“Of course they have,” admitted the Zaketh warily. “They have killed or captured many of our ships in recent months. You may soon regret choosing to avoid the airlock. Our current mission is to hunt down a known Yakiir warship that regularly patrols the border of our space and pillage her for weapons and equipment. Unfortunately the Yakiir travel only in packs, so it is difficult to catch a lone warship. Even then, several of our vessels that have managed to do so have thus far been unsuccessful in combat. The Yakiir are powerful and yearn for nothing – their warships are armed to the teeth and boast many external guns. They can shoot down an enemy vessel or its shuttles while they are still kilometers distant, giving its crew no time to land a boarding party. Most of the time they don’t even bother to do so, as they prefer to let the crew of an enemy vessel watch them move in for the kill. Then their soldiers board the target and scuttle the ship.”
“Perhaps you need new tactics,” interjected Adam cautiously.
“You would lecture us on how to fight Yakiir?” the card player snapped testily. “Your own ship was easily bested and most of your soldiers are dead.”
“That doesn’t mean those of us who remain do not have good ideas.”
The Zaketh warrior chuckled in response. “I think you should worry about staying alive the first time we board an enemy warship. That should be your first priority.”
“Believe me,” said Adam softly in response. “Little else is on my mind these days.”
There were three official Clans whose territory bordered both Crasel and Yakiir turf… Venemun, Zaketh and Ostur. He felt somewhat reassured by the fact that he was now riding aboard a ship that would bring him closer to the mysterious Yakiir. Everything he could learn about them at this point would only help his cause in the long run. They’re dominating the Wasteland for a reason, he rationalized silently. We need to discover why. In the background, he could still hear his Crasel comrades talking in low whispers, and an occasional glance allowed him to catch at least one of them motioning his way. They don’t know whether to trust me or shoot me, he reasoned purposefully. After everything they’ve been through, who can really blame them?
For a long while, he simply sat there, deep in thought, listening to the thrumming of the ship’s engines as their raw power resonated through the thick bulkheads.
PROJECT WASTELAND
Pathfinder Series: Book Two
Chapter III: Keeping It Right
Aboard the Zaketh vessel Pyrhh…
Eventually things calmed down even further, with Adam and the rest of the soldiers all slipping into their bunks to heal and rest. He didn’t fall asleep right away, his thoughts drifting to the violence and chaos that had ensued after the Crasel ship was initially boarded. Choosing whether or not to kill had been a difficult moment for him, a test that he knew well in advance he would be facing during this particular mission. Ten years ago, when the Wastelanders had tried to board the Pathfinder, it had been his friend and close colleague Glen Fredericks who was ordered to kill. At that time, Glen used the massive electrical output from the white hot singularity at the tip of the CAS wand to burn through the invading shuttle’s outer hull, thereby opening its contents to space and killing dozens of enemy soldiers. Granted, Fredericks had been acting on the orders of Dennis Kaufield, his commanding officer, but technically Adam Roh was currently doing the same thing.
The primary difference, this time around, was that Adam lived in a constantly changing world where his own judgment was frequently required. He was the one aboard the Crasel vessel when the enemy had first slammed into them, knocking everyone in a small mess hall to the floor. Hurriedly they all grabbed weapons and helmets and then rushed to the aid of their fellow soldiers. By the time they crossed over to confront the intruders, multiple entry points had already been opened in the vessel’s outer hull by expert welders. Enemy troops were pouring onto the small warship, with gunshots and flash-bang grenades making it difficult to see and maneuver.
Adam remembered that first moment very vividly, when he chose to shoulder his rifle and wait. As soon as an enemy group of eight soldiers passed through the nearest entry point, he used the wrist guns to send a massive energy pulse into the ceiling above them. Both ships bucked sharply in response, and enough of a gap formed to temporarily vent atmosphere, blowing several of the invaders out into space. The separation of outer hulls lasted only a few seconds, until magnetic grapplers tightened and both vessels crashed back together. The Crasel surrounding him instantly used their weapons to disable or kill the remaining soldiers.
