A light flashed from behind the wall, arcing toward the table's path. An object hit the tarmac with a metal clank. The team stopped in their tracks to stare at it, less than thirty feet from where they'd planted the charges. Raina couldn't see the object anymore, but she knew it was an alien grenade. And if it went off before the explosives did—
"Oh hell," Mauser sighed, reaching the same conclusion. He pushed the detonator button.
Not one but two explosions burst from the wall, their flames overlapping, consuming the table and those who'd carried it. The advancing warriors shrank behind shrubs. Streams of fire squiggled toward the ground. The breeze blew the smoke away, revealing a ragged hole blown through the wall.
Raina broke into a run toward the ditch. "Forward!"
Warriors jumped to their feet, zagging from bush to bush. Behind them, the snipers placed round after round. Raina's feet hit the pavement. She crossed the road, swooped down the ditch, and clambered up the other side. Forty knights and warriors ran around her, dispersed widely.
The vanguard reached the gap in the wall, lobbing devices through it. As shrapnel grenades went off with percussive claps, smoke bombs gushed forth their obscuring vapor. Lasers flashed from the buildings beyond the wall, dimly seen through the expanding haze. Raina's steps felt as light as if she were suspended on wires.
Warriors hurtled through the gap. She ran harder, ashamed that she wasn't leading the way. The smoke was now so thick she could see nothing besides the silhouettes of her people vanishing into it. She reached the hole and ran through the smoldering walls, which stank of burned fish. The warriors were calling to each other, signaling their positions from within the smoke. Raina's feet touched pavement.
A barrage of gunfire erupted from the vanguard. Raina's feet pounded forward. As she neared the front lines, the exchange petered out to occasional shots. She veered toward the edge of the smoke, angling for a better look. The haze now reached all the way to the outlying Swimmer buildings. Warriors pressed their backs to the orange walls, shouting and gesturing. There was no sign how many of the enemy lurked inside their defenses.
She had reached it. The moment of chaos when the initial plan had been used up and the next step was obscured by killing and panic. This was where so many men faltered, lost on a sea of fear and the unknown. As always, Raina let her instincts take command.
She ran on. A Swimmer loomed from the fog, a laser in one claw, clubs in three of its tentacles. She cleaved through its nearest limbs, severing one of the club-wielding arms. She followed her first stroke with a thrust from her smaller sword, taking the creature in the side. It scuttled back, stumbling, swiveling to face her. She chopped downward with her katana, smashing through the top of its skull.
She wrested her sword clear and advanced to the nearest orange wall. Warriors flowed to either side of the doorway there, entering the labyrinth that lay beyond. A few kneeled before the wall, weapons aimed up at its rim.
Hesitation killed more men than action. Raina ran left along the wall, following a soldier she didn't recognize, turning right into a small courtyard choked with the bodies of Swimmers. She leaped over the corpses. One struggled to its knees, leveling a laser. Her sword sent its claw spinning to the ground. Her next blow sent its head tumbling after the claw.
The walls were seven feet high, the tough orange matter hemming them in, blocking sight of what lay around the next corner. Yells and gunfire directed her deeper into the maze. The next turn took her down a corridor and into another courtyard littered with overturned desks, chairs, and electronics, along with the bodies of several Swimmers and two humans. At the far end, some thirty warriors held two doorways, firing through them as space allowed. Others had piled desks against the wall to stand atop them and fire down into the maze beyond.
Red's voice rang out. "Fire in the hole!"
Those standing on the desks dropped into crouches. Red pulled the pin from his grenade and lobbed the explosive over the wall. It went off in a gout of thunder and flame. Warriors surged through the passage into whatever lay behind.
"Red!" Raina called. "Has there been much resistance?"
"We're giving much better than we're getting." His face was ruddy, sweaty, dirt-smeared. "Don't think they were expecting us to come back. But it's more than that. Feels like they've pulled out the majority of their forces."
"Why would they do that? Do they think they can hold us off in the terminals?"
"Could be. Something feels funny, though."
