Ariston_Star Guardians

by Ruby Lionsdrake

  They backed up together, and Ariston activated the forcefield. He started to head off to look for more people, but considered his earlier idea and stopped in front of a comm panel to toggle the ship-wide switch.

  “This is First Officer Merekk,” he announced, trying to make his voice deeper, to match the officer’s. “We’ve succeeded in driving the enemy away from the bridge and Decks 2, 3, and 4, but they’re making a stand in engineering. All hands report to engineering. Victory could be ours, but only if we work together to valiantly vanquish the enemy.” He turned off the comm. “Whatever enemy they believe they’re fighting.”

  “Valiantly vanquish? Do the Star Guardians give you bonus pay if you use flowery over-the-top language to rally your troops?”

  “Actually, there was a captain I served under in the space fleet that liked to say things like that.”

  “And it was effective in boosting morale and making everybody fight well together?”

  “It tended to cause people to band together in mocking him behind his back, thus distracting them from the terrible odds they faced.”

  “I knew it had to be part of some kind of strategy.”

  “Come on. Let’s get to engineering and be ready, in case a party does show up.”

  “Do people typically bring these flash cards to their parties around here?”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  • • • • •

  “The ship’s orbit is decaying,” a computerized voice announced for the first time, pausing the wroo wroo of the alarm. “If the thrusters are not restarted in fifteen minutes, the ship will experience severe damage as it enters the atmosphere.”

  The alarm restarted, louder than ever, with red lights pulsing from the bulkheads.

  Mick stood in the doorway to the storage area, her weapon pointed up the corridor as she faced Ariston, who stood in the doorway opposite her. Red lights flashed off his faceplate. Was he nervous? She couldn’t see his features from her position.

  The double doors to engineering lay to Mick’s left. They had decided to set up their ambush outside of it instead of inside. Ariston didn’t want men shooting around the equipment. It seemed a good policy, but she wondered if they should have lured people in by waiting inside.

  Scuffs and thuds reached her ears, followed by a hushed whisper that she couldn’t make out. People were definitely coming. How many? She and Ariston might last indefinitely against men in clothes, but she knew from the shuttle bay that at least some of the crew had armor.

  The first man burst around the intersection, sprinting toward the doors to engineering. He was armored—and carried a bolt bow. No flash cards.

  He was almost even with their doors before he noticed them. He halted, swinging his weapon toward Mick.

  Ariston sprang out and almost landed on the man. He tore the bolt bow away, hurling it against the wall, and dragged his enemy back into his storage room.

  Two more men came into view, these more careful than the first. They knelt at the nearest corner and fired around it.

  “Get them, men!” someone else cried from behind them. The male voice didn’t have the slightly muffled quality of someone wearing a helmet.

  Mick traded shots with the two who kept leaning into view. En-bolts streaked up and down the corridor.

  She ducked back into her doorway as soon as she fired, not wanting to take any more hits than necessary. The indicator inside her faceplate warned her that her left armpit seam and right thigh seam were close to being compromised, and more than a few scorch marks marred her back and chest, thanks to her skirmishes the day before.

  Had it just been the day before? It seemed like a week, at least, since she’d flown down to the planet, and since she’d met Ariston.

  “Hurry, men, hurry!” cried the unseen voice as Ariston tried to wrestle the first man into submission just inside his doorway. “If we beat them, we needn’t sacrifice ourselves.”

  Mick’s ears perked. Was he talking about the flash cards?

  “I think that’s the captain,” Ariston said over their channel, his words punctuated by grunts.

  Whoever he was battling must have been a trained fighter, because it looked like he was taking as many blows as he gave.

  Mick continued to fire at the other two men whenever their helmeted heads popped into view, her fire keeping them from advancing, but she imagined the noisy ticks of a grandfather clock as time passed, counting down. Ariston had never said how long they had, but the computer hadn’t been shy about announcing it. Fifteen minutes. And she assumed it would take some time to install the part. They couldn’t sit here at a tea party for the next ten minutes.

