by Isaac Hooke
He let her go and then tried to hoist the metal piece from her leg instead, but even with the strength enhancements the suit endowed him, it didn't budge. She was thoroughly pinned.
"Go on without me," Bridgette said. "I'll be fine. Get help."
"No," Jonathan said.
"Jonathan, come here. Look into my eyes."
He knelt and gazed into her face plate.
"I'm fine," she said. "Get help and come back for me."
That was when he noticed mist coming from the oxygen canister at her back. The flows emerged from several spots and were almost unnoticeable because they vanished a centimeter from the metal.
"Your oxygen tank is pierced in multiple places." Jonathan produced the suit-rep kit from his utility belt.
"I know."
"You know?" Jonathan said in disbelief. "And yet you still tried to get rid of me? Foolish girl!"
He applied the patch to the canister. It only covered two of the holes. He opened up Bridgette's suit-rep kit and attached the remaining patch. She still had one hole.
"How are your oxygen levels?" he asked her.
"I have three minutes left, apparently. Then I'll switch to reserve."
"Reserve only lasts fifteen minutes," Jonathan said.
"Then I guess you'll have to be quick," Bridgette said resignedly.
"Rescue teams will never make it back here in eighteen minutes," Jonathan said.
"Well, time's wasting away."
"Shit." Jonathan got up, disconnected the cord that linked the two of them, and hurried forward.
The distracting message continued to flash on his HUD.
Air release malfunction.
His suit had the ability to vent oxygen—a useful feature in a situation requiring emergency thrust. He tried the release. Didn't work. The slag had damaged it. Not that he needed that capability anyway.
He continued onward, making it a full ten paces. Then he froze.
Famina stood there on the hull, her winter jacket half pulled off. She stared at him accusingly.
"Can't leave her," Jonathan said softly.
He turned around and retraced his steps.
"Jonathan, no," Bridgette said when she saw him. "I told you to go."
He knelt beside her. "I found a woman on that mountain. Her name was Famina. She was barely alive. The exposed portions of her skin were frozen so that she looked like a porcelain doll. Hartford Knox refused to help her—he wanted to reach the summit at all costs—and he continued up the mountain with our guide. Meanwhile the sherpa and I turned back with the woman. But we ran out of oxygen and eventually had to leave her. I've lived with the guilt of that day for a long time. And I swore I'd never abandon anyone like that ever again."
"Oh Jonathan. I'm going to die anyway."
Jonathan clenched his jaw. "You're not going to die."
He flipped open the tip of his gloves, producing the small laser cutter. He applied it to the steel frame near her boot. The laser was meant for burning through spacesuit fabrics during emergency suit repair, not for penetrating steel, and it served only to weaken the frame in that area. Nonetheless, he cut a vertical line up the half-meter thick structure, hopped on top of it to carve a groove into the upper section, then dropped down the other side to finish his work.
"What are you doing, Jonathan?" Bridgette said from where she lay. "You can't cut through it."
"I only want to weaken it."
"For what purpose?"
"For this." He hauled himself on top of the structure and crawled forward, heading towards the end, which terminated in deep space. The continual flashes out there reminded him of the ongoing battle.
"Jonathan, come back," Bridgette said.
He intended to apply pressure, via his body and suit weight, to the end of that relatively thin superstructure. Thanks to the law of the lever, that pressure might be enough to break the weakened lower portion. Then again, it might serve only to further crush her leg, or perhaps even pierce her suit. But it was the only plan he had.
"This might hurt a bit," Jonathan said.
He reached the end and began swinging himself up and down. The metal beam swayed underneath him.
"Wait, Jonathan," Bridgette said urgently. Apparently she finally realized what he was trying to do. "Connect your lifeline to me."
"It won't reach far enough," he said.
"Jonathan, please—"
And then the superstructure soundlessly tore loose from the hull at precisely the spot where he had weakened it.
Jonathan began to float away with the metal beam into deep space.
"Can you get out?" he sent over the comm.