"Maybe they're holding their people in reserve. Press as hard as you can, but be wary of a counterattack."
He nodded, wiped the grime from his forehead, and followed his troops into the room he'd thrown the grenade into. There, the broken bodies of aliens lay like swatted spiders. It stank of burned chitin.
Hall by hall and chamber by chamber, they advanced through the maze. Raina glanced behind her every moment she could spare, but no lasers beamed into the sky; though it had been ten minutes since the start of the attack, there still hadn't been a single sign of the jets. The further into the structures they delved, the more Raina worried that it was a trap. One that wouldn't be sprung until they were too deeply committed to escape.
If it was a trap, though, the aliens were sacrificing a great many of their people to set it up. And in all her dealings with Swimmers, she had never known them to spend their lives lightly. Red was right. Something was wrong. But she wasn't sure that it was to their disfavor. It felt as though the wrongness lay with the aliens.
Red's vanguard moved progressively closer to the terminals looming darkly behind the walls. Raina lagged behind for a while, coordinating the movements of the soldiers clearing the east and west flanks of the labyrinth. With her swords itching for ichor—and driven by a deep urge to investigate the wrongness she felt—she closed to where Red and his troopers were at work on a fortified Swimmer position. By the time she reached them, they'd already broken through, slaughtering every alien in the large, roofless chamber.
He saw her approaching and grinned. "Is this too easy? Or is it just me?"
"Easy?" Raina said. "Rumor among the women is that your supply is much greater than their demand for it."
He blinked at her, then smirked. "You let them know the shop's always open." He nodded to a gap in the south wall. "Troops tell me it's open ground out there. Want to give it a look?"
"So long as it's understood that this is strictly a martial endeavor."
She tried to keep her words wry, like Mauser would, but they rang hollow to her ears. The chamber they were in was wide enough to give her a view of the mothership hanging over the bay, but it was as dark and motionless as ever, as though it had no interest in the battle below it. Then why did she feel as though some final answer was about to be revealed?
Red moved forward, clearing the exit before waving her through. A hundred yards of open space separated them from the terminals. No motion flickered behind the black windows. The air tasted fresh, less fouled by the smoke, blood, and brine. The solid wall of orange matter extended to east and west. Red walked east, a pistol in hand.
After forty feet, he stopped and cocked his head. Irregular gunshots peppered the night. The wounded moaned, calling for aid. "Do you hear that?"
She glanced up. "Jets?"
"It's lower than that. More like…"
The rumble of machinery. And the squeak of wheels.
"Get down!" She grabbed at him, but he was already loping forward.
Raina flung herself flat. Light flashed ahead and to her right. The wall exploded with a roar of thunder. A wave of force battered her head and ribs. Pebbles of pavement and rubbery chunks of orange matting showered her body. Her head was ringing so hard that she couldn't understand what had happened even though she'd known what was coming. The mulish part of her mind wanted to get up and run, but the fox within told her to lie still and be dead until her senses returned.
When the dust and smoke cleared, the wall was gone and so was Red.
To her right, a hemispherical tank rolled from behind a cargo container, turret swiveling toward her.
25
Steam spewed from the back of the commander's scorched head. His body crumpled to the floor of the bridge. In Walt's hand, the laser felt so hot he nearly dropped it. Weird trick of his mind; the weapon was as cool as ever. Ness' cry hung in the air, but the Swimmers were only now beginning to react, surging to their feet or drawing back in horror.
In the rush of confusion, Walt angled away, heading for the doors a hundred yards away at the top of the theater-like bridge. He did his best to move as fast as possible without drawing attention to the fact that he wanted to get the fuck out of there. For the moment—either because of the care he took in moving, or that most eyes had been on Ness when Walt pulled the triggers—very few of the Swimmers were paying him any mind.
He climbed to the next terrace. A laser whisked past him, sizzling into the ceiling. He dived behind a computer station. The worker there lifted a round chair, meaning to dash his brains out. He shot the Swimmer in the chest, sending it reeling. The alien at the next station up turned and fled. Walt rushed behind the vacated desk. A laser hissed into the computer he'd just departed.
