by Mars Dorian
“We go back to the LRV and resume our primary objective. This freighter’s a graveyard,” Rosco said.
He moved back up and let the corpses be. Watching the skeletons lying in the quarters triggered his pride. For a second, he pondered about giving each of them a proper funeral. Maybe bury them beneath the planet’s surface and slam a cross into the ground. But then he remembered they were all mercs. None of them deserved a proper burial.
Rest in peace? No way. Rest in particles is more like it.
The captain was following Yeltzin back to the quarters’ entrance when the gentle giant stopped in his tracks. “Sir, I’ve got movement.”
“Again?”
“Four floors down, the east corridor.”
Rosco watched his scanner showing a single target nearing their location. The last survivor looking for help? His instincts knew better. “Get ready to engage.”
Before he even finished the sentence, something pierced the quarter’s door and ripped a nugget-sized hole through its hull. Particles sprayed through the environment and floated around the two armored men.
“Rail gun,” Yeltzin said as he scrambled for cover.
Rosco hunkered down and hid his laser cutter in a secret pouch below his gear pack in case he and the lieutenant got imprisoned by the attacker. He readied his LZR rifle. So much for the survivor looking for help. Even when stranded on a hostile planet, mercs answered with violence.
What despicable creatures they truly were.
Another rapid-fire shot burned through the quarters’ walls and sheared Yeltzin’s shoulder plates. The hyper-sonic round must have ripped through the entire quarters’ hulls. Worse, Rosco didn’t carry the tech to trace back the round’s trajectory line. He was as effective as a shooting range dummy with live ammo. At least the giant was by his side. “You okay?”
“No serious damage,” the lieutenant said calmly as he checked his armor’s status. “Minor first layer penetration. The life support gives me a clear sign.”.
That’s all that mattered. The material was replaceable; the meat underneath wasn’t.
Yeltzin knelt, stabilized his hold, and nudged the trigger. His invisible beam charged and burned through the wall with heats no alloy could withstand. Rosco checked his motion scanner. The red triangle flickered as the screen fragmented—a malfunction at the worst time.
“Negative.”
The target was still on the loose, but it was impossible to pinpoint the culprit’s location. Damn motion calibration was a visual mess—Daystellar tech didn’t fail.
Not like that.
“My scanner’s acting funny. Can you get a reading?”
“Negative, sir. Interference.”
Life on the hostile planet just became worse.
45
Rosco’s hand instinctively exchanged the LZR Coil for the Rail Revolver. The compact weapon was much better suited for close-range combat than the rifle. It also allowed for burst fire and less accurate shooting which would save him valuable seconds.
With his right finger on the trigger, Rosco whispered to his lieutenant, “We’re basically blind.”
Which paradoxically meant they could only use their eyes; Yeltzin took out his scattergun, the go-to weapon for close combat, and pointed it at the entrance to the quarters. He switched off his helmet’s lights. Rosco signaled him to advance to the corridor while he provided rear support. A quick glance to the wrist display revealed that the motion sensor was still acting funny. Yeltzin sighed.
“This isn’t interference, sir. Someone’s blocking our signals.”
Stuck inside a derelict freighter, located on a hostile planet, dealing with obscurity and enemies. Grrreat.
They both tiptoed through the corridor drowned in perfect darkness. While Yeltzin watched the space meters in front of him, Rosco checked his back in case the attacker was going to flank them. Adrenaline boosted his awareness, the nanobots enhancing its effect. Rosco felt sharper than a T-blade, but the fear throbbed. Did they just walk into a trap? But if that was the case, why did the turret open fire outside? Or maybe it was a setup to lure victims in like sirens to a rocky shore. Amateur mistake, but who would have figured?
Rosco was a stranger in a strange land.
Yeltzin cleared the front passage and scanned the area with his scattergun. “Do you see anything?”
“Negative, sir.”
The motion sensor still spat fragments. So much for military tech not jamming; after the mission, Rosco would have to have a serious conversation with Daystellar’s R and D. Life-saving tech shouldn’t give out like that.
