Winged Hussars (The Revelations Cycle Book 3)

by Mark Wandrey

  “Zit,” T’jto spoke over the squadnet, “get the package in there ASAP.”

  “What the fuck do you think I’m doing?” the Goka asked.

  “If you don’t get your chitinous ass moving, the Zuul are going to blow the reactor, and the whole ship with it.”

  “And that’s my problem, why?”

  “You’re on this ship, too,” Johannsson barked, “you fucking psychotic cockroach.”

  “Mammals are always so worried about dying,” Zit said. They saw it start moving again. “Death takes us all, you know. Now, later, why worry about it so much?” Zit reached the edge of the machine where the Zuul were laboring. Using one of his manipulative limbs, he removed a belt with a dozen flash-bang grenades and manipulated their controls.

  “Because we don’t breed as prolifically as you do,” T’jto said over the squadnet, “and we’d rather not die today,” she added for those nearby.

  “And we haven’t been paid yet,” Johansson added. Everyone, even the Goka chuckled. Merc humor—dark as space and just as cold.

  “Ready,” Zit announced. Rick, Johansson, and Lynn prepared themselves, while T’jto moved a bit to the side and secured herself with her three good legs. Long and his assistants took cover behind a power distribution panel.

  “Go,” T’jto said once she verified all was in readiness. Zit grabbed a wire and yanked, pulling the pins on six of the flashbangs in quick order. Holding onto the machine with his versatile grasping feet, he swung the string of grenades overhead like a pendulum, flinging the bunch out on a short rope around the corner of the machine. When they were perpendicular, he let go, and the string of grenades flew into the space between the two machines where the Zuul were working. Zit flattened himself against the machine and all his legs and head completely disappeared. The instant Zit released the string of grenades, the three Humans launched themselves across the engineering space.

  The grenades went off in rapid staccato order as the three Human marines crossed the open space. They flipped over as one and activated the grapples on their boots as they impacted the machinery above the Zuul.

  The flash-bangs were designed for use on ships, and were all light and concussion, with no smoke or debris. As the three landed, they found two confused Zuul, their helmets up, with electronic gear floating around a control panel they’d taken apart. Lynn and Rick each aimed at one of the Zuul, and fired three times through the alien’s heads, with Johansson on overwatch.

  Rick was listening to the sergeant report when he saw Lynn get hit. A laser beam scored off her helmet, flashing the ablative covering and making her jerk to the side in surprise. She gave a strangled scream, and her rifle flew from her hands. Johansson and Rick both pivoted to see a single Zuul soaring toward them, a laser pistol in each hand, flashing death in their direction.

  Johansson crouched down in the concealment which had protected the two Zuul they’d killed only moments ago, but Rick recognized the threat and felt no fear. Using the laser carbine’s built-in targeting linked with his pinplants, he brought the weapon around and got a better view of the Zuul. Its combat helmet was closed, the armor was scored in several places from weapons fire, and dried blood was caked on both. It was a suicide charge. He knew he couldn’t take it down with the few shots he’d get before the alien reached him, where the pistols would hold the advantage over the bulkier rifle, so he went for the harder target.

  Mickey Finn had stressed the basics in their cadre program, and that started with marksmanship. Very few of their troopers had pinplants; the older owners of the company hadn’t trusted ‘that alien brain crap.’ Thus, troopers spent many hours at the range. Rick took basic marksmanship training, then spent extra hours of personal time learning every weapon the merc company had, including most of the lasers. His instructors said he was a naturally-talented shot, and his new pinplants augmented that talent.

  Rick let the pinplants guide him. It took a fraction of a second to get the shot he wanted, and he took it. There was a sputtering discharge from one of the Zuul’s pistols as Rick’s beam cut the gun in half. It didn’t do the Zuul’s hand any good either. A beam flashed by the Zuul’s head, coming from where Sergeant T’jto was perched. She didn’t have a very good angle, though, and the shot missed.