Even so, there was still a highly suspicious lack of firepower wending his way. He advanced to the next terrace and ducked behind a desk for a look below. The stage at the bottom of the bridge was a hive of motion. Swimmers gestured angrily. Others seemed to be embracing, tentacles interlocked, pushing and pulling at each other like spindly sumo wrestlers. Some brandished guns and at least two of them bore spears that weren't yet bloodied.
He smiled. The Swimmers were fighting each other.
He'd been hoping for some mayhem to cover his escape, but this was even better than expected. With no sign of Bait anywhere, he ran on. The doors stood open at the entry to the bridge. Just three more levels up. Sixty feet away.
As he ascended to the next terrace, the doors slid shut, securing with an ominous click.
It was the only way out. Other than killing his way through a good eighty aliens. He ran on, shooting at a nearby crewman reaching for something on its station. The Swimmer dropped to the floor and hid beneath its desk. A laser strobed past Walt three times. He threw himself to the side. The fourth shot slashed as the wielder tried to track Walt's movement. Diluted by its lack of focus, the beam cut across his outstretched left leg, but it hardly had the strength to burn through his too-loose jeans, stinging the skin beneath.
He came to face the doors. Below, several Swimmers swarmed up the levels. He shot at the closest, dropping it. The doors were locked. He tried the clicker he'd stolen from Bait. No good. Either they'd clamped down on security, or the clicker was only good on less-sensitive areas of the ship.
A laser crackled past his shoulder, radiating heat. Down the levels, three aliens flipped a desk and dropped behind it, shooting repeatedly, driving Walt behind a desk of his own. He peeked around the sides, firing at everyone who appeared to be interested in him.
They were advancing on all sides now. Way too many to drive back. He turned to the door, blasting at it, achieving no more than a series of scorch marks. Might be able to cut through it if he had several minutes, which he absolutely didn't.
Well, the last few minutes had been fun, but truthfully, he'd thought it would come to this. Nothing left to do but play out the string and see how many of them he could take down before the end. As a head popped up behind a table, he squeezed the buttons of his pistol, searing the top of its skull. It flopped back among a flail of tentacles.
Lasers flashed from the brouhaha down in the middle of things. He couldn't risk taking a good look, but whatever spark he'd struck seemed to be catching fire. On his left flank, a trio of Swimmers charged up to the next plateau. He knocked one of them down before a volley of lasers pushed him back into cover.
The table in front of him was smoking, a plastic stench. Flames wavered around its edge. Lasers flicked past him, one coming so close the smell of burned hair joined the complex hydrocarbons. The nearest attackers had advanced to within thirty feet of his position. They were about to get the angle on him. He bunched his legs, preparing a charge.
Behind him, the doors whooshed open. One of the spear-carrying Swimmers bustled in, looking very upset about everything. The doors immediately started closing behind it. Walt made a break for it, shooting over his shoulder as aliens broke cover, holding their fire out of fear of hitting the guard.
Meaning that if Walt shot him, they'd cut him down a second later. He held his fire. Right up until the praetorian bastard stuck its spear into his ribs. Walt didn't break stride; the point slid free before it could do much damage. He bolted out the closing doors. They snicked shut behind him.
He fired at the seam, looking to weld it together, then tore down the hallway, blasting down the lone Swimmer coming his way. The cut on his ribs dribbled blood down his side. Not wanting to leave a trail, he pulled off his shirt, tore it into a single long strip, and tied it tight around the wound.
The elevators would be fastest, but they might see that coming. Shut it down and trap him inside. Fortunately for him, however, Anson had sold him into slavery in the crashed ship mere weeks ago. During his internment, he'd learned the ins and outs of the place rather well.
For the moment, he didn't recognize a thing. The solution to being lost, however, was simple: keep running until it starts to look familiar. Within a few turns of the hallway, he spotted a spiral symbol displayed high on the wall. A triangular arrow directed him onward. As he neared the next intersection, the spiral repeated beside a sturdy-looking door.