The two men carefully climbed over the trash littering the corridors and found a torn-apart gate leading to the former cargo bay of the freighter. Yeltzin pushed the two doors apart and helped the captain enter. A faint light glowed from the upper floors. Rosco recognized a hall the size of a mall block, now skewed but still filled with man-sized container crates strapped to its bulky metal ground. A hiss rattled through the hall. The little artificial air left in the freighter allowed the sound waves to travel to the duo’s enhanced ear channels. “Hear that?”
“Yes, sir. Sounds like a voice mangled through a broken intercom.”
Maybe it was an alien, Rosco thought. Maybe they weren’t only dealing with merc survivors.
M’s warning haunted his mind: expect the unexpected, every single moment of your waking life.
Thanks, M, Rosco said to himself. He and Yeltzin mounted a set of containers, checking their equipment at every opportunity. Their displays pixilated even more, which meant they neared the jammer source.
“I believe we’re dealing with a XMR jamming device,” Yeltzin said. “A ground-pounder’s favorite; easy to carry, and simple to use, even for amateurs.”
“And a bestseller on the black-market,” Rosco added.
Which was the reason why it was used inside an illegal freighter; what was the point of all these interstellar arms laws prohibiting illegal weaponry when criminals ignored them anyways? He had yet to meet a sober merc that respected the arms treaty.
“Psst,” Yeltzin said as he halted his massive body. He touched the right hull of a dented container and snuck forward. Rosco kept his Rail Revolver ready.
Fzzzzz.
Beep.
Not a jammer.
“Captain…”
Yeltzin slammed into Rosco and took him down.
“What the—”
Boom. The rear hull of the container exploded. Shards of alloy shot in all directions and pierced everything in its way—nearby trash, cargo, and Yeltzin’s atmogear.
The giant lay on top of Rosco like an overweight girlfriend and smiled through his face shield. “No penetration.”
He pushed himself up and helped the captain back on his feet.
“What was that?”
“A proximity mine filled with smart darts. The cargo bay’s spiked.”
Although Rosco had never been involved in real ground missions, he had heard of the mean little mines. Their goal was to penetrate medium armor and meat as viciously as possible. A weapon so humanly despicable it fit a merc’s morbid philosophy. The wreckage became more unpleasant by the breath. “Haraahahaaazz.”
Rosco didn’t need a PhD in xenology to realize it wasn’t the work of an alien. Someone was watching and waiting for them. He and Yeltzin pushed their gear packs against the hull plate of the container and stayed low. “You’re the ground-trooper. What’s your call?”
“With the sensors jammed, sir, we should return the same way we came from. We lack the intel to deal with the attacker in an appropriate matter.”
Sound decision from the peace pal. Even better, the giant remembered the exact way to the broken hatch. Of course fate wasn’t going to make it easy for them. A scratchy voice sounded from every direction. An intonation as pleasant as an ancient battery’s acid dripping on your pinna. “Lookie, lookie at the critters in my kingdom… snuffeling… soon suffering.”
Maybe it was the
adrenaline messing up Rosco’s memory. Maybe it was the foreign space and the sheer bombast of new experiences confusing his critical thinking ability, but the captain believed he had heard that voice before.
46
No, couldn’t be.
Not here, on this goddamn planet.
Rosco pushed the creeping thought aside and followed Yeltzin as he targeted the same way back to the entrance. The freak had a home advantage and probably access to military tech that outmatched even Daystellar. This whole wreckage was a graveyard for anyone foolish enough to step in, but what was the goal? Even to a merc, Daystellar personnel weren’t nearly as dangerous as whatever lived on this rotten planet. If Rosco was a merc, he’d hook up with any human and leave this snow-ashen orb ASAP.
The unknown man spoke again. It was impossible to track him down in the darkness of the cargo hall, but amplifiers pushed his voice through the thin atmosphere.