  “I’m going after him,” Mick said.

  “There’s too man—”

  Ariston’s foe threw him off, and whatever words he’d intended to say didn’t make it out.

  It was just as well. Mick didn’t want to argue.

  She sent a barrage of fire down the corridor, causing the two men to duck back again, then she sprinted toward them, trying to run quietly in her big armored boots.

  One man leaned out to fire again and twitched, clearly surprised to see her charging him. He fired, anyway, but she was close enough to lash out. She kicked, her boot slamming into his faceplate hard enough to send him reeling backward. He struck the shoulder of his comrade, and Mick kicked him, too, though she didn’t want to fight either of them. She wanted the gray-haired man yelling orders.

  He—the captain?—stood farther back from the corner, not wearing armor. Surprisingly, he wasn’t wearing anything except underwear, a gold chain around his neck, and a long black glove that went almost to his left elbow. In one arm, he held a bow weapon, but in the other…

  Mick hissed a triumphant, “Yes.”

  He carried two flash cards—she would have called them circuit boards—under his arm, chips gleaming on their blue surfaces.

  As the men she’d kicked scrambled to their feet, Mick raced at the captain. He shot her in the chest, and the other men shot her in the back.

  Alarms flashed red inside her faceplate, and she realized this might have been a foolish move, but she had to pray her armor would hold up—and that she could get this bastard.

  After firing his shot, the captain sprinted away, the cards clutched under his arm.

  “Springs,” Mick ordered her suit.

  As an extra bound entered her boots, she took two more running steps, then launched herself, as if off the end of a diving board. The added spring sent her sailing right into the captain’s back.

  She struck him harder than intended and heard something snap—his ribs?—as she went down atop him.

  Without waiting to see if he would fight further, she yanked the cards free. Later, she could get him a first-aid kit.

  Before she could pull away from the man, he recovered, twisting and grabbing her wrist to hold her.

  She almost laughed. Was he kidding? She had armor, and he didn’t. All he had was a dorky black driving glove.

  But his grip tightened, and to her surprise, she felt the pressure through her armor. Yet another warning flashed on the side of her faceplate.

  While pinning her wrist down, he lunged across her, reaching for the flash cards. She twisted, jabbing a foot into his stomach and trying to push him away. He winced, but that superhuman hand kept its grip.

  Since he was taller than she was, with longer arms, he was able to grab the bottom of one of the cards. He released her wrist, almost startling her into falling back. But she kept shoving him away with her foot, and resisted his attempt to pull one of the cards away. He wouldn’t let go, however. Worried he would break it, she pulled her leg back to kick him.

  But he twisted, avoiding the blow. He moved spryly for someone with solid gray hair. He punched at her faceplate with that black-gloved fist. Reflexively, she jerked her helmet back. Maybe it wouldn’t have done damage, but maybe it would have.

  While she was distracted, he found his feet and lunged for the cards a
gain.

  Growling, she sprang to her own feet and turned her back to block his reach. He gripped her shoulder with crushing force. She jabbed her elbow behind her, connecting firmly with his chest.

  This time, she had the satisfaction of watching him fly backward.

  “Zi’i animal!” he yelled as he landed in a roll.

  He came up in a crouch and sprinted for her. Keeping the cards as far from him as possible, she spun and feinted a roundhouse kick toward his face. He ducked and blocked, but she hadn’t intended that kick to land and was already loading up for a second one. This one caught him in the side, hurling him against the bulkhead. His head cracked against it as well as his shoulder, and he crumpled to the deck. This time, he did not get up.

  A cry sounded behind Mick, and she remembered the rest of the men, the ones that had been shooting at her back.

  Shielding the cards from fire with her body, she turned to run back toward engineering. Fortunately, nobody was firing at her now. Ariston had already taken down one of those men and was trading punches with the other. They were like cartoon characters, their armor giving them strength to knock each other into bulkheads, leaving dents with each blow.