  Instantly, Rick shifted to the other hand. The Zuul had begun to spin, letting the ruined weapon fly away, sputtering and sparking, and it aimed for Rick. The movement brought the enemy’s canine-like face into view, and Rick smiled; its face shield was up.

  “Bad move,” Rick whispered, and shot the snarling Zuul through the nose. The beam carved through the enemy’s face, lower jaw, and into his neck. The alien jerked from the trauma and crashed against the bulkhead next to Rick.

  Rick grabbed the enemy to keep him from rebounding away, shoved his carbine into the helmet, and fired twice more. The body convulsed and went still. Blood began to float out of the helmet in spinning, crimson globs.

  Rick turned to Lynn. “Are you okay?” he asked, bending over her. She was still hooked to the machine by her boots, but curled up in a fetal position. Some blood had pooled on her helmet, but not much.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she cursed repeatedly.

  “Let me check,” he said, using his helmet’s light to examine the laser wound. It had grazed the helmet and had taken a quarter-inch chunk from her scalp, two inches above her left ear. She’d been extraordinarily lucky. “It’s not bad,” he said and took out a sterile dressing from his medkit. “Patching you up is becoming a hobby.” She laughed a little, confirming his impression the wound was superficial.

  “Oort, Jeejee,” Sergeant T’jto called out. “Report.”

  “There were three back here,” Jeejee reported. “We used your trick with the grenades and flushed them. Oort and I got two of them. The last one rushed by.”

  “Private Culper got the last one,” the sergeant said. “Return and regroup. CIC, Dragon Squad, we’re going to do a sweep, but I’m reasonably certain we got them all!”

  * * *

  Deck 14 held the ship’s primary life support equipment and its modest medical facilities. Lynn sat on one of the couches in the ship’s one-sixth of a gravity, while Sergeant T’jto clung to another. Doctor Ramirez had been forced to cut Lynn’s helmet off as some of the metal had melted into her hair and scalp. Rick hadn’t watched as the helmet was split and peeled away, her hair and skin tearing with it. It was a cringe-worthy moment.

  At the same time, the Wrogul medic Nemo was working on Sergeant T’jto’s leg. That was a much more complicated procedure, because of the MinSha’s open circulatory system. Nemo used his special ability to slip his tentacles through the concrete leg bandage and treat the wound underneath.

  “What was that all about?” Sergeant T’jto asked Rick as the Wrogul medic slid several tentacles in and out of the bandage.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Rick replied.

  “In engineering, when the last Zuul rushed us.” Rick looked at her, waiting. The MinSha cocked her head and regarded him, her antennae waving back and forth as if they were trying to sense his mood. “It went straight for you, and you didn’t move an inch.”

  “Seemed the thing to do,” he said coolly. Johansson was watching from nearby where she was holding Lynn’s hand as Ramirez cleaned her head wound.

  “That raider had you dead-to-rights,” T’jto said, “and cover was just a few feet away. Instead, you stood there and calmly shot one of his pistols, then put another shot right into his face.” Rick shrugged. “You weren’t frightened?”

  “No.”

  “That doesn’t seem possible,” Johansson chimed in. “Sure, you’ve been in a fight before, but not like this. Shit, kid, I’ve been shot at more times than I can count, and I dove clear.”

  “He’s incapable of fear,” Nemo said, and everyone turned to look at the octopus-like alien. He was removing T’jto’s temporary cast to reveal a more permanent bandage.

  “What do you mean?” Ramirez as
ked, spraying some nanites on Lynn’s wound. She’d already had an analgesic applied; she only cringed and jerked slightly as the tiny robots went to work.

  “The amygdala of his brain suffered damage because of the laser wound.”

  Dr. Ramirez shook his head slightly and looked hard at his assistant. “What? When did you find that out?”

  “Why, during his pinplant procedure, of course.”

  “Nemo,” Ramirez said with a sigh, “do you remember when I told you not to withhold information on a patient’s condition?”

  The Wrogul sat still for a moment before answering. “Was this one of those times?” The translator rendered his words so precisely, it was easy to forget you were talking to a squid.

