Prox Doom

by Michael Penmore

  “Una, pass him what he needs.” Major Remorra made sure it was done. The prisoner only stood up after he had made sure that the wound was expertly dressed. It took only a minute, but the silence felt like it dragged on for ages. The Colonials waited patiently for his introduction.

  “I’m Captain Dreyfus of the United States Space Marine Corps, Security Force Regiment, Proxima D Battalion. Should I take that we’re prisoners of war now?”

  The Major shifted the light so he could see her properly. “Consider yourself captured, Captain. We’ll respect conventions.”

  Captain Dreyfus let off the accumulation of air from his chest. Nadie and Una exchanged uneasy glances; they would easily show this Earth trash their place if they were allowed.

  Selnov came out of the shadows to approach the prisoner. “You’re coming from the base, right?”

  Dreyfus nodded once. Remorra shoved her undisciplined rookie to the back. “Shut it, Private. Captain, tell me what you three were doing here.”

  “We got lost,” Dreyfus said. “Our instruments became disabled in the storm.”

  “And the explosion?”

  “That wasn’t you?”

  “Do we look like we carry surface to surface launchers?”

  Dreyfus was surprised. He glanced around and made a show of his suspicions. “You could have ditched a handheld in the snow.”

  “It wasn’t us,” Major Remorra insisted. Nadie couldn’t see why she was being so adamant on this point. Let the jarhead sop think they had more weapons than they actually did, why not? Let him think they were spearheading an army.

  “Then who?” Dreyfus pressed his sticking point. Fair enough, Nadie would have liked to know who tried to kill her too.

  “Don’t know, don’t care,” Major Remorra said. “Here’s the law. You help us get into your base unseen, we lay off the unpleasantries. We’ll keep your friends warm in the speeder until you deliver. Agreed?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “No. Sergeant, cuff the whole lot. Let’s move out, girls.”

  “I’m a man!” Selnov grumbled.

  “Keep telling yourself that, Private.” Remorra jumped off into the storm.

  * 7 *

  Approximately five minutes after the Colonials departed, another speeder joined the locus of the crush. Two armed Marines jumped out and ran to check the site. They found the tunnel dug in the snow and the empty vehicle. They got back in their vehicles and removed their snow masks. The taller man was white, the shorter dark. They were Privates First Class Anderson and Fahmi respectively. They answered before the driver, Lance Corporal Johnson.

  “Is it done?” he asked.

  “They’re not in the speeder,” said Fahmi.

  “Magic trick,” Anderson chuckled. Nobody joined in.

  “Colonials got them,” said Johnson, sure of it.

  “Is that good or bad?” asked Fahmi.

  “It depends. Nothing we can do now. Let’s follow them back to base.” Johnson started the engine and the speeder went slowly forward. He didn’t want to catch up with the Colonials by mistake. The signal transmitted by their vehicle glowed faintly on the dashboard.

  “Why are we letting Colons get this far?” Fahmi asked.

  “Orders,” Johnson brushed the question aside but noted that it was asked. Inquisitiveness was a dangerous habit in this job.

  “I don’t get it. We’re technically letting the stinking Colons in. Why did we give them our speeder? Why did we shoot at our own guys with rockets and now we’re letting those Colons just grab them and drive straight into the base? Where’s the sense in that? I mean, they’re the enemy, right? Something stinks like old socks. Am I right or am I right? Jim, say something.” Fahmi gently nudged Anderson in the side with his elbow.

  “Something,” said Anderson without a trace of that previous chuckle. Fahmi was the new guy and he didn’t know what his talk was walking him into. But Anderson knew and tensed in waiting for the inevitable response.

  Johnson turned in his seat, momentarily leaving the speeder to drive through the storm on its own. “You got lots of questions there, Fahmi. Are you sure you want those answers?” His voice was compelling and cautioning.

  “Yeah.” Fahmi shimmied closer to Johnson, thinking Lance Corporal was going to spin one of his good yarns, his curious tales. “Spill it to me, boss.”

  “Sorry, only thing I can spill is your guts.” Johnson squeezed the trigger of his pistol waiting low between the seats. The gun lit up with two fizzling balls of green plasma that went straight into Fahmi’s underbelly. Private’s eyes shot up and he fell silently on the floor; dark blood gushed from terrible wounds. Anderson moved back as a precaution. Johnson gave him the sign and he opened the back door and kicked Fahmi’s body out like a roll of used-up carpet.

  “Is he dead?” Johnson asked without care as he drove away from Private Fahmi’s final resting place.

  “For sure. If you didn’t get him, the storm will.”

  “Right,” Johnson nodded. Fahmi was an able soldier, but as they say, curiosity killed the cat, or a Space Marine in this case. Taking him to the mission was always fraught with the risk he wouldn’t make it back. Johnson gazed back at Anderson. “Are we OK?”

  “Stellar,” said the remaining Private careful not to slip up.

  “Good to hear. I don’t wanna tell the Messenger I had to get rid of two good guys in one run.”

