by Lee Stephen
Scott spoke through the comm. “Remington to Papanov.”
The moment Scott said his last name, Nijinsky jolted back, fumbling his assault rifle and nearly dropping it. He locked his stare on Scott’s nametag.
“Papanov here.”
Signaling Esther, Scott continued. “We’ve got Ceratopians in our vicinity. If we fall back to you, they’re going to pursue. I’m sending my scout back. Nijinsky and I will hold them off here.”
“Understood.”
Scott fired around the corner. “Esther, go back. Take them to the third level and get them to the roof.”
The scout hesitated, her eyes lingering on Nijinsky.
“Esther, go!”
“Yes sir.”
Scott positioned himself in front of Nijinsky, giving the Russian slayer a faceless stare. “How many Ceratopians have you killed?”
Nijinsky didn’t reply. He stared at Scott as if in some sort of trance.
“Nijinsky!”
The slayer flinched and snapped to attention. “One—one or two,” he stuttered.
A neutron ray flashed past Scott’s head. Aiming his rifle at the nearest alien, he held down the trigger. Bullets peppered the Ceratopian’s neck. Scott ducked back to avoid fire. He checked his weapon and readied himself again. “One or two, huh? That’s gonna change.”
It took Esther a minute to reach Papanov again. Papanov’s injured commander was firing poorly from the corner of the security checkpoint; Papanov himself was doing only marginally better. Bakma stragglers had appeared from the hallways behind them.
Esther dove into the fray, firing both her pistols. A Bakma fell before the aliens doubled back.
“Lieutenant Papanov,” Esther panted, moving for cover, “we’ve got to charge through that Bakma front. The maintenance shaft we need to take to the third level is thirty meters away.”
Papanov yelled over the sound of his rifle. “A maintenance shaft? Will we all fit?”
“It’s a Ceratopian maintenance shaft—quite big enough.”
Projectile fire erupted from far behind the Bakma—beyond where Esther and Papanov were crouched. Almost simultaneously, an American voice proclaimed over the comm: “Ladies and gentlemen, the cavalry has arrived!”
Several Bakma stumbled into Papanov and Esther’s lines of fire. The two operatives unloaded their weapons and the aliens were gunned down.
From around the corner where the Bakma had emerged, two EDEN soldiers appeared. They ran backward, constantly watching their rear with their assault rifles aimed, even as they came within normal speaking distance.
Both were well-built men, though one favored height over brawn. The taller man, an American, addressed Esther. “This is the part where you thank us!”
“There are at least twenty Bakma behind us,” interrupted the other soldier. He was decidedly British. “They followed us in.”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Esther said, “but you just came from the direction we need to go.”
Bakma reinforcements materialized from down the hall, thrusting Esther, Papanov, and the two new soldiers into another firefight.
The American was on Esther’s side of the corner. He shouted between bursts of gunfire. “There’s no way all twenty Bakma took the same hall! I’m guessing there’s six down there, tops. We can take six if we charge.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“I’m never wrong.”
Esther looked at his nametag. When she read it, her mouth fell. “Custer? Your last name is Custer?”
The soldier fired again. “Yeah, so what?”
Esther fell back to the wall. “We’re all going to die.”
Back in the cruiser, David and Gavrilyuk—the woman from the Forty-second—frantically tried to open the still-sealed doors. David was straining to his limit to lift one of them. He pressed the full weight of his body against it, the veins in his neck bulging beneath his armor.
The sound of scampering paws caught their attention. They spun to the open exit hall, where a tail-wagging Flopper bounded in.
“A dog?” Gavrilyuk asked.
Max burst into the room behind Flopper, a technical kit in his hands. “Get ready! We’re raising the doors.” Both soldiers grabbed their weapons as Max hurried to a control panel along the wall. Flopper stayed at his side while Max opened his kit and went to work.
David spoke into his comm. “Will, can you read me?”