  “Yes,” Ramirez said; “yes it was. How badly damaged is his amygdala?”

  “It’s the connections that are damaged,” Nemo explained, “the organ itself is intact. It appears that bone shards from the laser damage were scattered through his temporal lobe. The repairs appear to have been done by an autodoc?” The question was addressed to Rick.

  “Yes,” Rick agreed, “it’s all they had on Coronado. The medic was proficient, but he didn’t have much to work with.”

  “It was sufficient to avoid serious side effects, as you see,” Nemo agreed, “but also simply field expedient. Nanites are not particularly adept at fixing Human neurological damage.”

  “What other damage is there?” Ramirez asked. Since work on Lynn couldn’t continue until her nanotherapy was complete, he took a slate and accessed Rick’s file. Rick could see high resolution images of his brain through the back of the translucent computer. It looked like any of a dozen pictures of Human brains he’d seen before.

  “About seven cubic inches of the temporal lobe were obliterated by the laser path. Although the symmetrical nature of a Human’s brain provides a great deal of redundancy, the damage to his amygdala has caused an emotional disconnect, and he probably has some memory loss.”

  “Yes,” Rick admitted.

  “From certain time periods?”

  “Mostly,” Rick agreed.

  “The nanites reconstructed a lot of the lost brain tissue,” Ramirez said, examining zooms of Rick’s brain. “However, they can’t recreate the neurological connections. Like Nemo mentioned, our brains have a lot of redundancy, so there’s hope.”

  “What do you mean?” Rick asked. “My memories might come back?”

  Nemo pulsed and his tentacles waved.

  Ramirez nodded slightly, then shrugged. “It’s possible. I can’t say for sure.”

  “And my emotions?” The doctor sighed and shook his head.

  Rick knew he should feel something, but again, he was incapable. It was just how he was now. He only felt things in a hollow sort of way, almost like watching a movie through a fog.

  “I could try to fix it,” Nemo offered, obviously game to give it a go.

  “I believe that would be ill-advised,” Ramirez said.

  The PA came alive. “All senior staff report to the Captain’s wardroom,” Paka announced.

  “I think I’m going to be fine,” Lynn said, and glanced at Rick before looking away. She was keenly aware how much worse her head wound could have been.

  “Good.” Sergeant T’jto turned to Johansson and added, “Corporal, verify with Raptor and Zenith Squads that the sweep of the lower decks is complete and report directly to me.”

  “Yes, sir,” Johansson said.

  “I don’t want to take the chance we’ve missed any of the bastards.” She looked at the Wrogul and flexed her damaged limb. “Will this repair hold for now?”

  “It’s a polyacrylic/nanotube infill,” the alien said. “Until I have a chance to print a replacement piece of chiton, it will work perfectly in almost all situations.”

  “Very well,” she said and headed for the lift. “I’ll be with the captain.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 26

  Alexis sat in her chair and listened. In her hand was a computer chip provided by Hoot. The dispatch had arrived during the brief battle, and she’d called the meeting immediately after the last of the boarders were dispatched. As they accelerated away at a snail’s pace, she nervously rolled the chip between her fingers.

  Long reported from the engineering spaces and scrolled down a list much like his name. The battle in engineering only lasted a quarter of an hour, but the damage it caused was substantial. Nothing irreplaceable had been destroyed, but many subsystems, piping, electrical conduits, and control systems were damaged. A firefight in a starship’s engineering spaces played hell with its systems. There was a knock and Sergeant T’jto entered the wardroom. The captain nodded, and the marine commander walk/hopped over to a chair and perched her thorax on it. She was the last of the senior staff to arrive. Long finished his report.

  “Bottom line,” the captain asked, “how long for repairs?”

  “Complete repairs?” he asked. “At least 96 hours. Could be more. I have to tear down two of the main power relays from Reactor One.”

  “Just give me the fusion torch,” she said. This time there was a pause. Everyone could hear banging tools and the snaps and hisses of welders as the engineering crew worked.

