The Last Marine

by JE Gurley

  She almost expected to hear, “Thank you for travelling Captain Dax Airlines,” over the intercom. Instead, she heard a glaring silence. Slowly, as they overcame their fear of movement, people began stirring. Romeo came in and saw the dented steel pot on the floor. He grinned.

  “Sorry. The cabinet door doesn’t shut properly. Are you all right?”

  She loosened her harness and stood, shakily at first, but after a few steps, her balance returned. “Yes, I’m fine.” She went to Rathiri and helped him up. He was shaky but unharmed.

  Romeo walked up to the director and stared into his visor. “You okay in there?” Rathiri nodded. Romeo disappeared into the galley. “I’ll start some coffee brewing,” he announced through the open door. “The captain needs his coffee.”

  “How did the ship weather the landing? Is weather the right word?”

  “Yes, it is. The Luck is in more or less in one piece. The captain decided not to lower the landing skids. If he had, we would probably be upside down. The captain, Plia, and Tish are checking the damaged thruster right now.”

  “You’re the only one who doesn’t call him by his first name,” she observed.

  “He’s the captain. He’s earned the title, so I use it. You see, it’s the little things that mean anything. The others call him ‘Captain’ in port out of respect. I choose to use his rank at all times. He says he doesn’t mind, but I can see his back straighten slightly when anyone calls him captain.”

  She nodded. It seemed Captain Dax Wyldd was more complex man than she thought, and he had earned the respect of his crew.

  * * * *

  “I’ve seen worse,” Plia said.

  Looking at the mangled thruster housing, Dax doubted it. A piece of the antennae mast protruded from the hull beside the thruster. It hadn’t penetrated the inner bulkhead, but it had severed power couplings, fuel lines, and attitude controls to the thruster.

  “How long?” he rasped. His throat burned with every word.

  “In this?” She waved her hand at the dust swirling around them. “We’ll have to yank out the antennae splinter without doing even more damage and erect a tent around the thruster. Otherwise, the dust will infiltrate everything and contaminate fluids and bearings. I’ll have to mill a new gimbal. I’d say eight hours.”

  He didn’t want to hear that dire news. He winced at the mention of milling a new part. That had been Nate’s job. Many things would have to change until he could find a new engineer. “That’s too long.”

  “Even if everyone pitches in on the removal and installation, it will still take two or three hours to mill a new gimbal. It’s a precision part, and we don’t carry a spare. It would be impossible shave off more than half an hour, and I doubt that that much. We either work in our suits, which are cumbersome, or wear respirators. We can’t breathe in this dust.”

  Dax sighed. In a couple of hours, the storm would be fully upon them. Working in those conditions would be nearly impossible, even wearing a suit. A tent could never remain intact in such conditions. Ivers had crippled his already damaged ship, although given the circumstances, he didn’t know if he could have fared any better than the Marine sergeant had. Not that he would ever admit that to Ivers. He would let him stew in his guilt for a while. Dax suspected his own rough landing had not helped matters. He hoped he hadn’t ruptured the Luck’s belly by not using the skids. He had probably driven the antennae deeper into the ship’s wound.

  He worried about Ravers. Rathiri had said a group had left K124 for the remote station almost three days earlier. He didn’t even want to try to guess how they knew humans were at the remote station. It seemed impossible, but they had surprised him before. He didn’t know how fast they could move, but he suspected it was damn fast. They had managed to keep up with the ATVs. Their creators had engineered them to be perfect weapons, like shock troops.

  Dax had tried to land the ship south of the estimated path of the Ravers. However, because of the broken ground and the canyons they would have to negotiate, it was only a guess. If they could detect humans from 2,000 kilometers away, they could find the Luck. He had seen how quickly they moved in short bursts, but he suspected they had endurance as well. Those backward-jointed legs looked efficient. He wouldn’t put 60 kph past their ability. That placed them near the ship long before they could complete the repairs. He hoped the dust storm slowed them.