The moment David’s transmission came through, a neutron ray exploded against William’s chest. The demolitionist careened backward against the closed door that had cut them off and collapsed face first on the ground.
Gritsenko, the older soldier, grabbed him and dragged him to the cover of the cleansing room. The Ceratopians were in strong force ahead of them; each minute brought them closer.
William forced out a word. “Cannon…”
Gritsenko turned and spotted William’s hand cannon lying in the hall. He ran and claimed it for himself, firing a wild burst down the hall. The Ceratopians held their advance.
“Will, come in! Do you copy?”
William groaned and held up his comm. “Medic required…”
”’Medic required?’” David asked in the silo. “Will, for who?” No answer came. “Will? Will!” He turned to Max.
“Doors are opening in five seconds,” Max said. “I don’t know what’s beyond them, but we’re about to find out.”
A new voice called from behind them. “Max!” It was Tanneken. Shavrin and Sokolov were at her heels.
Flopper barked wildly next to Max.
“Ann!” Max shouted. “These doors are about to come up—I can’t slow them down—” He could get nothing further out. Throughout the Cruiser, the metal doors retracted into the ceiling.
Tanneken and her soldiers were in the middle of the silo when it happened. All three were suddenly surrounded by hallways. Ahead of them, a formerly trapped group of Bakma was suddenly visible. A gunfight began.
Everyone dove for cover. Within seconds, every operative in the room had repositioned to meet the alien forces.
“Thanks for the warning, Max!” Tanneken hollered.
Back in the cleansing room, William stumbled to his feet, breaking apart his chest plate and throwing it to the floor. His chest oozed with bleeding lacerations and bruises.
“Come,” Gritsenko said, propping William on his shoulder. He clutched the hand cannon in his free hand.
Assistance came in the form of Torban and his team, now freed from captivity themselves. Under their suppressive fire, Gritsenko helped William into safety.
The silo was chaos. Neutron rays blasted into the room, while Max and Tanneken’s teams struggled to hold fort. The initial group of Bakma had been downed, but not by EDEN. Ceratopians lurked farther down the hall. The Bakma had been slaughtered in a human-reptile crossfire.
Torban’s voice came over the comm. “We are moving to your position in the silo. We have your demolitionist. He is badly hurt.”
“Can we get a transport over here?” Max asked the Vultures.
Pelican Squad’s pilot answered the call. “Just dropped off Captain Gabriel, mate. En route to you now.”
“Torban,” Max said, “as soon as you get past the silo, I’m sealing all the doors again.”
“We can capture this ship, Max,” Tanneken advised.
“Screw that. This paycheck’s already been earned.”
“If we do not capture it, some other unit must.”
“I wish ‘em the best.”
David joined in. “Max, how much can you control with that kit?”
“Don’t even think about it, Dave.”
“Maybe she’s right—”
“Don’t even think about it, Dave!” Max interrupted him. “If it were that easy to take over a whole ship, don’t you think we’d do it every time? I’ve got momentary control over a limited number of doors that I barely even got to pick myself.”
Tanneken glared at the techni
cian. “Interrupt him,” she pointed to David, “that is fine. But I promise, Matthew, if you interrupt me, I will rip off your manhood and crush it on the floor.”
Max said nothing.
“Go back to your control panel and gain access to all of the doors. I do not care how hard it is—figure it out. When Torban and the injured are out, seal off the Ceratopians as they did to you. Block them off from each other, and we will strike them one room at a time. This is not a request. I outrank you, and this is an order.”
Still Max was silent.
“Did you not hear a word I just said?”
“I was just makin’ sure you were finished.”
She groaned in disgust.
Scott and Nijinsky were still holding their own. The lone Ceratopian remaining down the hallway maintained constant pressure. Scott knew there were more Ceratopians around, and if they didn’t escape soon, those aliens would overpower them.
Nijinsky’s shots were wild and sporadic. Even when ducking to avoid fire, his concentration seemed torn between the aliens and Scott. His whole body trembled.
