Indian Hill 7

by Mark Tufo

  “Fine. Spin it on a quarter, then,” I compromised. “But do it now!”

  The ship was groaning, trying to level. Tough to tell who was winning the race though, as that rail gun began to loom larger and larger.

  “Pender…”

  “Can’t slide at this angle!”

  “Buckle then?”

  “Wouldn’t advise it,” he answered.

  “Can’t fire, can’t buckle, can’t hide. Anybody got any ideas?”

  By damn near imperceptible degrees, the ship was being righted. Tracy looked like she was wrestling with the steering components of a nineteen-forties, pre-power steering semi that had a blowout in front. The cords on her neck were straining as she was holding on to the panel against incredible g-forces while also trying to get us somewhat level.

  “Their rail gun will be in position in under twenty seconds,” Lane said.

  “Colonel?” I lightly asked, a word of encouragement.

  She said nothing.

  “Fields, you have to get some hits on them.”

  “Sending updated vectors,” Pender said. “I’ve taken into account the spin on our axis and the angle we are traveling at, times the speed and the Colonel’s admirable efforts to…”

  “Firing!” Fields said, saving me from a more in-depth explanation.

  “Any chance of hitting the rail gun?”

  “About as much as hitting a flea off a running dog at a hundred yards with a pistol while we’re on a runaway horse, sir,” he replied rapidly.

  “I’m going to take that as a maybe,” I said.

  BT shrugged. “I’ve seen it done.”

  The Stryvers didn’t have us in their sights yet, but that didn’t stop them from actively shooting. Aluminum chunks the size of city buses were streaking out into space. I pictured those missiles eventually hitting an oversized touring vessel filled with little old Carpathian couples out viewing the cosmos. I felt bad; that would probably ruin their retirement.

  “They’ll be on us in twelve seconds,” Lane shouted.

  “Colonel?”

  She said nothing. She was still struggling to get us under control, and the Stryver ship was pulling away while also twisting to get better-aimed shots off. An explosion, unlike anything I’d ever experienced before happened across my view screen. I did not think I would ever hear something that loud and survive it.

  “What’s going on?” I shouted over the lights, alarms, and confused murmurs of my crew. The ship was echoing like a church bell rung in a vacuum, I was unsure if we would ever stop vibrating. Fields was still firing, and Tracy appeared to have us under control. We were either dead and I didn’t know it yet, or we had slid and the buckle blew. Didn’t like any of those scenarios, so I was pretty happy about what Carol Merrill showed us behind Door Number Three. Yeah, that’s right, Carol Merrill. Since no one had said “Let’s Make A Deal,” I took what they offered.

  “What the fuck?” BT had his hands on the side of his head with his elbows flared out like he was holding his brain in. He was looking at the screen. A piece of ship larger than the last Earth space shuttle had slammed into the Stryvers. Electricity and fire crackled along the surface and deep into the ship where it had split the heavy hull.

  “That a Prog vessel disintegrating against the ship?” I was straining to make sense of what I was seeing.

  “They buckled out right between us and the rail gun,” Lane said incredulously. “Ship broke apart.”

  “Fuck yeah!” BT said, his hands still up; he’d got his damned rabbit.

  “Other Prog ship is coming back,” Tracy said.

  “Another imminent arrival in twelve minutes,” Lane informed us.

  “Who do you want me to target?” Fields asked.

  This time I undid my restraints. I was looking at that rail gun like it was the crown fucking jewels. I had moved closer to the screen like a man possessed, so it came as a big surprise when Beth showed up there. She looked more like the girl I’d known than the woman she had become.

  “We need help, Michael,” she said.

  “We?” I asked.

  “I need help. If you ever, at any point, loved me, I am asking you to help me.” I could see the giant beasts in the background scurrying about.

  “I did Beth, once upon a time, I did. But it was a fairy tale all of my own making. You will not take something I gave to you so freely and now attempt to wield it against me. You made every poor decision that has led us to this point. I will not help you.”