  They could abandon the ship and hike to the station, but they would be no better off once they got there. The small station was less secure than the main base. Their only hope lay in getting Fortune’s Luck back in the air as quickly as possible.

  “Let’s get started. I’ll work on sealing the hull breach in the engine room so we can reach orbit.”

  He didn’t mention that without a working Skip engine, they were not going home. As a civilian cargo vessel, it could be months before anyone came looking for them. Even when the Navy received their message, it would take its sweet time. They would do a thorough search for the Abraxas at her last reported position before venturing to Loki. The idea of planet hopping to stay ahead of the Ravers did not appeal to him. He wasn’t sure the ship could take it. They had to reach orbit.

  “I miss Nate. He was better at this than I am.”

  Plia’s statement felt like a jab in the heart with a knife. A sudden image of Nate flying across the cargo bay of the Abraxas popped into his mind. “I miss him too, and Andy. I killed both of them.”

  “It’s not your fault, Dax. It just happened.”

  “They followed me to places I shouldn’t have led them because I was their captain. Now they’re dead.” He patted the hull and swore he could feel his ship’s pain. “I can’t even keep my ship safe.”

  He knew he was being overly morose, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that his world was collapsing around him. He was no longer in control. He had pissed off some god of the void, and payback was a motherfucker. He left Plia to go pull the welder out of the tool locker. She could organize whoever she needed to replace the damaged thruster. Romeo met him in the cargo bay with a cup of coffee as soon as he cycled through the airlock.

  “Here, Captain. Just like you like it.”

  Dax opened his faceplate and took a sip. The coffee was hot and sent his scalded throat into spasms going down, but he needed the caffeine. Something about coffee transcended its use as a simple beverage. It had psychological healing properties. It was a mood enhancer. It could perk a person up, keep them awake and alert, or relax them. He had never smoked tobacco, but he imagined that was how tobacco made users feel.

  “Ah, the beverage of the gods,” he whispered.

  Romeo handed Dax a suit ration tube. “I filled this for you. You might need it while you’re working outside.”

  Dax nodded, touched by the cook’s foresight and concern.

  “Do you need me to suit up?” he asked.

  He considered it, but didn’t like the idea of leaving strangers alone on his ship. “No, Tish, Plia, and Ivers should be enough.” He held out the empty cup. “You work your magic and keep the coffee coming. Make some sandwiches while you’re at it. We’ll eat before we start.”

  Romeo grinned. “Will do.”

  “How is Dr. Adar?” he asked.

  His quick grin almost made Dax chuckle. “She’s a trooper. I’ll see if she wants to help me. She needs to keep busy. You know, with her friend Dr. Benson dying and all.”

  And almost everyone she had known and worked with for a year, he thought bitterly. “Yeah, we all do. How is the director?”

  Romeo grimaced, held his hand out horizontally, and wiggled it. “So-so. I told him to take a shower, and I would feed him. He needs a few good meals, lots of fluids, and a day or two of sleep, but I think he’ll recover. It probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to sedate him and start a glucose IV.”

  “Go ahead. Have Tish do it. She’s good at it. Keep an eye on them both.”

  Romeo grinned. “You betcha.” He eyed Dax. “You could use some medical attenti
on, Captain. You look like shit. I’ve overcooked roasts that have less crispy skin.”

  Dax doubted Romeo had ever overcooked anything in his life. “Later.”

  Each lungful of air burned. He had increased the O2 in his suit mixture to compensate for his poor breathing, but the burn ointment from the first aid kit could only do so much to alleviate the pain in his hands, neck, and head. The suit gloves were rubbing his blistered and swollen hands raw, and his undersuit was sticking to his body, but he had no choice but to shrug off the pain and keep working. He had no time to rest and no time to feel sorry for himself.