With her gloves, she pushed against the remaining portion of the superstructure and lifted it enough to slide her leg free.
Then I haven't died for nothing.
"Get back to your husband," he said.
"Jonathan," she returned. "I'm going to emergency vent my oxygen, and use the thrust to get to you."
"No!" Jonathan said. "You don't have enough oxygen. You'll only die with me."
"I can't leave you."
"You have to," Jonathan said. "Here, use this to open the airlock." He transmitted the global override code to her aReal. "Now go, Bridgette. Before your oxygen runs out. And... I have one small request."
"What?"
"Name the baby after me."
"Jonathan..." It sounded like she was choking up.
"Good bye, Bridgette. I'll always be with you."
* * *
Bridgette watched him float away into deep space a moment longer.
I always loved you, she wanted to tell him over the comm. She opened her mouth but no sound came. She had repressed the feelings for so long, buried them so deep, that not even then in their final moments together could she tell him.
Her husband Robert was a good man. The best. And she loved him, too. But he would always occupy second place in her heart.
Goodbye, Jonathan.
She reached the airlock and entered the ship alone.
twenty
Dressed in his pressurized combat jumpsuit, Rade stood before the sealed hatch. Beside him was Aaron, his drone operator and heavy gunner. Callsign Helium: rumor had it Aaron was in bed with an undesignated astronaut when she accidentally kneed him in the nards; Aaron tried to communicate what had happened to his platoon mates but no one could understand him because of his high-pitched voice.
Just in front of Rade, two Centurions applied dual laser cutters to a sealed hatch. Four more combat robots waited behind him.
Rade carried an AR-52 plasma rifle, as did most of the Centurions. Aaron and the two cutting robots held M1170 laser pulse guns—roughly equivalent to the heavy machine guns of yore, minus the bulky feed trays and cartridges. The guns could also function as laser cutters with the flick of a switch.
The inner atmosphere in the passageway around them began to vent out as the laser cutters penetrated the metal. Rade had sealed off the other entrance to the passageway, and had disabled all ventilation and life support. Once that atmosphere was gone it would not be replenished.
"Do we know anything about these aliens?" Aaron said over the helmet comm. "They're physiology? Psychology?"
"Not a thing," Rade said.
"I don't suppose it's too much to hope for that we might find it dead in the void?"
"I'd assume it's alive," Rade said.
"Damn it. I hate aliens."
Rade knew the last of the air had vented out when the hissing, and all other external noise, ceased.
The combat robots completed their circular cut in the hatch and the metal fell inward, landing silently on the deck beyond. The robots flipped switches on their weapons, converting the M1170s back into pulse guns.
"Go!" Rade ordered the robots.
The lead Centurions dashed inside the dark passageway beyond. The first robot went high, the second low.
"Clear!" Centurion B returned over the comm.
Environmental and move
ment sensors weren't operating within the breached region, so Rade had Aaron dispatch two HS4 Model IIs. The vacuum-capable drone scouts dispersed to search the area. Gravity remained active in the area and the drones were forced to constantly expend propellant to compensate.
Rade viewed the video feed on his HUD. The passageway momentarily rumbled, reminding him that a space battle was occurring outside the hull.
After several minutes one of the drones reached the brig. The captain wasn't there.
"Think the alien got him, Chief?" Aaron said.
Rade didn't answer.
The HS4 proceeded further, eventually coming upon an equipment closet. Three suits were missing from the open lockers.
"Well that's a good sign," Aaron said.
A moment later an alert sounded on the HUD.
"Terry found something," Aaron said.
That was the nickname Aaron had given the second HS4.
Rade switched to its video feed.
A cone of light coming from the HS4 illuminated a dark mass in the middle of the passageway. Wispy tendrils undulated across the entire surface. It was like a mist of blackness somehow existing in the void.
"Set the HS4 to observation mode," Rade said. "I want it to maintain a constant distance from that thing while the other HS4 maps out the rest of the deck. Let's make sure we don't have any more uninvited guests."