  “Then you will DIE!” Her face instantly became that mask of hatred she’d been carving for years, she looked more the monster than the things behind her.

  “Rail gun is on line!” Lane said.

  “Exploit that crack, Fields.”

  “Incoming from the Progs,” Lane said.

  “This is like a three-way cage match; can’t tell whose side any one is on. Fields, couple of shots. Pender, slide us out and to the other side.”

  “A lot of debris out here, General,” he replied.

  Even I knew that running into anything much larger than a grain of sand at light speed was generally frowned upon.

  “Death, death, or death; that’s our prize, so we choose the game. If we’re going out, it’s going to be on my terms. Slide us.”

  “This is going in the books,” BT said.

  “Books?”

  “History boooks.”

  BT’s words elongated as Pender slid us across the universe. Felt like I was tripping on a combination of acid and mushrooms. Which, by the way, I do not recommend. I was convinced if I could turn my head I would see my brain free-floating, so I stared straight ahead. One moment we were about to get a one-two combo from multiple gloves, the next we were in relatively calm waters. Neither the Stryvers nor the Progs were all that choosy about who they attacked. I think the Prog vessel would have made a go for us, but a much larger threat was looming directly to their side. They traded punches, and for once we felt like we’d bought ring side seats instead of being on the ropes. Sure, we might occasionally get some blood and sweat on us and we could hear the corner man working on his boxer, but we weren’t about to get clocked. The Progs were fucked, plain and simple, but they saw the same exploit we’d figured, and they were hitting it with everything they had.

  The Stryver ship wasn’t moving with the same verve it had been, but they were still able to spin that game-changing rail gun into position. Four shots later, the Progs were a ruined, twisted satellite, forever traversing the stars.

  “Sir?” Pender asked. He wanted to know what I wanted to do. I wanted to know what I wanted to do.

  We were to the Stryver’s six, meaning we were directly behind them, yet they did not turn to face us.

  “Aside from their history, anyone have any reason to think they’re playing us?” I asked. We could see flare ups all along the ship. It was damaged; no doubt about that, the question was: just how damaged?

  I sighed when our screen lit up again. That feeling changed quickly.

  “Mike, help me!” It was Beth, she’d been crying. Now, that in itself meant nothing, she could turn on the water works as easy as someone could a faucet. No, the fucked-up part was that she was standing, her arms pinned down at her sides by the powerful forearms of a Stryver, probably one of her own officers.

  “What the fuck.” I looked over to BT, his hands again on top of his head, pressing inward, maybe hoping to keep the vision he was seeing from entering his brain.

  “PLEEEESE!” she begged. “Michael, please…for, for Paul.” This was not another role she was playing; she was genuinely pleading with me for her life. We were all riveted to that screen, a lone Viking in a row boat could have come up to our hull and conquered the ship, for how much we were paying attention to the rest of our surroundings.

  “General?” Not sure who asked.

  “I…I can’t,” I told her, swallowing down hard on what threatened to venture forth. But the sound; it’s the sounds that wake me up most of t
he nights. And here it was, the splitting of fabric, of skin, stretching and finally tearing apart, the sound blood makes when it first starts leaking, the sound of bones being ripped free from sockets, of ligaments, muscles, and veins being wetly rent…then the bolder sounds, the loud, progression of cracking as her slender rib cage was ruptured. By the time her lungs and heart fell from the fissure and onto the cold, steel floor, she had mercifully died.

  “Pender, park us right behind them. Fields, I want you to blast that thing right to the point of elimination.”

  “And then sir?”

  “We’re taking her home.” I wasn’t sure if I meant the ship or Beth. After all we’d been through, delivering some decisive blows to the Stryver ship was fairly easy; she’d lost most of her power; all we need to do was avoid the big gun until she lost nav. I walked over to Fields and laid my hand on his shoulder. We watched as the Arachnid-Class ship began to list.

  “That’s enough,” I told him. “Lane, see if you can get them up on screen.”