The mayhem was everything he had been promised and more. Expanding his personal defensive shield as far as it would go, he had kept as many of the Crasel as possible safe and protected from the incoming bullets and shrapnel. At first he fired his own rifle only into the walls next to enemy warriors, comforted by the fact that enemy projectiles entering the shield at a fast enough velocity vaporized instantly. Outgoing return fire from his rifle and those of the Crasel was left alone. The entire affair was a complex situation evolving far too quickly for any normal man to react, which was why so many people around him perished in those first few moments.
Fortunately Adam was far better protected, but even so had already made the decision to defend his fellow shipmates. After all, the soldiers from the other ship had chosen to illegally board the Crasel warship in an all-out effort to try and take it with brute force. More enemy soldiers spilled out into the corridor to his left, whereupon Adam reset his rifle to fully automatic and opened fire right alongside his shipmates. He let up only after it became inevitable that control of the vessel would fall to the enemy, raising his hands and encouraging the very reluctant Crasel to do the same. Until the Zaketh had opened their airlock in the immediate aftermath, he had actually felt reasonably confident about the outcome.
So many more were now dead… the Wasteland was a never ending blood bath even after the fighting ended.
Once his mental review of the earlier battle was complete, he used his mental link to exchange a few pleasantries with his brother Thomas. Their conversation turned out to be fairly brief as Thomas’ work shift came to an end and Dennis Kaufield took over for him. Nevertheless, the voice of his brother in his head for even a brief time while trapped in an endless space war was always a good thing. Kaufield also checked in to insure that his implant upgrades had taken, but once functionality was confirmed Adam had chosen to sign off for the night. He was determined to get some rest before anything else happened because that was the only thing he was certain of at this point – something else would invariably happen. There was no escaping it.
[“Just remember,”] Kaufield reminded him. [“We have holographic capability on-line too… if this gets to be too much for you, just let us know and one of us can take your place. We can project an image of you over the top of our own and no one will be the wiser.”] The comment brought a faint smile to Adam’s lips. All things considered, this was already too much for him. Still, he had committed himself to the mission and was mentally dealing with things to his satisfaction. Having to participate in the killing was the worst part… he now knew full well what it was like to be a volunteer soldier fighting in someone else’s war.
Thoughts in his mind beginning to break apart, he fell asleep…
*
…and awoke at some unknown point later on, to the deafening sound of loud alert klaxons blaring out a shipwide warning. The Zaketh were already on their feet checking their weapons while the Crasel around him stirred. Only Tran Wuu remained on his mattress, looking wan and every bit the wounded combat soldier that he was. Adam held out a firm hand and pulled the stolid warrior to his feet, patting him on the shoulder and handing him a helmet. The alarms continued blaring out their obnoxious metallic shriek for another thirty seconds or so and then stopped without warning. For just a moment, except for the sound of weapons being loaded, silence reigned in the small room. Watching the Zaketh soldiers curiously, Adam and the Crasel waited patientl
y to discover what was going on.
One of the three men who had earlier played cards re-entered the room with a pair of soldiers flanking him on each side. All of them held extra rifles and began to distribute the weapons, along with lengthy ammo belts, to the Crasel. “My name is Snee Vasten,” he snapped crisply at Adam. “Your men will fall under my command.” A dark smile flashed across his bronzed features and his deep blue eyes flashed. “Time to earn your pay.” He also handed each man a set of transceiver earwigs, so they could communicate and receive orders during battle.
“And just what kind of payment will we be earning?” asked Arte Kasik curiously, smiling through his scarred brute of a face, long ponytail waving behind his head in response to his constantly shifting gaze.
Snee Vasten chuckled heartily. “Whatever prizes await us on the unarmed supply ship we’re hunting,” he told them enthusiastically. “We’ve had quite the good fortune lately – first we pillaged your vessel and now we’ve found a potential treasure trove. Perhaps we’ll all be drinking fine ale tonight… if we fight hard enough against a soft crew with minimum firepower.”