He waited patiently as the remaining HS4 completed its traversal of the area. No other anomalies were found. Rade had that HS4 loop back to observe the black mist from the opposite side so that the drones flanked the aberration.
The darkness remained in place, motionless save for the undulating wisps.
"Do you think it's injured?" Aaron asked.
"No idea," Rade said. "My orders are to contain the tango, and possibly capture it. And that's exactly what I'm going to do." He turned toward the combat robots. "Units B, C and D. You're Fireteam A." He plotted a quick route on his aReal. "You're going to take the 4-L passageway and come at the intruder from the front, like so. Units E, F, G. You're Fireteam B." He drew another quick path. "Take the 3-L passageway and approach the intruder from the rear. Both teams, do not come closer to the tango than seven meters. And do not fire. I will give you further instructions when you arrive."
He waited until both Centurion fireteams were in place.
"Fireteams A and B," Rade said into the comm. "Plant charges on the bulkheads. Both hull-side and core-side. I want eight placed per team. Position the charges for optimal dispersion of the bulkhead material. I want to be able to blow the tango out into space if I need to."
"The hull is eight meters thick in this area, sir," the robot Praetor unit in charge of the Centurions said. "I estimate we'll need to place fifteen charges per team, not eight. And most of them should be hull-side."
"Do what you need to do," Rade said.
The two teams of robots began to plant charges on the bulkheads.
When the Centurions were half done, the alien decided to come to life. Maybe it realized what was happening. Maybe it had woken up. Whatever the case, tiny flashes of white light began to appear in its depths, and it slowly approached the HS4 Aaron dubbed "Terry."
"Unit C, shoot the deck in front of the tango," Rade said. "Make it understand we don't want it moving anywhere. Remaining units, finish placing the charges."
The HS4 retreated behind the combat robots as Unit C stepped forward and opened fire.
The deck in front of the darkness erupted into pieces of molten slag. The darkness ignored it, continuing forward.
"Units C, D, E, F, engage tango from both sides," Rade instructed. "Other units, continue placing charges."
The members of the two opposing fireteams positioned themselves to avoid friendly fire and then unleashed hell at the thing.
The black mist absorbed the plasma blasts and continued as if unaffected by the blows. One of the heavy gunner robots stepped forward. Its M1170 laser pulsed at high speed, the impacts apparent by the red dots that occasionally spattered the billowy surface of the darkness. But like the plasma rifles, it had no effect.
The Centurion abruptly collapsed, its chest piece riddled with holes.
"Tango is firing some kind of laser!" one of the Centurions sent.
The second robot went down.
"Charges placed," the Praetor unit sent.
Rade detonated the explosives remotely. A momentary burst of light illuminated the passageway beyond the hatch and the deck shook.
"Send in the final HS4," Rade instructed Aaron.
The HS4 vanished down the passageway. Rade switched to its POV.
It navigated down a side passage and halted in front of the gaping hole that had been blasted into the passageway. Rebar-like rods of twisted metal extended beyond the missing deck. To the right was a cutaway section of the ship, revealing the hollowed out innards of the adjacent compartments. To the left, empty space.
"Helium," Rade said, using Aaron's callsign. "Scan those stars. Find me that tango."
The view rotated as the HS4 surveyed the stars outside.
"Got it," Aaron said a moment later. "Switching to thermal band and zooming in."
Rade saw it then. A red blotch drifting away into the void. Around it were darker pieces of debris.
Rade exhaled in relief.
"Lieutenant Commander," Rade said over the comm. "Alien threat has been neutralized."
"Good job, Chief," the MOTH LC returned.
"He won't think it's as good when he sees the damage we caused in the process," Aaron said with a chuckle. "And I don't just mean to the ship."
Rade regarded the drifting alien one last time. He recognized Centurion components among the debris strewn around it. The LC would be angry about the damage to the ship but positively livid regarding the loss of the Centurions. Aaron was right. The debriefing would be... unpleasant.