  Parts of Beth were still on the floor as a large Stryver stepped on her remains and took up the field of view.

  “I realize you can’t speak to me.” I told it, “but I know you can hear me. Tabor, could you please come over here?” She padded silently to me. The change in the Stryver was immediate. He, she, it, bristled and backed up; I’d even go so far as to say it was on the verge of cowering. “Here’s the deal. I have twenty-five hundred Rodeeshians on board with me. You can either stay and fight them and ten thousand of my finest fighting men and women, or you can board your troop transports and head down to the planet’s surface. I’m taking that ship and it’s not going to be carrying passengers. I’ll give you five minutes to start your migration. If I don’t see it happening, I’ll take that as an understanding that you prefer to stand and fight. Admirable, I’m sure, but I’ll tell you, I’ve seen what these Rodeeshians can do, and I wouldn’t want to be their main source of protein. Me personally, though, I’m hoping you do stay aboard. I’m itching for some up close and personal fighting. See you soon. Cut them off, Lane.”

  “With pleasure, sir.”

  “Ten thousand?” BT asked me.

  “Better sounding than a couple of hundred…doesn’t matter. I could have said a hundred thousand, that thing was way more concerned with our new friends, anyway.”

  “We fight then?” Tabor asked.

  “Hold off,” I told her; we’d all been through enough for one day. The Stryvers must have had an evacuation plan already in effect, because in three minutes there was a mass exodus of every vessel imaginable. “Looks like your people get the evening off, Tabor. Thank you,” I told her.

  “You intend on boarding that vessel?” she asked.

  “I do,” I answered.

  “I will assemble a team to accompany you, to root out any that may stay aboard.”

  I thanked her again as she left.

  “Before we go boarding that thing, is there any reason to think it might be wired to blow?” I asked.

  Bunch of crickets began to chirp.

  “We’ve got more immediate problems, sir,” Lane said as hopefully the last Progerian ship arrived back; it was the big one that had left the planet’s surface. We were on opposite sides of the now, hopefully, empty Stryver vessel. We were like the Russians and the Americans staring at each other across what remained of Germany toward the end of World War II thinking about grabbing the brass ring.

  “See if you can get them,” I said to Lane.

  “You think that ship is a derelict?” BT asked out of the blue. “Well, maybe not a derelict, but one of those retired ones they use to let people tour around in?”

  “It makes sense in a way; could this be like my own Boston’s USS Constitution?” I said.

  “What do you want?” an extremely angry looking Prog asked on the screen; the translator used a slightly feminine voice which produced a disconcerting image.

  “Somebody please adjust that or I’m not going to be able to take this guy seriously. Progerian vessel, this is Gen…”

  “I know who you are!” he shouted, the voice had got higher, instead of lower, and there was a general chuckle across the bridge.

  “Lane.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “There’s speculation on my bridge that your ship is nothing more than a prop–an old, retired war ship, well past its prime. In all likelihood, something like that does not even have the capability to fire. I’m surprised it could even buckle.”

  He said nothing for a moment; his next words were surprising. “We were in the process of decommissioning the Stounder; she still has some capability,” he added proudly, the translator thankfully more in tune with the image.

  “What is your name?” I asked.

  “I am Sub-Commander Welving.”

  “Sub-Commander, you are no match for this ship. We have weaponry you cannot dream of. Your planet is almost leaderless; leave now, go back to your people.”

  “I cannot. We are now all that stands between you and the home world.”

  “We’re leaving. There are now thousands, if not tens of thousands of Stryvers heading towards the surface. What do you think is going to happen if they make it to ground? If they burrow in and breed?”

  He looked to the side, maybe getting some information from his radar operator.

  “And you will cease aggressions?” he asked.

  “I’m taking that ship and I’m going home. I’m done. I’ve seen enough death this day…all days.”

  “Is there falsehood in your words?”