Standing next to Adam, Big Cren Hollis rose to his full height that verged too closely on seven feet, muscles and veins tightening on his flexed biceps. “As long as we don’t have to fight other Crasel, you can count on me!” he thundered with a sensational bluster that caused a few of the other Zaketh to smile in response.
“Your ship was a lucky strike,” Vasten shot back. “We don’t get an opportunity to stomp on the little guys very often these days.” He glanced over his shoulder at the rest of his men. “And why not?”
“Because all the little guys have already been stomped!” the Zaketh squadron warriors thundered back at him in near perfect unison. Hollis found the humor in their statement and roared with laughter in response, but Janney Stox flinched noticeably at the not-so-subtle jab from the Zaketh soldiers. Nevertheless, Adam and his colleagues continued loading their weapons and readying themselves for combat. He mentally ran a quick diagnostic on his brain implant to insure that nothing was malfunctioning, breathing a huge sigh of relief when everything tied out with a perfect code green.
Snee Vasten snapped him back to attention, handing Adam a holstered sidearm and a pouch containing dozens of spare, black metal magazines. “Do you men have a cutter, by chance?” wondered Vasten.
The comment caught Adam somewhat by surprise, because he didn’t recognize the term ‘cutter’. Retracing his thoughts, he silently ‘listened’ to the question in his head one more time and discovered that the language database in his implant repeated the translation exactly the same. About to shrug his shoulders and feign ignorance, he was relieved to see Janney Stox step forward and raise a hand. “I’m a cutter,” the Crasel admitted brusquely. “The best there is. If you’ve got the equipment to match me, mate.”
“Oh we’ve got the equipment,” grinned Vasten, pointing at Adam. “You and your boys will be on access portal number one. Make sure your man takes it easy on the acetylene… it can be tough to come by and is difficult to manufacture. Hang a left once you’re aboard the supply ship and secure the engine room. Make certain the enemy doesn’t have an opportunity to implement a PTP transit while we’re in the process of boarding. That tends to be tough on troops.” He waved four of his men over. “These guys go with you.”
“Yes sir,” nodded Adam, feeling the first adrenaline rush of the day. He knew deep down that there would be many more before this latest affair ended. Walking behind the Zaketh, he and the four Crasel soldiers marched out into the adjacent corridor and headed toward a closed steel hatch at the far end. Altogether, there were more than two dozen of them marching in a lengthy phalanx towards the outer port hull as the blocky, gray-metal warship Pyrhh emerged from transit in a flash of bluish-white light less than three thousand yards from its target. Someone handed Adam a pair of goggles, a heavy bottle of acetylene and a portable welding unit. Nervously, he passed the equipment over to Janney Stox who expertly donned the goggles and welding unit, preparing to cut into the side of the enemy ship as soon as they arrived at their destination.
[“Be careful Adam,”] Dennis Kaufield’s voice whispered in Adam’s mind suddenly. [“Dr. Simmons is monitoring your vitals, and your anxiety levels are shooting sky high.”]
[“No kidding,”] the elder Roh brother thought back in silent reply. [“Tell Karen that I said hello. The emotions were the same during the earlier attack. I handled it just fine and will do so again.”]
[“That was an attack on your vessel. Don’t forget, this time you are the aggressor.” There is a difference, even if it’s subtle and mostly psychological.”] Kaufield’s ‘tone’ did not ‘sound’ to Adam like he was in any way being scolded, but the words frustrated him anyway.
[“I would sincerely appreciate it if you guys would do your job in your safe little Science Lab back there on Tranquility and let me do mine here,”] his mind snapped too sharply and swiftly in response. He took a deep breath as they approached a “T” intersection and struggled to clear his thoughts. Seconds later, he had calmed down considerably. [“Apologies sir, but I really need to get my head together here. I’m looking out a window and can see the other vessel getting closer. It’s time for me to go and DO this thing.”]
[“Be careful Adam.”]
