by Wearmouth
The problem was having enough time to locate the position without Charlie getting a bullet drilled into his skull. He edged toward Vingo and the other remaining tredeyan prisoner and paused to catch his breath. Every movement without the suit sapped his energy in the heavy atmosphere.
“You two, listen in,” Charlie said. Vingo continued to lean over the dead prisoner. Charlie grabbed his greasy shoulder. “Pay attention or we all die.”
Vingo turned to face him. The other tredeyan sat with his back to the rock, clutching the captured rifle, murmuring to himself. Under pressure, they displayed a more human side to their behavior, and Charlie understood they were sandwiched between the croatoans and the scion, but now was the time to show some guts.
“Give me covering fire,” Charlie shouted over the incessant crackle. “I need to take out whoever is firing the mortar.”
“Mortar?” Vingo asked.
“That thing that’s about to blow the shit out of us. Both of you aim over the rocks and sweep the ground ahead.”
By sending rounds in the direction of the slavers, Charlie hoped to get their heads down for a moment. He knew the alien in green armor fired the shells. When it broke cover, that was his moment.
Vingo picked up the rifle and they all crouched behind the rock. He babbled in tredeyan to the other prisoner and turned to Charlie. “We’re ready. Say when.”
“Now!”
Both tredeyans sprang up and fired their weapons in an arc from the cave on the left to the open rocky ground on the right. Two rounds sparked off the shuttle nestled in a crevice at the bottom of the cliff face directly in front of them.
A moment of silence followed. Charlie rolled to the side and peered down his sights, waiting for signs of movement behind the cluster of rocks surrounding them.
It was a classic but effective move that he knew well. Anyone can fire accurately down a range, but facing a person who shoots back tends to unnerve a lot of people, and aliens, it seemed.
Two figures darted between rocks to his right. Charlie’s captured rifle wasn’t calibrated with the helmet. He peered down a sight on top of the smooth metal forestock and curled his finger around the trigger.
They hugged the edge of the cliff and advanced toward the battleground. Their suits were the same design as his. Human-adapted tredeyan armor. It had to be Denver and Layla.
Excitement surged inside. Charlie had his doubts about ever seeing them again, but he never should have. For the last ten years, whenever the shit hit the fan, he could always rely on Denver. “Den, Layla, is that you?”
More rounds pinged off the rock next to Charlie, spraying sand against his visor. He rolled back to cover. Denver and Layla’s arrival distracted him from the plan, but it was a good distraction. When they attacked from the side, they would have the slavers in their own pincer movement.
“Charlie!” Layla said through the intercom. “Where are you?”
Relief washed over him. “I’m behind a large rock to your left. Six to eight enemy directly ahead.”
“I can see their direction of fire,” Denver said. “I’ve got four with their backs to me from here. That should even it up.”
“I’ll wait for your move.”
An ominous hollow pop sounded ahead.
Seconds later an explosion ripped through the air, directly to Charlie’s left.
The remaining tredeyan prisoner let out a gargled scream and collapsed. Vingo dropped his rifle and clutched his leg. Blood ran between his chunky fingers. His already injured left arm hung limply by his side.
Incoming fire continued to hit and whizz past the rock, although the rate had dropped considerably.
Charlie grabbed the dead tredeyan’s rifle and released the magazine block off the side. All rounds were spent on the previous covering fire. He checked his own and still had a few left, but a visual inspection of the top didn’t tell him how many.
“Get ready,” Denver said, followed by a static hiss.
Single shots rang out in quick succession. Denver and Layla taking aim and making every one count. Charlie broke cover again.
A slaver had readjusted his position to the new threat, allowing Charlie a view of his left torso. He fired twice and the figure slumped.
“Two down,” Denver said.
“One down,” Layla said.
“One down,” Charlie said.
The shuttle’s engines roared. A cloud of sand and stone-filled dust blasted from underneath, shrouding the area. Charlie’s night vision blurred.
Dull muzzle flashes appeared in different spots, becoming increasingly fainter.
“They’re withdrawing,” Denver said.
Charlie heard the distinctive sound of his and Layla’s rifles fire again.
“We got one more,” Denver said. “Two made it to the shuttle.”
“Does it have a cannon on the roof?” Charlie said. “I couldn’t see when they brought me here.”
“Doesn’t look like it,” Layla said.
Vingo shuffled by Charlie’s side. “You saved my life.”
“It’s not over yet.”
Denver and Layla ran through the gloom, powering over the black volcanic sand a lot faster than any human could manage without the assistance of an armored suit. Charlie waved a hand over the top of the rock. They altered direction slightly, headed over and crouched by his side.
Layla looked around Charlie at Vingo and the two dead tredeyans. “Looks like you’ve had an interesting time.”
The relief in her voice matched Denver’s facial expression and Charlie’s internal feeling.
“What happened to the rest of your armor?” Denver said.
“They took it,” Charlie said and peered over the rock at the shuttle. “I can live without it, as long as we can change our filters and refill the water with a mix of root.”
“Who the hell are they?” Layla said.
Charlie ignored the question. The shuttle rose ten meters in the air. Its engine noise changed to a higher pitch and it thrust forward.