  “Only those with something to hide, lie. I could very easily destroy your ship, destroy your planet, and then take the Stryver vessel. I’m giving your kind an opportunity you would never have bestowed upon us. Remember this, Welving, we know where you live now. You even drive by our part of the cosmos and I will come back here with Earth’s armada. One Earth ship has nearly destroyed everything that you know. We are not a race to be trifled with.”

  He nodded and the screen went blank. They stayed put for a couple of minutes. He was thinking about it. Honestly, I don’t know whether I wanted him to come at us or just leave. Finally, they turned and began the pursuit of the Stryver escape pods.

  “Are you sure?” Fields asked as we looked down upon Aradinia. There was now absolutely nothing stopping us from laying waste to that planet. History will have to be the judge of whether I did the right thing or not. I didn’t have the stomach for it. In battle, with the blood boiling and decisions needing to be made and changed in an instant, all with the threat of death hanging over your head constantly, that is war. Killing and dying are part of it, as much intertwined as Yin and Yang. But just raining hell down upon a defeated enemy from above without any fear of reprisal starts to reek of murder. Certainly, nothing my opponent was above doing, but the whole point was we weren’t them. I just didn’t want to do it.

  I nodded. “I’m sure.”

  Nobody questioned me on it, if they had doubts they held their tongues. Tabor came back to inform me that she and a hundred others were ready to go. I was turning to go with them.

  “I don’t think so,” Tracy said. “I’m sorry, husband. You’re sitting this one out.” As a general, in theory, I outranked her, but this time she pulled out the husband rank, which is significantly lower than wife. “You’ve got one leg barely mended and another you’re still getting used to working. You have more scars on your body than a crash test dummy. It’s time you took a break.”

  “Looks like you’re going out to pasture.” BT was smiling.

  “I’m alright with that. You do realize what those animals do all day, right?” I told him.

  “True.”

  “Sir, I’ll get a team together,” Fields said.

  “Sir, I’d like to go with them,” Pender said.

  “Granted.”

  It took the Rodeeshians nearly ten hours to check the entire ship, they’d discovered nearly fifty injured Stryvers. Most were not in any sh
ape to put up a fight; which is probably why they’d been abandoned there. They were first subdued, and then dispatched. The Rodeeshians were very thorough and they felt no inclination towards mercy.

  “Sir.” It was Fields calling from the other ship. “Pender and Beckert’s team have been up and down this ship; there does not appear to be any type of destruct sequence in effect.”

  “Can it fly?” I asked.

  “Lieutenant!” Fields yelled out. “General wants to speak with you.”

  “Sir, there are some incredible things on this ship; I could study it for years and it would not reveal all its secrets. I wish I could have more time. Maybe I could stay here and you could come back and get me?”

  “Why don’t you stay aboard on the trip home?” I asked.

  “Never thought of that.” I could see him looking off into the distance pondering the possibilities. “Structurally, it’s in decent shape; going to need a little work before it’s ready to make the journey, though.”

  A little work turned into two months of intensive labor and some fancy negotiating skills on our part as we needed things from the Aradinia surface. It wasn’t so much that they had any desire to help, but rather they wanted to give us the stuff so we would go. The Progerians had mostly good results, having wiped out over ninety percent of the Stryver ships and their occupants, but that last and lost ten percent heading for the surface…well, that was nothing more than a ticking time bomb on that planet. If they could take root, it stood to reason that they could do there what they’d done across the galaxies. To me, this is the way it should have always been. The two that started it would finish it together. I recognized that as wishful thinking since there were more Progs and Stryvers still out there, but I needed to take some closure from this. The thought of them fighting on their home world gave me some satisfaction. I hated every hour of every day that delayed us from going home.

  I could have blown the Stryver ship into hell, whatever that really means, but we needed that thing. The weaponry, the defensive capabilities, that lasering system; all of them were game changers. One of them or some other atrocity would be back at Earth; the secret of our location and richness of our resources had been revealed. As long as we looked like low hanging fruit, someone was surely going to come by and try and pick it.