"Still," Aaron said. "I for one am sure as hell glad the navy began integrating combat robots into our platoons."
twenty-one
Robert watched the battle unfold on his aReal.
Dots on a 3D display. Modern space combat. So emotionless, detached.
The Avengers had arrived to chase the fighters away from the ships in the task unit, and some had even reached the Grimm, Selene and Marley. Robert had ordered the warships to cease firing point defenses, as he didn't want to risk damaging the human fighters. The enemy was down to twenty-five fighters, evenly matching the Avenger count. Of the fighters the task unit had lost, none were manned, discounting Orange Leader, whose craft was adrift a hundred thousand kilometers away according to the rescue beacon.
The Dagger and Linea hovered protectively near the Grimm, Selene and Marley. The Builder vessel had taken heavy damage, and at the moment it was debatable whether the Marley would ever be able to construct a return Gate.
So far, the second task unit had fared much better than the first. According to the readings, the Hurricane, Fortitude, and Rapier were locked in a battle to the death against the remaining four enemy vessels there, roughly five hundred thousand kilometers from Darkstar Gate. All other warships in the first task unit had either been disabled or destroyed.
Meanwhile, a few minutes earlier the closer capital ship and its smaller companion had passed the two hundred thousand kilometer mark away from the Callaway; the two targets were fast approaching the mortar and missile noose Robert had the task unit launch earlier. The long range weapons were timed to arrive in successive waves.
He pulled up the weapons inventory on his aReal. The Callaway had only five nukes left, and eight kinetic kill missiles. The inventories on the remaining ships weren't any better. Mortars were low, too, at thirty fleet-wide. If the task unit survived the battle, they might have to schedule an asteroid rendezvous to replenish the latter rounds.
"Sir," Lewis said. "Internal security forces report that the intruder has been expelled from the ship."
"Thank you," Robert said. "Send my gratitude to the personnel invol
ved."
"Yes sir."
Tense moments ticked by. The Avengers continued their dogfight just outside the Callaway. Sometimes the bridge would rumble when a particle beam struck the hull.
The main enemy vessels continued to approach, not bothering to alter course, letting themselves be herded toward the nukes and kinetics by the mortars, apparently completely confident in the ability of their point defenses to deal with the weapons.
"I'm reading a thermal buildup on both enemy vessels," Lewis said.
Two sudden flashes filled the external video feed.
"What happened?" Robert said.
"As far as I can tell," Miko told him. "Both ships fired their particle beams when the weapons reached the ten thousand kilometer mark. They detonated two of our nukes."
"So at least we know the maximum effective range of their particle beams against our nukes," Robert said. "Though it's unfortunately quite high."
"It would appear so. The resulting explosions took out half our kinetic kill missiles, completely wiping the affected weapons from the tactical map."
Two minutes later Lewis spoke again. "Reading another thermal buildup."
The external feed flashed.
"That was our third nuke," Miko said. "And nearly the rest of our kinetic kill missiles."
"So, it takes them two minutes to recharge their particle beam weapon," Robert said. "What's the ETA on our remaining missiles?"
"Thirty seconds," Miko finished.
The display flashed half a minute later.
"Several of our missiles scored direct hits on the capital ship," Lewis said. "I'm detecting thermal leakage at the impact sites, consistent with hull breaches. I'm also reading a good amount of debris."
"Poking holes in their hull," Robert said. "That's a start." He studied the tactical display a moment. "Still no sign of any enemy missile or mortar launches. Just like our first encounter with them."
"No," Miko said. "But their fighters can be considered smart missiles."
"True."
He studied the armament inventories fleet-wide. Only fifteen nukes left, and twenty-eight kinetic kill missiles.
"So," Robert said. "We're dealing with a two minute rest period between each successive particle beam. If we fired fourteen missiles, no nukes this time, and timed some of them to arrive at intervals between the recharge period, how many do you think we could get through?"
