Vinci whined. “Maybe they know you’re the danger. Maybe they have proximity sensors.”

  Stark looked again, and almost lost his head. Literally. He jerked back behind the bend in the corridor. At the same time, three closely set laser beams flashed by.

  That caused the Neptunian to shake so hard Jon could feel it through the man’s spacesuit.

  “Now,” Jon said. “You have to do it now.”

  “Yes, yes,” Da Vinci said. “I’m doing it now.” He activated the device. It glowed. Energy flowed from one part to another. Then the device began to shake in the Neptunian’s hands.

  “Why’s it doing that?” Da Vinci cried. “It never did it before.”

  Jon closed his eyes. Sharp pain spiked in his chest. He couldn’t believe he was trusting the regiment to this greedy, cowardly thief.

  “Maybe I’m too far away,” Da Vinci said. His long, gloved fingers tap-tapped against the device.

  “They’re still coming,” Stark said, as he dared another quick glance around the corner.

  Jon took a calming breath. Then, he picked up Da Vinci and ran around the corner, charging the alien tanks. If they had to be close, he would get them close.

  Da Vinci cried out in horror, shaking almost uncontrollably, cursing Jon as tears surely dripped from his eyes. Just the same, the Neptunian fiddled with the device, holding it before him aimed at the tanks.

  Jon kept charging. He expected tri-barrels to glow. He wondered if he’d feel the beams killing him. Then, it dawned on Jon that Da Vinci was laughing hysterically.


  “You okay?” asked Jon.

  “We did it,” Da Vinci said between hiccups of laughter. “We did, or I did it. I cut the connection. The tanks are dead. They’re inert without central commands.”

  “Stark,” Jon radioed. “Bring your techs. Hurry it. I don’t know how long this crazy device is going to keep blocking the signal. We have to defang the tanks while we can.”

  “Roger that, sir,” Stark said. “The little creep is a hero. I can’t believe it.”

  “Did you hear that?” Jon asked Da Vinci.

  The Neptunian nodded. He still seemed sad, though.

  “What’s wrong now?” asked Jon.

  “I’ve won it all,” Da Vinci said. “You owe me whatever I want. The only problem is that we’re all going to die in a few hours from radiation poisoning. Life is unfair, terribly unfair.”

  “Yeah,” Jon said. “Tell that to the drones.”

  Da Vinci shrugged. Jon thought the Neptunian was likely incapable of that kind of empathy, as he apparently could only feel emotions about events that directly related to him.

  -16-

  Everything changed after capturing the alien tanks.

  Gloria donned a spacesuit, coming out to help Da Vinci and several cyber-warfare techs. Stark’s demolition men rigged the tanks just in case they “woke” up. Then, Stark’s company encircled the squat vehicles. Some marines faced inward, watching the alien vehicles. The rest of the marines faced outward, ready for more surprise attacks.

  The Old Man and the Centurion leapfrogged for the latest breach. The noose tightened around them in the other corridor.

  “We could lose our rearguard,” the Centurion radioed Jon.

  Jon bent his head in thought. He didn’t want to lose any more marines. Could Gloria, Da Vinci and the techs figure out how to operate the alien tanks? That would be a fantastic advantage.

  What was the right decision here?

  I have to go balls out. I have to risk it.

  “I’m coming to you,” Jon radioed.

  “Negative, Captain,” the Old Man said. “The rearguard is not your place.”

  “Sergeant—”

  “No, sir,” the Old Man said. “You’re new. You’re the Captain. I back you to the hilt. But this one time I’m overturning your orders, sir. You stay at the command post. Let us old dogs take care of this.”

  “Roger,” Jon said glumly.

  A few minutes later, he radioed back. “Old Man, use your two supply vehicles. They’ll provide you with heavy fire. Be liberal with the main cannons.”

  For several seconds, the Old Man didn’t respond. Had the aliens cut the connection?

  “The regiment needs those vehicles,” the Old Man radioed. “We can’t afford to lose them when the aliens overrun the last of the rearguard.”

  “We don’t need the supply vehicles anymore,” Jon said.

  “You commandeered the alien tanks?”

  Jon hesitated. He didn’t want to lie. They had captured the alien tanks—that was true. They hadn’t figured out how to make the tanks work for them—if that was even possible. Jon didn’t want the Old Man staying behind, though, trying to pull a Horatius.

  Horatius had been a legendary Roman hero who’d held a critical bridge over the Tiber River. The warrior had single-handedly fought off the entire Etruscan host as his fellow Romans chopped down the bridge he stood on. The brave warrior dove off the bridge at the end, entering the water with the falling lumber. Fortunately, Horatius had not died in the fall or the landing, and had swum to safety.

  Jon doubted the Old Man would do any swimming today. If he stayed behind to the end, the Old Man would die. Jon wanted the cagey sergeant and the marines he stood to lose holding off the enemy to the end.

  “We’re going to use the alien vehicles,” Jon radioed. “That means you can sacrifice the supply vehicles. Hook them for auto-fire at the end. Bring me my marines, Old Man. I need them all, including your sorry old hide.”

  “Yes, sir,” the Old Man said, with greater enthusiasm in his voice.

  Afterward, Jon turned back to the alien tanks. Gloria had counted eighteen of them. “Three times six,” she’d said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Jon had asked.

  “A hunch,” she’d told him. “Let me mull it over a little more.”