Suddenly, from the intersection to their left, they heard a canrassi’s tyrannical roar. Scott and Nijinsky spun around.
It was a black-furred canrassi—the fiercest variety. It howled through its razor-thin jaws, then charged. Nijinsky was directly in its path.
Everything drew to slow motion. As Scott registered the animal tearing toward Nijinsky, he realized the canrassi attack was exactly the opportunity the Ceratopian was waiting for. It was a priority distraction that would give the alien lizard a chance to advance.
“Nijinsky, move!”
The slayer did nothing. He stared at the canrassi as it barreled closer, his arms hanging limp at his sides. Scott had witnessed this before. He’d seen it in Esther in Khatanga and in other places, too. Paralyzing fear. If Nijinsky didn’t move, he’d be dead. As Scott watched the slayer stand in imminent death, the realization came to him.
I can let this Nightman die.
Since joining their murderous ranks, Scott had lusted for moments like this—moments when he could watch Nightmen meet their just demises. Butchered like the butchers they were, preying on innocent lives. Lives like Nicole’s.
He asked himself the same question every time he met a new Nightman. He’d asked it of Viktor, Nicolai, Auric, and Egor, and of the Nightmen he’d trained. And now, as he stared at Alexander Nijinsky, he asked it again.
What if this is the one?
He watched Nijinsky let go of his weapons. The slayer’s whole body swayed as mere meters before him and charging soullessly, the canrassi opened its jaws.
What if Nijinsky had murdered her?
No.
Scott launched himself like a missile. Had a breeze blown, he would have been too slow. But he wasn’t. He plowed straight through the battle-stunned slayer, just as the canrassi clamped down its jaws. The canrassi missed them by an inch.
The two Nightmen skidded across the floor past the beast, which lurched around for a second attack. Scott was atop Nijinsky, between the slayer’s body and the canrassi’s teeth. There was nowhere to go.
The canrassi struck.
Scott flung his hand up to shove the beast’s head away, his palm slamming into the canrassi’s nose. For a brief moment, his hand slipped inside the creature’s jaws. He jerked it out as its teeth clamped down.
His arm was ahead of his instinct, striking at the beast’s nose again. Instead of punching it, he grabbed the canrassi in the nostrils, his gloved fingers splitting between the oversized holes. His hand clenched and the beast reared back. Scott was jerked into the air.
What happened next, he couldn’t have planned. His left hand still gripped the canrassi’s nose. His body was swung around until he landed against the side of the beast’s neck. He latched onto its battle armor.
Climb.
With an adrenaline-fueled lurch, Scott propelled himself on top of the canrassi, one hand grabbing neck fur while the other held the beast’s nose like a rein. When he clenched his fists, the canrassi shrieked in pain-induced rage.
Giant footsteps boomed from the corner behind them. Scott jerked the canrassi around by the nose, and the animal frantically complied. The advancing Ceratopian emerged.
With his left hand still clutching the beast’s nose, Scott unholstered his sidearm with his right. He aimed over his left arm and fired. Bullets pierced the Ceratopian’s neck, blood splattered the wall, and the alien fell.
Sparks surged through Scott’s veins. Turning his focus to the enslaved canrassi, Scott placed the barrel of his pistol against the top of the beast’s skull, pulling the trigger. Blood burst from the canrassi’s head, and it toppled forward. Scott stayed on its back the whole while.
For the first time since he had entered the Battleship with Esther, everything around Scott was still. There was no movement or nearby gunfire. He looked at Nijinsky. The slayer was propped clumsily on one elbow on the ground, staring at Scott. He could hear Nijinsky’s near-panicked heaves.
“Esther, what’s your status?” Scott asked over the comm.
“I’m about to charge the enemy with a man named Custer. Do you really want to know what my status is?”
“I’m sending Nijinsky to you.”
Nijinsky exhaled a shaky breath.
“I’m going to hold the hall by myself,” he said to Esther. “Take him with you to level three.” Nijinsky was more liability than help. The slayer was out of his league. “Esther, did you get that?”