Hot air blasted down from its six pink rings as it flew overhead. The shuttle banked to the right and headed around the coast, disappearing around a cliff while gaining altitude.
Nobody spoke. Charlie waited, wanting to confirm the thing wouldn’t turn back and take a shot at them, if it had the capability. He would in their shoes.
It flew above the distant cliffs and headed for the stars. The rings brightened and it shot up at a greater speed.
A scion fighter roared along the coast, pointed its nose up and went to intercept. A missile deployed from under its wing and streaked toward the shuttle.
An explosion boomed overhead. It was impossible to tell if the fighter scored a hit because of the shuttle’s rapid ascent, but Charlie hoped so. The crew deserved it.
The sounds of the last frantic minutes were replaced with waves crashing against the shoreline and distant rumbles as the battle for Tredeya continued.
“Are you going to answer my question?” Layla said.
“Yeah, follow me. I’m getting my suit back and have two things to kill,” Charlie said. Vingo remained kneeling next to the two dead tredeyans. “That includes you too. Get your ass moving. ”
Vingo limped alongside Layla and she glanced at his wounds. “Are you okay?”
“I got hit, but I’ll live.”
Charlie entered the cave. The overhead lighting flickered on and off. He stepped over the bodies of the three dead slavers and continued forward.
“Your doing, I take it?” Denver said as he followed behind. “How did you end up here?”
“That supposed priest paralyzed my suit. Slavers were going to sell me for labor on another planet.”
“Christ,” Layla said. “Their planet’s falling, and they’re still trying to make a profit?”
Charlie grunted. “Seems like greed stretches beyond Earth.”
“It’s not like that,” Vingo said, his voice stuttery and higher than before. “Slavers are outside our
society. They are a mix of species. Our command tolerates them because they’re only supposed to capture deserters or criminals. It saves on resources if we don’t have prisoners to manage.”
“Why did they take you?” Denver said.
Vingo looked away and hobbled toward the cavern containing the cells.
“Hey! Why did they take you?” Denver repeated with a hint of anger in his voice.
“I had another reason for being in the command center,” Vingo said. “I was…” He looked around nervously, his beady eyes twitching before his body slumped with what Charlie thought was a sigh. “I was taking something.”
“Don’t look to me for sympathy,” Charlie prompted. “You need to explain yourself to Den and Layla.”
“All you need to know is that I’m leaving this place, this war. There’s other options for people with my skills.”
“Like trading whatever it is you took with the scion?” Layla said.
“No. They will have control of our systems eventually and wouldn’t deal with me. There’s an alliance, another faction bordering on the Hezlan systems, another player in this war.”
“Got a name, this faction?” Denver asked.
“They’re called the Amalgam, on account of the number of races involved, people who are casualties of the war, people and races who no longer want to be victims to either side.”
Charlie grunted and shook his head. He found Vingo increasingly pathetic. “Tell them about trying to buy your way in.”
“I had to offer something. When we first tracked a scion ship entering our solar system, I decided we needed a survival plan. Tredeya can defend against most threats, but not this one.”
“That’s just great,” Denver said. “You made us even more of a target.”
“It doesn’t change our situation. We have a ship we can escape on once I have what we need.”
“Can your ship—” Layla stopped abruptly and took two steps back.
Shadows moved around the cavern opening.
The two clusps that guarded the entrance leaped into the cave. They strained against their chains and snarled. Both sets of tentacles writhed in the air, ready to strike when in range of a victim.
Denver dropped to one knee and shouldered his rifle. Charlie stood in front of him. “I’ve wanted to do this since I first met the first damned thing.”
Both clusps hunched down and growled. Charlie moved forward. One whipped a tentacle forward. It snapped rigid a meter in front of his face.
Charlie took a deep breath, looked through his sights, and pulled the trigger. His round punctured a hole through the left clusp’s head. Green spatter marks plastered the wall behind it. He wasted no time in downing the other creature.
Turning back to the group, Charlie asked, “Did you happen to see the priest on your way here?”
“You don’t need to worry about her,” Denver said.
Charlie gave him a knowing nod. “I understand. Good job, son.”
Vingo tugged on Charlie’s cuff. “If you take me to my village, I can provide filters, water, and food.”
“What about your ship?” Denver said. “We can’t survive here forever and need a way home. Especially if scion mechs are roaming the land.”
“My ship doesn’t have the range,” Vingo said. “But there might be another way.”
“Which is?” Layla said.
“Take me to my village and I’ll tell you.”
“Bullshit,” Charlie said, unable to control his anger. “We’ve saved your ass on more than one occasion. Stop laying breadcrumbs and tell us now, or forget your escort.”
“Take me home or forget ever reaching yours,” Vingo retorted, suddenly finding some backbone. A political race indeed, Charlie thought.
They had little choice, though. Information was in short supply, and Charlie, Denver and Layla had to grab any chance they could get their hands on.
Charlie shook his head. “How did you guys get here?”
“We’ve got the catamaran waiting outside,” Layla said.