Marching in unison, the soldiers broke into two teams as they reached the “T”, one turning left and the other to the right. Adam continued to struggle with his emotions silently, doing his best to reassure both Kaufield and himself. [“If I stick with this mission, we’re bound to eventually get the information we need. I’ve set my mind to this both before and after my arrival… all I’ve got to do is keep everything right up here in my head and I’ll be okay. Trust me sir, I won’t let you down. After all, I’ve got you folks looking out for me.”]
[“If it gets to be too much for you, request that we get you out of there. That’s an order,”] Kaufield emphasized with one brief, final instruction. In Adam’s mind, the linked presence of his CO faded away into nothingness.
Adam glanced down at his gloved hands, noticing that his fingers were shaking. This is all happening so goddamned fast! He moved aside as Janney Stox pushed past him and took up position at the end of the corridor adjoining the one they had just exited. There was a strange, dark alien symbol on top of a double airlock hatchway there that his mind read as the number “1”. Keep it right; just keep everything right, he whispered softly under his breath. Glancing to his right, he noticed other men holding welding equipment similar to Stox’s getting ready at three other hatchways.
Stox opened the inner hatch and entered the walkway to the outer doorway, risking a quick look over his shoulder. In his hands, the welder began burning with a bright blue flame while he frowned deeply in Adam’s direction. “Don’t you know how this works by now mate?” Stox asked Adam heatedly, causing the Pathfinder’s former hardware specialist to flinch. With his free left hand, he pointed at all of the rectangular steel handholds attached securely to the wall, each of them just above average head height. “Grab onto something… there’s no guarantee that the magnetic locks on our outer hull will grab on the first impact. Bounce around like a little toy you will, and break I guarantee.”
Noticing the other soldiers, including the Crasel, all holding tightly to similar safety bars Adam nodded with understanding. “Where I come from, we call them Jesus handles,” he replied nervously. When Stox returned the comment with a perplexed look, Adam shrugged with mild amusement. “If you need them,” he continued by way of an explanation, “it’s usually because you’re about to holler ‘Jesus’”.
“Mott’s Ghost,” snapped Stox in response.
“Naah,” Adam disagreed apprehensively. “That just doesn’t have the same ring to it.”
Through the windows on the outer hatchway, the other ship was now so large he was looking at a row of viewports similar to their own. Enemy soldiers were visible there, too, waiting patiently f
or the two ships to meet with helmets and body armor in place, rifles held at the ready. And… WOW, Adam thought to himself as memories he had thought long since buried in the distant past suddenly shot to the surface of his thoughts. They had all watched together, ten years previously on the Pathfinder, as enemy ships had drawn near. Then too, helmeted, armed soldiers had been visible in the windows, terrifying everyone aboard the exploration vessel. If they get on board, he remembered thinking while watching the images on the screens in the vessel’s Command Dome, all of us will likely die. To be standing here now, even a decade later, as one of those same invaders, waiting to attack a ship that had done them no harm was truly an example of irony at its greatest. The mere thought of it forced him to snap instantly back to the stark reality of the situation… one impossible to deny.
“I didn’t see any distinctive markings on that ship,” observed Cren Hollis boldly. “Usually clans mark their supply ships very visibly, because they regularly take brief shortcuts across enemy lines and don’t want to get hit by friendly fire once they re-emerge into friendly space.”
That final observation was all there was time left for.
The Pyrhh crashed solidly against the side of the smaller, enemy supply vessel and rebounded slightly before the magnetic locks grabbed firm along its port flank, pulling it firmly back against the other ship’s steel hull. The impact was hell, but not nearly as jarring as Adam expected. He was holding firmly to the safety handle, watching the portal numbered one very carefully as Janney Stox slapped the green-lit access button beside the outer airlock hatch. It slid up three-quarters of the way and then stuck, retracting another couple of centimeters before permanently sticking in place. “Mott’s Ghost!” snapped Stox angrily as he began using his torch to burn deeply into the other ship’s metal skin. “It’s a bad sign when things start off awry… all you blokes prepare to watch your head.” Looking closer, Adam realized that what he now saw through the open hatchway was in fact the cold, steaming outer hull of the other vessel!
The Pathfinder Trilogy Page 44