“…yes sir.”
Her voice was different, reluctant. That struck him as strange.
More massive footsteps thundered down the hall. Ceratopians were approaching. Scott disentangled himself from the dead canrassi, grabbed his assault rifle, and pulled the slayer up. “I have a scout down the hall with your team. She’ll take you to the roof.”
Nijinsky just stared.
“Do you understand?” Scott asked, this time in Russian.
“…yes…”
“Go.” He shoved Nijinsky away.
The slayer stumbled for a moment, then regained his balance. His featureless stare found Scott again. For several full seconds, he just watched the golden-horned fulcrum. Finally, he turned to retreat.
Scott was alone.
Even surrounded by firefight, Esther was numb. She stared at the comm in her hand. Then Custer spoke.
“Charging in three seconds!”
Esther broke out of her trance. “What?”
“Get ready to go!”
“We can’t! Someone’s heading for our location right now.”
Custer reloaded his rifle. “I hope they can run.” Motioning his partner—the Briton named Black—he signaled the charge. Black bolted around the corner. Custer followed and Papanov carried his injured commander behind him. Esther readied her guns and pursued.
Custer and Black cleared the path with reckless ferocity. Like a poorly oiled machine, their haphazard gunslinging forced the Bakma into frantic defense.
With a pistol in each hand, Esther took precision shots behind the frontal assault. Custer fell backward as plasma ricocheted off his shoulder. She slid to his side.
Ahead of them, Black and Papanov pushed the aliens into retreat. Black reloaded his assault rifle and looked back. “Get up, Reg. Scout, take the lead.”
Custer’s shoulder armor was a melted wreck. He glared at Black. “I’m fine, scat-hole, thanks for askin’.”
“Suck it up.”
Esther stood up next to Custer. “Are you all right?”
“I’m all right, take the lead.”
Esther stoically readied her sidearms. “The maintenance shaft is—”
“Just shut up and move!”
The scout released a laugh of restraint. “Oh, you’ll sodding get yours.” She said nothing more as she led them through the hall.
On the surface, Svetlana was working frantically on the injured old man, who was slipping in and out of consciousness. Blood
stained her armor from her hands to her elbows. Several meters away, the younger injured operative moaned in torment.
Suddenly, the air above her grew deafening. Her shoulders tensed as she looked up.
The Pariah hovered, its engines smoking, its hull decimated. “Need a lift?” Travis called. Becan, Auric, and the two soldiers from Gabriel’s crew looked up.
“She won’t last in a fight, but she’s still holding on. I can take some of you guys back to base.”
Becan looked at Svetlana. “Go, Sveta. Take Auric with yeh.”
Travis lowered the Pariah to the ground.
Inside the battleship, Esther led her team up the hall. They’d encountered four Bakma during their journey, all of which had fallen with relative ease. More Bakma could be heard in the near distance, drawing closer even as the group hurried on.
Esther stopped in the middle of a hallway, kneeling down against the right-hand wall. She pulled out a small cylindrical laser-cutter.
“What are we doing?” asked Black. The men took defensive positions around her.
“This is it.”
“This is it?” Custer asked. “This is a blank wall!”
Esther flicked a switch on the cutter. The laser came to life, searing through the metal wall panel. As she guided the beam into a large square, she explained. “There’s no entrance to this shaft on this floor—it’s only accessible from beneath the ship itself. It goes up, emptying into level three. From level three we can get to the roof.” She stepped back, giving her cutout a forceful kick. The panel fell through, revealing a hollow hole. “There are ladders on both sides of the shaft. The rungs are too far apart for humans to climb, so you’ll have to climb the side supports.”
“Aliens use ladders?” asked Black warily.
She gave him a look that said stupid. “Did you honestly think that in the infinite scope of the universe, we’re the only beings who came up with the concept of climbing?”
The Bakma grew nearer. Their menacing grunts echoed down the halls.