“Fine then. Vingo, lead the way to your village; then we’ll talk about how you’re going to get us home… otherwise… well, let’s just say that the Amalgam will have to settle for receiving your corpse.”
Vingo helped Charlie into his suit before putting his own back on.
Denver led them out of the prison toward the stolen craft.
***
The catamaran hummed through the air, leaving a cloudy trail of sand behind it. Vingo sat next to Layla at the controls, directing her along the coastline toward his village. Gazing out to sea as the first signs of dawn appeared in the sky, Charlie thought it looked like Earth, until the distant black prism came into view—a symbol of the tredeyans’ doom, hovering high in the sky. They must have had the same helpless feeling as him during the initial croatoan assault on Earth.
“Do you think we can trust him?” Denver said.
“Vingo? I don’t know, but we haven’t got any better ideas.”
“I can hear you,” Vingo rasped through the intercom.
“I know you can,” Denver said and turned toward him. “But I’m past caring about that.”
Small white bolts shot from the bottom of the black prism toward the surface. Explosions brightened the royal blue sky. The battle had raged for hours so far, and Charlie wondered what key parts of infrastructure were left.
“Vingo, what happens if we lose the wireless power?” Charlie said.
“I don’t think the scion will destroy the power. They will want quick access to our networks and databases.”
“But if they do,” Denver said, picking up on Charlie’s concern, “what happens to our suits and breathing systems?”
“You don’t need to worry. They have enough battery life to comfortably reach my village. We have recharging facilities and spares.”
Denver shot Charlie a suspicious glance. Charlie also found it hard to believe a word he said. Vingo’s ever-evolving story made sure of that.
Layla steered off the coast and cruised up the side of a hill. Grass swayed beneath them as they powered to the top. The catamaran must have had an altitude sensor because it always maintained a steady height of five meters above the ground.
“Nearly there,” Vingo said and leaned forward in anticipation.
The catamaran swept over the brow and headed down. A square space had been cleared at the bottom. In the middle sat a charred skeleton of a ship. Layla slowed as they reached it and they gently bumped against the dirt.
Vingo jumped off and hobbled toward it. He gazed at two burned corpses on the ground and rubbed his hand along the twisted frame.
“Doesn’t look like a village to me,” Denver said.
“I take it that’s his escape screwed?” Layla said.
Charlie hopped off the side, pleased to have power-assisted movement in the heavy atmosphere again. He approached Vingo while surveying the scene.
The forty-meter remains listed into a large crater by the side of it. Most likely a direct hit from the scion prism. Charlie spotted two more twisted figures in the blackened internal wreckage.
“Where’s your village?” Charlie said.
Vingo slowly turned and dropped a burned piece of debris. “There is no village.”
Taking a deep breath, Charlie fought the urge to punch him in the face. Right from the start, up until the cave, Vingo claimed it as his motivation and played them along. The bargain he was attempting to strike with the Amalgam didn’t seem a bad thing to hide, it sounded like he was trying to look after his people. Now the people didn’t actually exist, it changed everything.
Charlie stepped toward him.
“Get back. Now,” Denver shouted, piercing Charlie’s ear.
A dark shadow crept over the makeshift landing strip. A twenty-meter-high croatoan war mech, with thick robotic legs, a sleek black angular body in proportion and a cannon on each side, stood on the opposite hill. A laser shot from the top of it and swept across the ground
between Charlie, Vingo and the catamaran.
“Why the fuck is that shooting at us?” Charlie yelled. “I thought you and the turtles were tight?”
Vingo ran past him and into the catamaran, firing up the engines. “I’m a traitor, remember; they don’t take kindly to that behavior. Are you coming or staying?”
Charlie, Denver, and Layla jumped into the moving catamaran as Vingo swung it around and headed back down toward the sea as cannon fire flew over their heads.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The cold afternoon air, wafting through an open window, made the skin on Mike’s exposed arms goose bump. He shivered and moaned as he moved up from his chair, pushing up with his good arm, the other now in a sling after Mai had removed the bullet and treated the wound with the now-familiar root poultice.
He checked his watch; it was four hours since the advanced party of croatoans had attacked. The pain in his elbow still throbbed when he tried to move his arm. The painkilling properties of the root, along with a supply of codeine Unity had salvaged from a nearby hospital, had given him enough pain suppression. He wanted to get on with the job at hand.
Mai entered the small room at the rear of Aimee’s residence. When Mike fell from his wounds, they brought him here to treat him while Unity’s defense force destroyed the advance attackers.
“Any news?” Mike said. He was waiting for Aimee’s response to his failure.
“Khan and Baliska returned from their scouting,” Mai said, sitting beside him on the bed and placing the palm of her hand against his shoulder with light tenderness.
“What did they say?”
“Augustus’ forces are less than an hour away.”
“And the radio weapon?” Mike asked, resisting a painful cringe at the answer. He felt bad for leaving Mai to deal with his failure. He had assured Aimee and the others at Unity that they would have the radio weapon working in time and staked his reputation on it—which now lay in tatters, like Unity’s chances of survival.
“I tried to diagnose what went wrong, but it all seems fine to me. The connections are solid, the power source is perfectly fine, and the dish responds to other stimulation.”