  “Twelve hours,” he said finally, “but only one engine. Give me 16 hours, and I’m reasonably certain I can give you two.” Alexis narrowed her eyes.

  “” the voice said.

  “Twelve hours,” she said, and turned to her helmsman. “How does that put us for making transition?”

  “Close,” Chug responded. “The margin will be less than a half hour.”

  “Continue maximum thrust under ion drive,” she ordered.

  “We’re stressing the ion drive,” Long interjected. “It was never made for sustained full power thrust like this. It’s nothing more than a glorified maneuvering thruster, and it wasn’t even part of the ship’s original design.”

  “Monitor it, but maintain full power,” Alexis ordered; “we can’t afford to miss the transition window.” Long acknowledged her order. She looked at Guylan. “Give Long as many of your people as you can to expedite repairs.”

  “We still have a lot of damage to fix,” the little elSha said, gesturing helplessly. “We were going to work on that en route to Home. There are open power panels and access shafts on three decks.”

  “Can’t be helped,” Alexis said.

  He grumbled, but said he’d comply.

  “Sergeant,” Alexis said to the MinSha, “what’s your troopers’ status?”

  “We took two casualties,” T’jto replied. “Myself,” she said and held up the temporarily repaired leg, “and Private Jordan. I’m fine, and she will be after she’s healed. It was a superficial head wound. Luckily, you Humans have thick skulls.” The Humans in the room all chuckled, and the aliens nodded their heads, or whatever sufficed for their race. “We’re completing a thorough sweep of the lower decks, just to be sure we got them all.”

  “What were they?” the captain asked.

  “A squad of Zuul mercs,” she said. “Boarding specialists. But they bore no insignia, and the gear was all brand new, right out of the box.”

  “Sounds like a takeover team,” Edwards said. He was rubbing his stubbled chin as he thought. “But you usually don’t see Zuul doing that.”

  “They weren’t here to kill us,” Alexis said, “though they sure made it look like it.”

  “And nearly succeeded,” Long agreed.

  “You think they were trying to slow us down?” Paka asked. “You know something, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “I haven’t wanted to talk about it yet, because I’m still not sure. I figured this close to Home, I could put it off until we were safe. Apparently, we’re not going to get that chance.” They all looked at her expectantly. “To put it bluntly, I think that someone, or several someones, want us dead.” No one looked surprised.

  She took a moment to gather her thoughts the
n said, “This may be a move against the Four Horsemen in general, and we’re just part of it. Several months ago, you probably heard Cartwright’s Cavaliers went bankrupt. That, in and of itself, isn’t anything spectacular. Thaddeus Cartwright, their previous commander, was killed on a mission four years ago, and control reverted to his wife because his son was too young. I believe this may have provided the window of opportunity which set the current chain of events in motion.

  “Thaddeus’ wife was either coerced or simply duped into making a series of highly risky, and ultimately disastrous, business decisions. The company became insolvent, and most of the assets were sold. However, we Horsemen have taken measures to make it hard for any of our companies to outright die, short of being destroyed in battle, of course.” She chuckled. “Even that might not suffice.

  “Anyway, Thaddeus’ son is now in charge and has begun rebuilding using gear and funds his father hid from the lawyers. Cartwright’s is recovering, though it is only a shadow of its former self. The next target was Asbaran Solutions. This plot was considerably more successful, and it succeeded in all but decimating their leadership and gutting their fighting force. Like Cartwright’s, I understand an heir is now in charge. However, unlike Cartwright’s, this heir appears to be storming around the galaxy on a personal vendetta. The jury is out on how that will end. And that’s where we come in.”

  Alexis took a drink of water from a bottle on her desk and used the opportunity to look over her command staff. They were all paying close attention to her, a mixture of concern and fear evident on their faces. After a lifetime of dealing with all the species present, she was pretty good at reading their body languages. Even the mollusk-like Bakulu gave you clues, if you cared to look for them. It was no surprise the non-merc races on her command staff were the ones showing the most concern. She continued.