“Are you lil’ critters coming from ICED? What are you doing on this rotten planet? Oh, I know. You are here because you want what I want, don’t you? Greedy little do-gooders.”
Yeltzin charged the way but kept his body low to avoid getting shot. Judging by his movements, Rosco could tell the giant was in control of his emotions. Every step looked like a carefully orchestrated act.
“Do you know this person, Captain?” Yeltzin said.
Yes and no. There was something familiar, but that connection was too unlikely.
“Ignore the voice, sir. It’s trying to distract us.”
“Working out so far.”
The murky voice spoke again.
“This is my freighter…and this is my treasure… I arrived before you shills did. Ain’t that a saying from Earth—first come, first served?”
The man sounded as if he had married madness not too long ago. Or maybe his crazy talk was one of the many manipulative tactics that Sunbleeders had used to distract their victims. Rosco had heard numerous stories about their insane recruitment and training practices, some of which sounded so cruel they had to be fiction.
Yeltzin neared the broken entrance gate that connected the cargo hall with the corridors of the freighter’s east section. Mr. Mad Merc roared his voice again and didn’t seem bothered about the two not caring one bit about his babble. “Whatever you're looking for… you won’t find it here no more.”
Thank tech the night vision worked its green magic—the entire path through the cargo maze glowed in bright emerald and illuminated the path back to the side corridors. Rosco made sure every step followed the previous one. No mine was going to surprise-explode near him. Sounded simple, and would have been if it wasn’t for that coarse voice echoing from above.
Male and malicious.
“Ain’t gonna run from the red sun.”
“Take cover.”
Rosco and Yeltzin spread out and hunkered down. The volley of rounds tore up the ground. The high-precision projectiles penetrated multiple container hulls and corridor walls. The particles whirled through the air like dust fairies; hallmarks of a high-velocity rifle. The attacker carried more than a rail-assisted rifle. He must have accessed a vast array of armor-piercing weapons.
Yeltzin grabbed Rosco’s shoulder gear and schlepped him across the ground. “Sir, we don’t know how many we’re dealing with. Besides, they have a home advantage and a better vantage point. Escape is the only sound tactic at this stage.”
Unfortunately, he was right. Rosco checked his comlink and noticed the interference vanishing. They were leaving the jammer’s effective range. Before they dashed through the final hatch entrance leading back to the outside, the unknown’s last sentence crept from the wreckage’s intercom. The creepy echo of a lost soul.
47
They climbed over the ledge leading to the freighter’s exterior and almost slipped down to the ground. Rosco maneuvered down the hull and kept his eyes fixed on the hatch that was now high above them. He wondered whether the creep was going to follow them all the way to the fringe of the freighter.
Landing on all fours on the surface, terror pushed Rosco up again. The LRV screeched its brakes and turned a sharp halt five meters in front of them. Doctor Brakemoto blasted out the side door with her Rail Revolver ready to fire. Her words rang with accusation. “Why didn’t you call me for backup?”
“Get back inside the vehicle. We’re leaving now,” Rosco yelled.
Yeltzin nodded, took the captain and pushed him into the backseat where Ekström was still fumbling with his monitor display. Even with the shouting and haste going on, the tech freak didn’t bother to even tilt his head.
The crew was united again.
“Yeltzin should drive,” Rosco said as he sat shotgun.
“I’m just as good as him,” Ming said as she pushed the yoke.
As far as Rosco could tell, she knew what she was doing so he let it go. The LRV cut a tight curve into the rocky ground and roared back to the main route they had first targeted. They escaped the ship’s inner jammer range, which meant Rosco had full access to his comlink and the HUD of his atmogear. The avatar blinked in green which signalized everything was back to normal. Yeltzin craned his neck from the back seat while the doctor accelerated away from the cursed wreckage.
“What’s the status, sir? Go back to base?”
“No. Systems are okay and no one’s hurt. Returning to the Vanguard would cost us valuable resources. We continue our course.”