This was locked. He leveled his laser, ready to melt his way through, then stopped. He dug out the small disk he'd stolen from Bait's cabinet, aimed it at the sensor on the door, and clicked. This time, the door rolled open. So they hadn't locked down the entire ship.
He entered the Swimmer equivalent of a stairwell: a spiral ramp of spongy blue matter that extended up and down. He clicked the disk again, closing the door. Was the Core up or down? The bridge, as he recalled, was on the upper half of the ship. Assuming the Core wasn't just a name, that meant down.
He took a step down the ramp. Something tore in his ribs. He winced, leaning against the wall, sweat popping out from his brow. Pain tingled up and down his side. His shirt was already soaked with blood. Clenching his jaw, he untied his shirt from the wound.
What he saw made him so lightheaded he wasn't sure if he sat down or fell.
* * *
For a long moment, Ness seemed to be the only one who understood what was happening. Dden was dead. Killed by a human. Ness stopped gesturing, dumbstruck; Sebastian looked to him questioningly, then turned to see whatever Ness' eyes were fixed on.
As Dden fell, those nearest to him jerked up their sense-pods and heads. One of the officers leaped forward to catch the commander—must have thought he'd tripped or fainted—and then, seeing the smoking hole in Dden's head, dropped him and jumped back in panic.
Ness scanned the bridge for Walt. He was already four levels above the bridge floor, hauling ass but in a way where you wouldn't pay the movement any special mind. Around Dden's body, Dovon gestured in fear and confusion, snatching at each other and pointing to Sprite and Ness.
"We have to get out of here!" Ness signed to Sebastian.
Sebastian tilted his head. "BUT OUR WORK IS UNFINISHED"
"Don't you understand? Dden was just murdered—by a human. They're going to blame that on us. Do you really think we're going to get a fair trial?"
Sebastian rocked back on his limbs, then nodded hard. He grabbed for Toru, who was arguing violently with one of Dden's officers.
"Did you see that?" Sprite hissed. "That dude just shot him!"
"I saw."
"Shouldn't we be running?"
Ness flapped his hands. "That's what I'm trying to do!"
"Really? 'Cause it seems like what we're doing is standing around—"
Lasers cra
ckled up and down the bridge. Members of the deck crew thrust their tentacles high, the equivalent of screaming, and flung themselves beneath their desks. Knowing it was too late, Ness ran up to Sebastian.
"Sebastian!" he gestured. "In about five seconds, we're going to get crisped!"
Down on the stage, two Dovon officers drew lasers. Rather than pointing them at the humans, they aimed at each other. Four members of the Vigil stormed forward, spears held high, unholstering lasers as well as a type of pistol Ness hadn't seen before with a shiny, oblong barrel. The officers ignored them, firing on each other. Steam escaped their carapaces with a scream the aliens were incapable of making with their mouths.
Every officer on the floor went for their guns. The Vigil fired indiscriminately with their gleaming black pistols, shooting sparks across the center of the bridge, which now looked more like an arena than a theater. Whenever the sparks hit a Dovon, the alien collapsed, wriggling. For a moment, it looked as though the Vigil would put an end to it there.
A contingent of aliens galloped in from the side. Fifteen or more. All carried lasers. Shots snapped over the Vigil's head. They turned as one, freezing in the face of the superior numbers. The foremost of the Vigil held a terse discussion with the Dovon at the head of this new party. When their talk concluded, the Vigil holstered his guns and gestured to his men. They disarmed themselves as well.
A ruckus of some kind was still going on near the top doors to the bridge. On the bridge floor, unarmed Dovon wrestled with each other, bashing their hammer-pods into heads and carapaces. The new arrivals signed to them, brandishing lasers. The melee swirled on. One of the newcomers took aim at a Dovon and shot it in the head. The others dropped their holds on each other, separating, tentacles held up in surrender.
Some of the new group escorted the officers up to a higher terrace. The remainder moved toward Toru and company. A Dovon with a subtle pale ridge running down the middle of its head separated itself from the crowd, signing to Toru. Toru gestured back defiantly.
Blackout Page 33