  Shouts came from somewhere beyond the downed captain, more people running to help “vanquish” the enemy. Great.

  “Got them,” she yelled at Ariston, waving the cards and hoping he would find a way to break from the fight and run to engineering. She had no idea where they went, which one was for the thrusters, or how to reinstall it.

  His foe knocked him toward her, and he rolled across the deck, stopping at her feet. She fired over his head, striking the guy in a seam.

  His armor must have already been compromised, because he screamed and turned his back toward her. She bent to help Ariston up, but he sprang to his feet.

  “You’re an asset to my team,” he said, glancing at the cards before charging back toward the wounded man.

  But that guy was done fighting. He ran off, finding a ladder he could scurry up. The second man Ariston had been battling was down on the deck, curled in a ball and groaning.

  Ariston took the cards and raced around the corner toward engineering.

  “You won’t get away with this, Zi’i scum!” the captain yelled after them, now up on his knees, gripping his ribs.

  Ignoring him, Mick ran into engineering after Ariston.

  “Is there a way to lock this door?” she asked as he sprinted toward a wall of machinery.

  “Not against the captain.”

  “The captain is busy holding his Fruit of the Looms up. I’m more worried about the other people coming.” Mick fiddled with the door panel, finding the controls to close it, but she had no idea about locking it.

  “Just keep them out for five minutes.” Ariston had already found tools and torn open a panel.

  The wailing alarm paused again so the computer could announce, “The ship’s orbit is decaying. If the thrusters are not restarted in seven minutes, the ship will experience severe damage as it enters the atmosphere.”

  “Five minutes better be all you need,” Mick said, backing up and pointing her bolt bow at the double doors.

  Three seconds later, they opened. She fired before they had parted three inches.

  A curse made its way inside as someone in a blue shirt leaped back and out of sight. The doors closed again.

  Mick was tempted to fire at the control panel to see if that would fuse the doors shut, but she didn’t particularly want to trap her and Ariston in engineering.

  “If you can’t get it installed in time, are we running back to the shuttle bay to see if we can fly out that way?” she asked, waiting for another attempt on the door.

  “We can’t leave all these people to die here,” Ariston said, continuing to work without glancing back.

  “I’m fine with them piling into the shuttle and coming along.”

  “We locked several crew members in the brig. There wouldn’t be time… I can do this.” He wiped his arm across his faceplate, as if he could wipe sweat from his brow, and cursed when his knuckles clunked uselessly off. “But you can go to the shuttle. You should go to the shuttle. I think the bay doors may open automatically if you fly toward them.”

  Mick watched him bleakly, realizing she was up here with a man who wouldn’t sacrifice people, even the enemy, to save himself.

  “I’ll stay,” she said. “I don’t want you distracted by having to fight off crazy people in their underwear.”

  He looked back, meeting her eyes through their faceplates, and nodded solemnly before bending over his work again. She wished she could give him a kiss. And some words of encouragement. But the helmet precluded the former, and she had no idea what would qualify as the latter.

  “You can do this,” she said softly, hoping that meant something to him.

  The door opened again, and she fired instantly.

  This time, her en-bolts bounced off someone’s chest piece, and the doors kept opening. Her heart almost stopped as she glimpsed numerous armored figures in the corridor behind him, with the crazy captain waving fists and railing from the corner.

  The lead man strode forward, clearly intending to risk damage to his suit in order to make it in. Mick ran at him, still firing, and then springing into the air. She twisted as she flew at him and launched a side kick.

  He whipped an arm up, managing a partial block, but she struck him with enough momentum and force that he reeled backward, knocking into the men behind him. As she landed, she lamented that they didn’t all topple like dominoes. At least he cleared the doorway, and the doors automatically slid shut again.

  She backed up, expecting them to peel open and for multiple men to surge through this time.