  Eighteen alien tanks could carry all the sick and wounded. They could travel faster with them, which might allow them to reach the center of the ship before they all died from radiation poisoning.

  Jon approached Stark’s outer firing line—the marines watching everywhere. After several steps, he moved past the inner line, those marines watching the tanks.

  A rear hatch popped up on a tank. Da Vinci poked his bubble helmet out of it.

  Jon hurried. He hadn’t heard that the Neptunian had gone into a tank. That troubled him, although he wasn’t sure why.

  “Well?” Jon asked, using the short-link.

  Da Vinci gave him a glance. The little thief didn’t answer. He slid down the curved tank and hurried to another where cyber techs were working on the outer rear-area.

  Jon followed Da Vinci. Why hadn’t the rat answered him?

  “Gloria,” Jon radioed.

  “Here,” the mentalist said. She waved from where she stood on a tank’s turret.

  “What’s the prognosis?”

  “We’re about to find out,” she said. “Either this is really going to work…”

  “Or what?” asked Jon.

  “Exactly,” she said. “Or what? We don’t know, and we’re all nervous. Jon, we got lucky with the tanks. They would have annihilated us. Each of these tanks has an AI brain inside. I think they’re trouble, bad, bad trouble. Da Vinci’s device put them to sleep. It keeps them asleep. We think we’re pulling their power plugs, but we can’t be sure. The alien tech is so much higher than our own. We’re guessing on half this stuff.”

  Jon recalled what he’d told the Old Man. Would the regiment be needing the supply vehicles after all?

  “Make it work,” Jon said. “It has to work.”

  “I know,” Gloria whispered. “Believe me, we all know. This is the moment. Pray if you believe in a Deity.”

  Jon bowed his head. He prayed just as Colonel Graham had taught him. It was short and sweet, and to the point. If God was real, did He love humans more than He loved aliens? Jon didn’t want to dwell on that too much.

  “We’re getting close to the breach,” the Old Man radioed.

  The urge to race to the breach beat strongly in Jon. He didn’t like staying back here in safety while his marines fought for the regiment’s life.

  “Come on,” he said softly, urging Da Vinci to pull another rabbit out of his Neptunian hat.

  “Sir,” the Old Man said. “There’s more, lots more coming. I’m going to lose both supply vehicles. After we’re through, we’re coming fast. These bastards are going to be following us into the new corridor. We need those tanks back here.”

  “Thanks for the intel, Old Man. We’ll be waiting.”

  Jon took off. He left Stark in charge around the tanks, with Gloria and Da Vinci trying to figure things out. They wouldn’t get those tanks set up in a firing line in time. That meant only one thing.

  Jon shoved a marine, telling the man to drive the last supply vehicle. They set off for the breach. Weariness gathered as they traveled. Jon decided he couldn’t wait any longer. He gave himself another stim.

  The cooling sensation strengthened him for a moment. He frowned, as his mind seemed to grow cloudy. He felt despair well up inside him. How could they win now? It was too late. They were all dead men walking. They were—

  “No,” Jon said in a low voice.

  “Captain?” asked the driving marine.

  “Nothing,” Jon said curtly. “Keep your eyes peeled.”

  The marine didn’t look up. He hunched over the controls.

  “What the hell?” Jon said. “Stop!” he shouted at the driver.

  The supply
vehicle lurched to a halt in the huge corridor. Jon climbed on top of the supply vehicle.

  Marines hurried toward him from the direction of the breach. The marines ran hard. Something about their motion seemed off. Jon realized he shouldn’t have taken the stim. It clouded his judgment. He shouldn’t—

  “Balls,” Jon said. “It’s berserker time.”

  By the manner of locomotion, it seemed to Jon that the approaching marines had panicked. He thought he understood why. It was the reason why any sort of retreat on the battlefield involved risk. Backing away from the enemy worked against a soldier’s morale. Good soldiers held their ground or advanced. Running away meant losing. Losing meant dying. Facing death engaged a marine’s survival instinct. Once the survival instinct took hold, discipline often vanished.

  These marines had escaped the advancing enemy. Now, they were running away, wanting to get to safety. Being inside a vast alien ship was hard enough. Retreating for too long had finally sapped their courage.

  “Fire a round above their heads,” Jon said.

  The driver looked up at him. The man obeyed a second later. The cannon lifted, and fired. The explosion caused many of the retreating marines to look up.

  “Stay where you are,” Jon radioed. “I’m coming up to you. The rest of the regiment is on its way. We’re holding our ground here.”

  Several marines kept moving toward him.

  Grim hardness of purpose, knowing there probably wasn’t another way, caused Jon to aim and fire on the lead marine. The gyroc shell blasted against the battlesuit. That created a deep gouge in the BCP, although the blast didn’t penetrate the armor.

  “I said hold your ground,” Jon said over the radio. “The next marine that keeps running away like a coward gets a cannon shell in his suit. Do I make myself clear?”

  The marines froze. Several began to raise their weapons at him.

  “We’re the Black Anvils,” Jon said. “We don’t run out on our comrades. If you men want to go AWOL, by all means, kill me now. Who wants to be first?”

  The marines raising their weapons quickly lowered them.

  “Good,” Jon said. “I knew I could count on you. Squad leaders, form your men into firing lines. I’m coming up to give you heavy support.”