  “You know me. I’m loyal, come hell or high water. The first probably.” Anderson let out a nervous giggle. Johnson followed it with a tiny chortle of his own.

  “The time will come,” Lance Corporal started their chant.

  “And the hell will rise and cleanse the world of the unjust. But we the faithful will prosper. We are all hellraisers,” Anderson finished solemnly. “Did you ever speak with the old man face to face?”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “What did he say?” Anderson got suddenly excited.

  “Told me to shut up and get on with the job,” Johnson said.

  Anderson caught on to what Johnson was saying and shut up. Curiosity just killed one Space Marine and he didn’t want to get on Johnson’s bad side to be another casualty in the storm. Chatter said the man had just tried and failed for a promotion for the third time, and Johnson was a sore loser.

  Johnson didn’t care. He never cared for others or for danger. He was made for better things than Space Marine Corps. His destiny was revealed unto him: he hadn’t died in any of the brave charges under Colonel Duke’s command because he was meant to live on to achieve greatness. Whatever he needed to do, he would do. Messenger held the keys to his glory.

  And the message was beginning. Hell was coming to Prox D. It would burn the whole wretched base in a conflagration never before seen.

  * 8 *

  The one they called Selnov tried to chat up Rhys all through the bumpy ride. The woman called Una kept perfectly silent, but her eyes bore into Rhys with unhidden malice. Neither of the approaches made his circumstances any more pleasant.

  Rhys put Holly's head in his lap for a modicum of comfort. He was worried about her state but didn’t attempt to wake her. He also moved Ken into a better position as well as he could. It wasn’t easy with his hands bunched together in metal cuffs behind his back. Selnov offered to help him, but Una stopped him in his tracks with a choice of words that should not be repeated. If she had fun watching Rhys sweat, she failed to show it.

  Major Remorra stopped the speeder at an elevation overlooking the base. The swirling snow could not hide a bursting illumination which surrounded the buildings; the forcefield was still acting up.

  “What’s the light show about, Selnov?”

  “That’s the storm interfering with energy frequencies. Their outside forcefield is coming on and off.”

  “Enough to let us through?”

  Selnov typed something into the portable computer in his lap. “Yeah. According to this, we’ll have a clear path through the southern part of t
he compound.”

  “All rightie. Let’s do this.”

  They drove in a circle around the base to reach the prescribed position. Remorra stopped just outside the perimeter. There was much less flicker there. “Here’s hoping Messenger keeps things right.” Remorra punched the accelerator and drove clean through the barrier edge. The inside looked much like the outside, all covered in snowy dust and cloud.

  “Yeehaw!” Selnov yipped a joyous shoutout. Una clipped him on the side of his head, making his helmet bounce. “Ouch! I’m quiet, I’m quiet.”

  “Don’t be quiet, Private. Give me the coordinates,” Remorra demanded and followed instructions Selnov read out from the laptop.

  Rhys kept his mouth shut. The enemy didn’t need him yet, they had their own intel stored on the device in Selnov’s keeping. Could he kick it off his lap and destroy it? Doubtful the computer would crack that easily. What would be the point, besides? They would just get what they needed from him or Holly or Ken using uncivilised methods. From what he had heard about the Widows, even taken with a pinch of salt, they didn’t shy from torturing captives to gain information; abhorrent but effective technique.

  Ken was still out cold, but Holly panted and moved her head across his thighs. Rhys leaned to soothe her with a quiet shhh and she seemed to drift into a peaceful sleep. As long as she and Ken were in the neverland, Rhys hoped the Colonials would limit their interactions to himself. So far it worked.

  The speeder stopped and Sergeant Una opened the back door. “Out,” she grumbled.

  Rhys was reluctant to go, partly because of the weather, but mostly for fear about the friends he was leaving behind. They were his friends and right now they depended on him.

  “Move.” She kicked and dragged him while Selnov pretended not to see.

  “What’s the issue back there?” Remorra appeared in the doorway. Nadie flanked her and looked out for unfriendlies. Friendlies to Rhys. No one was keeping a lookout in this near zero visibility environment.

  “I’m not leaving them behind.” Rhys pointed to the unconscious pair.

  “Yes, you are.” She pumped her shotgun for show and aimed it at his chest. “Don’t worry, they’ll be in the capable hands of Sergeant Una. She’s our medic too.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about.”

  Una heard the Captain. She stepped in, grabbed him by the collar and lifted him in the air. Rhys was no small man, but she flung him outside with ease. The surroundings were empty. They did not stop by any of the buildings.

  “Una, you heard the order. Stay and keep watch. Don’t harm them. They’re the bargaining chip.”

  “Aye,” the powerfully strong Colonial soldier confirmed, but there was something else in her tone. A distaste? Of course, she would prefer to continue the mission inside the base.

  “Selnov, find me that door,” Major Remorra groaned.

  The Private took the computer with him. He walked against the wind into the centre of parade ground. Rest of the squad followed him. Rhys was prodded in the back by Nadie. He thought about falling to the ground and slowing them down, but self-preservation won; snow was in his eyes, his ears, his nose, his cheeks were burning with ice, his hands red and stinging; he lost his gloves together with his weapons and gear; he walked on feeling miserably cold. How long till frostbite takes in? How much longer until its effects become irreversible?