  The deck trembled beneath her feet. How fast was the ship falling? Being pulled deeper and deeper into the atmosphere by the planet’s gravity.

  “The ship’s orbit is decaying,” the computer announced again. “If the thrusters are not restarted in five minutes, the ship will experience severe damage as it enters the atmosphere.”

  “Got it,” Ariston said, stepping back and raising his hands, as if to show he’d finished before the timer went off. And he had.

  “Is there enough time for everything to get started up again?” Mick asked, thinking of the shuttle again, the shuttle with working shields that would protect them if they flew away in it.

  “Let’s hope so.” He ran to a control panel.

  The doors opened again, and Mick roared in frustration as she leaped forward, spraying fire into the men charging in. They accepted the en-bolts and reached her en masse. One almost knocked her weapon out of her hands. Again, she found herself resorting to kicks and punches. As ludicrous as it seemed, they were more effective against the armored men.

  Someone tried to get past her, to race toward Ariston. She sprang at the man, wrapping her arms and legs around his back. If she could have, she would have bitten him in the neck. Instead, she roared in his ear and pulled back with all her strength.

  The man pitched backward, and she rolled away just before he would have landed on her.

  As she leaped to her feet, an armored fist came out of nowhere, slamming into her faceplate. She staggered back, her head ringing, her vision blurring. Her helmet and neckpiece had insulated her somewhat, but not enough.

  She pretended to be more stunned than she was, stumbling, then bending low, as if she might fall over. Her attacker strode toward her. She ran at him and struck his torso shoulder-first, hitting him like a battering ram.

  He stumbled and fell backward.

  Mick shook her head, trying to coerce her vision into sharpening, and looked for Ariston. Was he still working? Had they gotten through to him?

  A man in gray armor flew through the air scant feet away from her. Ariston’s roar filled engineering, bouncing from the bulkheads. Fortunately, it sounded like a roar of triumph and defiance rather than one of pain. He’d been the one to throw the man.

  As Mick tu
rned a circle, looking for more threats, she realized all their foes were on the deck. Some groaned and clutched at injured areas. Others didn’t move at all.

  “Thanks,” Ariston said, meeting her gaze and lifting three fingers in a gesture she’d learned was an equivalent to a thumb’s up. “You were great.”

  “I wasn’t responsible for all this.” She gestured at the six—no, there was a seventh—fallen men.

  “You kept them off my back for long enough.” He pointed toward the ceiling. “Hopefully, we’re safe now.”

  It took Mick a moment to realize what he meant. The alarm had stopped wailing, and the lights no longer flashed.

  “But we should get to the bridge and make sure the helm isn’t pointing us into a volcano,” Ariston added. “We’ll round up the rest of the crew afterward. Plenty of room in the brig.”

  “Do we need to worry about the whackjob of a captain coming back in here to remove another part?”

  “You’re coming up with numerous terms to challenge my translation chip today.” Ariston peered into the corridor. “I don’t think Eryx will be a problem for a while.”

  Mick followed him through the exit. The captain lay on his back near a wall, looking like he’d been knocked into it headfirst. Again. Had she done that? She barely remembered. In the end, she’d just been digging in and trying her best not to let anyone get to Ariston.

  “You’re something of a wild woman when you’re outnumbered and facing impossible odds.” Ariston rested his arm around her shoulder and guided her out of engineering.

  “The animal kingdom teaches us that if you’re noisy enough and fierce enough, you can sometimes bluff the other guy into leaving you alone.”

  “You learned your bluffing skills from animals?”

  “The stray cats in the neighborhood where I grew up were tough.” She slipped her arm around his waist, wishing again that they weren’t in armor. Not only would a kiss have been nice, but she wished she could feel the warmth of his arm—and the rest of his body—against hers. “I’m a wild woman in other instances too.”

  “Oh?” He quirked his eyebrows behind his faceplate. “I might like to see that.”