  By the time he began welding the gash in the hull, visibility had dropped to near zero. Welding steel plates over the rent would solve the air leak problem, but the dust that had blown into the space between the inner and outer hull would plague the ship for years, working its way into the ship’s air ducts, corroding wiring, and holding moisture for mold to grow in. He vacuumed out what he could get to, but had to leave the rest.

  Luckily, he didn’t need to see what he was doing to weld. He could feel the edge of the metal plate he had tacked onto the hull. It was a simple matter of running a strong bead where the two met with the TIG welder. The blowing sand caught in the welding bead would weaken the weld, but it was not a structural piece. He just needed it not to fall off before they reached orbit. He could do a better job later when ship and crew were safe.

  He lost himself in the simplicity of the job, mesmerized by the bright actinic light hot enough to melt and fuse metal. When his right hand cramped from grasping the welder, he switched hands. After a while, he developed a rhythm and made good progress. He reached a Zen state of consciousness, knowing exactly when enough metal had melted to provide a strong weld and to move the bead forward.

  It wasn’t a pretty job, but it was fast. He pushed his OCD to the back of his mind. If he took the time to even out every weld to satisfy his obsession, he would be there all day. He was running his last bead before he remembered the coffee tube. He sipped it through the suit straw and felt the hot caffeine reawaken his dulled senses. Welding had taken a lot out of him.

  Ivers’ hand on his shoulder caught him by surprise. “We’re going inside. Plia is already milling the new parts. We placed a temporary patch over the hole to keep out the dust. The tent blew away.”

  Dax touched the welding rod to the hull in a couple of spots. “Yeah, I’m finished here too.” He stood and almost fell over, his aching muscles rebelling about crouching for so long. Ivers steadied him. “Whoa, I’m getting ground-pounder legs.”

  “Sorry I holed your ship. I guess I’m a little rusty.”

  “It was a fast lift off in a tight spot. We lived.” Seeing he was becoming too maudlin, he added, “It wasn’t bad lift off for a Marine, especially with the entire surface collapsing beneath us.”

  In the airlock, he hit the decontamination button for a jet of mist to wash away the dust from his suit. He peeled off his suit gingerly, but large patches of blistered skin came with it, sending his nerve ending into a frenzied rampage. In spite of the agony, it felt good to shed the confining suit. He took a deep whiff and finally decided the odor he smelled came from him rather than something Romeo was cooking in the galley. A quick shower was in order.

  On his way to the communal bath, he passed the machine shop. He heard the lathe running as Plia milled the parts for the new gimbal that allowed the thruster to pivot. He felt sorry for her. She had to be exhausted, yet she still faced hours of continuously monitoring the lathe as it slowly shaped the metal millimeter by millimeter to exact specifications. If it had been almost any other part, they could have manufactured one with the 3-D printer, but the thruster became too hot for anything but a high-density steel alloy.

  He checked his chronometer and saw that he had been outside welding for nearly three hours. It was no wonder his muscles ached. As he entered the bath, Cici stepped out of the shower. Her wet, long brown hair hung down, not quite covering her breasts. His view of them was much better than while waiting in the cul-de-sac. They were more magnificent than he had imagined, firmer and more conical than pendulous. Her supple legs met at the smooth curvature of her hips. He had just a moment to admire her luscious body before she noticed him, grabbed a towel from a bench, and wrapped it around her body.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I came in to clean up. I should have knocked.”

  “It’s your ship.”

  He noticed she did not flinch in embarrassment or try to hide from his gaze. She did not seem as angry with him as she had been. He wasn’t sure how he felt about her. She was intelligent, a knockout in the looks department, and didn’t scare easily, but they seemed to rub each other the wrong way. They had spent most of the time since they met arguing. He grinned, realizing he was describing his and Tish’s tumultuous affair.

  “True, but we have guests.”

  “I hope I didn’t use too much water. Showers were restricted at the remote station; transporting water cost fuel. This was a luxury.”