  “Here!” Selnov shouted over the wind and pointed down. There was nothing but snow piles building up and blowing over the firm foundation.

  “Are you sure?” Remorra asked.

  “100 percent!”

  They went to work, looking for something under the snow. Nadie took off the cuffs from Rhys’ wrists and forced him to do hard labour as well. He landed on his knees and shovelled snow with his hands, feeling them go numb. After a moment of graft, he worried about them peeling off.

  “Got something!” Selnov struck it lucky. They moved Rhys to do most of the work uncovering a trap door. Remorra and Nadie lifted the cover and the whole group progressed below ground by the way of steps. Passage succumbed to darkness when Major let the door collapse after them.

  Nadie found a light switch. They had descended into a bunker. It was wide and tall, made of grey bricks. It had stores of food, water and warm clothes, folded camp beds and a radio station. A soft hum announced an air filtering network online behind one of the walls. The space was sufficient to accommodate a dozen speeders with room to spare. It was a shelter. Rhys never knew it existed.

  “Don’t stand there, keep going.” Remorra ran down the steps and to a secure door located some way off.

  Now that he was warm, Rhys thought about giving them the slip, but Corporal Nadie removed twin blasters from hip holsters and ‘invited’ him to come along. “Not a peep or you’re history,” she promised him and there was nothing in her to suggest it was an idle threat.

  The door was secured by a password lock. Rhys didn’t know the phrase but recognised the type of measure. One input only, error triggered a base-wide alert. The Colonials had a tough nut to crack.

  “What’s the password, Private?” Remorra removed her gloves and clicked her fingers.

  “It’s Highrise,” Selnov said. Where was he getting this stuff from? If only Rhys could grab one of Nadie’s blasters, he’d turn his laptop into a pile of steaming plastic.

  Major Remorra focused on the small keyboard. Her hands wore worn from carrying weapons, her nails chipped by grabbing things. She stretched her frozen digits and clickety-clacked the code. “Here goes nothing.” She hesitated before pressing the confirmation key. The lock gave a quiet beep, a green light came up, and the door was released from its seal. Rhys couldn’t believe this; they had advanced knowledge of the base’s safeguards, they knew of things he’d never heard of, like the bunker for instance. Obviously, someone had fed them information. But who, how and why? Rhys didn’t have a clue.

  “Messenger provides,” said Selnov.

  “This is it. We’re crossing deep into enemy territory. Get ready to crush some leatherneck skulls,” Remorra warned her soldiers. Selnov got out a service pistol from somewhere, a present from the Major. Nadie pointed her blasters up and nodded. Commander pulled Rhys in front. “Remember, one misstep and your friends in the speeder die.”

  The doors opened and Rhys walked in solemnly, the Major one step behind. There was no one there. Rhys felt immediately relieved there would be no shooting contest with him caught in the crossfire; he was also disappointed in the fact how easy infiltrating the base had turned out.

  There was plenty of noise, hissing, bubbling and beeping. They emerged in the base’s spacious sub level packed with maintenance installations, on a gangway suspended over the network of engineering substations. Everything from power generators to hot water was located right below them; a veritable trove of targets, some of them liable to burst into flame.

  Rhys walked first, held back by the voice of Major Remorra. She, in turn, was guided by Selnov who abandoned the computer for a map of the compound embedded in his sleeve. The gangway carried them forward into crossroads where it joined into a jumbled spiderweb of passages, including a down-slanting ramp which Selnov chose. Why they were going down, Rhys couldn’t say. To his knowledge, the most valuable and secret places were the science labs on upper floors. The air became hotter as they descended and a steady thrum of the base’s two energy reactors dominated the audial sphere. Maybe the Colonials were going to disable them? For what purpose? They were a recon unit, perhaps just the vanguard of a larger attack force. Rhys had to do something to stop them. He looked for signs of human activity, someone he could warn about the impending danger. But everything was automated; engineers of the battalion only entered this veritable maze of pipes and hardware for seldom routine inspections or when something broke down. The Colonials were left alone to do what damage they pleased and he was the only Marine standing in their way. Not exactly that, he was their prisoner coming along with them. His obligation was
to escape and warn the others.

  “Don’t try anything.” Corporal Nadie read his thoughts. “Remember your friends upstairs. Sergeant Una isn’t known for her compassion.”

  He thought about that and arrived at his own moral crossroads. Any misbehaviour on his part carried the risk that Holly and Ken wouldn’t see the light of day. Blind obedience would probably kill them anyway, along with him and others on the base. Should he put the lives of two hundred people over the two captured companions? That was his choice, his dilemma. Ken and Holly could already be dead and he wouldn’t know it. Holly would want him to do what’s necessary to protect the base and the people within. Ken would be ambiguous, but probably on the side of rescuing him and Holly. They were his two best friends, probably the only people he cared about on a personal level. But he was also a Captain in the Space Marine Corps. He had a duty which came first.