The oxygen bar showed him a solid 84.5 percent charge. The manic shootout in the derelict freighter increased his heartbeat, which in exchange devoured more of the artificial air in his suit.
Still no problems though; the LRV’s cargo bay stored multiple oxygenation packs which meant the squad wasn’t going to face a shortage any time soon. With the imminent threat taken care of, Rosco could cool down his battle rage. For a while, he focused on his breath and waited until the nanobots in his body helped reduce the adrenaline. The humming of the LRV’s engines and the doctor’s tapping lulled him into a trance-like silence.
That voice in the ship, could it really belong to—
Nah. Rosco could slap himself for even entertaining such ridiculous thoughts.
Ming watched him with curious eyes. “Sir, what happened on that ship?”
“A crazy merc hunted us down. He used some sort of rail gun and went full berserk.”
Even from his shotgun position, Rosco could see Ming raising her left eyebrow. “A… human?”
“Members of the Sunblood syndicate crash-landed here,” Yeltzin said. “The freighter’s torn apart in the middle section, and the crew is dead… except for the one trying to blow us up.”
Rosco straightened up on his seat and tightened the straps. “Don’t worry about the survivor. He’s either going to run out of oxygen or starve to death.”
He looked through the tight window slits but the ship had long disappeared from the canyon surface. “That freighter’s going to be his graveyard.”
“Not gonna leave it,” the engineer in the back said to no one in particular.
Ming seemed to ponder the newest intel. “Sir, do you think the Sunbleeders attacked the aliens?”
“It’s probably the other way around. Our life form took down the freighter and killed everyone except Mr. Madman.”
Ming released a groan. “I doubt that. It would be inconsistent with their recent behavior.”
Rosco bared his teeth. “Because you know ‘em so well, huh? No disrespect, Doctor, but you don’t even know what they look like. I think you have a dangerously romantic view of a life-form that has shown nothing but hostility so far.”
“And I think you’re throwing around biased accusations that have zero grounds in reality… sir.”
“We’ve seen the truth in space. They tried to shoot and ram us. Reality doesn’t get more fact-based.”
Ming made a squishy sound with her tongue. “A failure of communication. We’re still in lost in translation.”
The smile returned to her sullen
face. “But with my current speed of decryption, the confusion will end soon.”
“Fingers crossed, Doctor.”
And fingers on the trigger, Rosco added in his mind.
“Sir,” Ekström said from his corner of the LRV.
It was the first time the engineer used a formal title. He panned his thin monitor so that Rosco could take a look. “Is that the footage from your surveillance drone?”
Ekström nodded and magnified the bird’s eye view from the crashed freighter. Drone Lily was apparently busy circumnavigating the crash-site while collecting intel for the captain. Rosco zoomed in and widened the angle where the main hatch on the left rear came into view. A man wearing a makeshift setup of atmogear stood on the ledge and gazed into the vastness of the rocky surrounding, like a climber posing on top of a mountain wondering where his time went. Rosco narrowed his eyes but couldn’t get a better visual of the person. The man wore a helmet with a darkened visor. It shadowed his facial features and added to his creepiness factor. It was impossible to detect the stranger’s identity even though the same name ran through Rosco’s consciousness.
Yeltzin’s eyes flamed with curiosity. “Do you know this guy, sir?”
Rosco pushed out a smile that couldn’t have looked any more fake. “I know he’s a creepo.”
He gave the doctor a thumb up and paid attention to his side of the seat again. Better erase that part from the operation; it was irrelevant to the mission’s success. His priority was to meet the aliens and establish a connection. He hoped the encounter wouldn’t end up in crossfire again.
48
Dozens of kilometers farther from the hot-zone, Rosco ordered Yeltzin to take control over the LRV while the doctor returned to the backseat. He needed her to decipher the hieroglyphs in order to understand the alien’s language. Even after the disastrous shootout in space, Rosco still hoped his team could initiate peaceful contact. Maybe Ming was right and everything had been a misunderstanding so far. He was not going to screw up again. ICED was going to hear about his operation, especially the failures.