  “Good coffee and hot showers are all the old girl has to offer, but we have plenty of both. Uh, are you okay?” He grimaced at his hesitation. He wasn’t sure what to say to her if they weren’t arguing.

  Her shoulders sagged. Dax thought she would drop the towel. “I still can’t believe it’s real. All my friends.”

  “It’s real enough, and it’s not over yet.”

  She cocked her head to one side and stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Your boss said half a dozen Ravers had headed toward the remote station.”

  Her jaw slackened as realization hit her. “They would have come for us.” She considered the implications for a moment, and then asked, “Where are they now?”

  “They’ll be knocking on the door soon.”

  She paled, but said nothing. They stood staring at each other for an uncomfortably long time. Finally, she said. “You came in to take a shower.”

  His face reddened, though it was probably not visible on his blistered face. “Uh, yeah. Uh, I want to apologize.”

  “For seeing me naked?”

  He grinned. “No, that was a bonus. I want to apologize for being so hard on you. I didn’t think we would find anyone alive in the tunnels. I thought it was a foolish risk. I was wrong.”

  “We were both wrong. I got your crewman and Myles killed in the process.”

  She was feeling the same guilt he felt over Nate. There was no reason for two people to feel guilty. “No, it all falls into my lap. I got all gung ho and wanted to kill those things. If I had insisted we make a run for it, take our chances, we might have all made it out alive.”

  “That was Sergeant Ivers’ decision, not yours.”

  “My decision to investigate the Abraxas resulted in my engineer’s death. I abdicated my responsibility to Ivers because I didn’t want to make any more bad decisions. Even that decision was wrong.”

  After another awkward pause, she said, “I had better dress. Tish might walk in on us. I wouldn’t want her to think …”

  “No, God forbid I make her angrier than she already is.”

  She picked up one of Andy’s spare jumpsuits and left. He peeled off the sweaty bodysuit he wore under his excursion suit and stepped into the shower. The misters soaked his body with jets of steam. The hot water exacerbated the burns on his neck, head, back, and shoulders. His hands felt as though he was holding them in boiling water. He ignored the pain and leaned into the jets to let them massage his aching shoulders. Fortune’s Luck had a first-class recycler, so he did not rue the loss of water. He stayed much longer than his normal shower time. Finally, satisfied he was clean if not completely refreshed, he dried himself gingerly and sprayed a liberal amount of skin growth promoter on his hands and upper body. The enzyme mixture contained a local anesthetic to numb the skin. He touched a particularly bad burn spot and felt only a little pain.

  He donned a clean ship’s jumper from his locker. He glanced in the mirror at his blistered face
and badly singed hair. He couldn’t do much about his hair without shaving his head, and that would have hurt too much at the present time. He covered it with a clean cap, biting his lip to keep from yelling when he pulled the cap down on his head.

  “Just a little tanned, that’s all,” he muttered. “Like falling asleep at the beach.”

  Ivers waited for him on the bridge. The video scanners were operating, but they revealed nothing but strong winds and blinding dust. The dour expression on his burned face was ominous. Dax braced himself for more bad news.

  “I linked to the satellite, but the image isn’t much better. However, I did pick up this.” He touched the screen to back up the image; then, stopped. He pointed to the screen. “I’ll run it in slow motion.”

  The image advanced, but Dax saw nothing but the dust storm as seen from a bird’s-eye view. Fortune’s Luck sat somewhere along the storm’s southeastern edge being sandblasted. Then, in a brief moment during a thinning of the dust swirls, he saw what Ivers had seen – six or seven objects moving rapidly in their direction. The clarity was poor, but he didn’t need a long look to know what they were – Ravers.

  “I guess Rathiri was right. How far away are they?”

  “Forty clicks.”

  “Less than an hour. We’re not leaving before they get here.”

  “Can we get the ship in the air long enough to move far enough to give us a breather?”

  “Not a chance in hell. If I managed to her get off the ground without killing us, the next landing would probably crack her up.”