Shalia's Diary Omnibus

by Tracy St. John

  I had no space to consider it though. I jumped up on the counter that Amot would have normally been standing behind, checking weapons in and out as needed. He wasn’t lying dead behind it. He wasn’t in the back area either, where rows upon rows of weapons and ammo were stored.

  Amot being missing gave me some hope for escape. He was too large to have gone in the direction I’d come from. No way he’d have evacuated through those heaps of debris where I’d almost been too big to fit through. He must have found some avenue to reach Medical. Had that been early on, after the initial attack? Or later, after the second or third? I had to pray it had been later, that the means by which he’d escaped was not blocked.

  I considered snagging a percussion blaster and thought better of it. Medical was classified a must-guard area. With invaders on board, there would be a bunch of warriors protecting it. If I burst into the section, they might see the blaster first and fire before noting who held it. I actually have more faith in my friendly neighborhood Nobeks than that, but why take chances? They were on high alert, and stupid shit happens when bad stuff is going down.

  I was heading to where I would be among friends. I jumped over the counter again and returned to the corridor, without any weapons.

  August 28

  In the corridor again, I headed for the twisted remains of walls and ceilings. I stepped into the physical rehab area.

  It’s divided into two parts: on my left were the doors that led to the therapists’ shared office, a power routing station, and half a dozen small, private rehab suites where most patients begin their recoveries. On the right was a monstrous chamber filled with exercise machines, monitors, and diagnostic devices.

  As soon as I reached that section, I saw that the corridor was impassable. It looked as if there had been a massive cave-in between me and the main Medical section. The pieces of ceiling making up the blockage were huge.

  I refused to lose hope immediately. The central rehab center had an exit that opened on the far end of the corridor, steps from Medical. I couldn’t find it down the hall because the collapse had happened about midway.

  Heart hammering, I ran into the large room. It had suffered a fair amount of damage. Okay, a lot of damage. It was still better off than the training section, and I hurried to the closed door at the other end of the space chanting, “It will open, it will open, it will open.”

  It did not open. The automatic mechanism failed to engage with its recognizable hiss.

  My spirits already flagging, I commanded, “Door open.” Nothing. I pushed the manual button. Nothing. I punched the manual button, knowing I would receive absolutely nothing for my efforts.

  I hammered at it. Around the corner, mere yards away, was the Medical department. I could hear the alarms wailing their piercing warning on the other side of the door. I yelled, knowing damned well no one would hear me over the claxons.

  I was so damned close to help. It was enough to make me cry in frustration.

  I didn’t cry. Resan had no time for that. The man had saved my life, and it was my turn to save his if I could. I had to get through.

  I ran out to the corridor, hoping against hope that what had appeared to be an impenetrable barrier would have some little place a Shalia could fit through. I was steps from it when I saw there was no chance of that. It was a wall of ceiling, ductwork, and the ever-sharp daggers of busted lighting panels.

  “Fuck!” I screamed in impotent rage at the pile. “Fuck!”

  I retraced my steps to physical rehab. I needed something to break through with. Something big. Something heavy.

  I was looking at the carnage, trying to discover what would serve as a battering ram. Then I heard a new sound, a familiar noise on Earth.

  The government facilities I’d been employed at were forever either building new structures or upgrading those they had. The sounds of construction were as recognizable to me as the vid-recorders I’d handled at work. Government loves to spend money on anything it can, and site improvements were a major chunk of the budget.

  I recognized the sound of a laser torch slicing through metal. I turned to look at the unresponsive door, thinking Oses or some of his men were arriving to fetch me and Resan.

  No. The sound was coming from the opposite wall, which had no door ... because on the other side of that wall was the exterior of the ship and the vast emptiness of space.

  As a red glowing spot appeared, I approached the wall. In a low voice I said, “Exterior vid on.”

  The sole thing I’d enjoyed about rehab was the hull vids that showed the space we traveled through, in all its magnificence. It was a nice distraction to have when my body was begging me to stop exercising or Resan sneered at my weakness. Whether I was able to look at a planet, a blanket of stars, or our destroyer escorts, I appreciated the grandeur of the universe that I was a very small part of.

  I saw nothing of space. Instead, the vid filled with a vessel that looked like some cobbled together child’s version of a shuttle. A wide umbilical tunnel extended from that monstrosity. It had attached to our hull. And Tragooms. Tragooms stood within the tunnel passage less than a couple of feet from me. The lead tusked horror worked a laser cutter, tearing into the transport.

  I stood for what felt like an hour, my brain slamming to a stop as I stared at what was coming for me. With that laser, the Tragooms wouldn’t be stuck like I was. They could break through to Medical where no doubt the injured and dying were piling up. Or they could perhaps find a route to training, where Resan lay dying.

  Fuck. I could hide and maybe stay safe, but the shit was about to hit the fan one way or the other.

  Fear gave over to anger. I stared at the Tragooms on the other side of the hull, which was steadily being cut through. Within the umbilical passage were three of the massive ugly pig-faced monstrosities. Their shuttle stretched beyond the reaches of the vid screen. There might be a few dozen of them breaking through.

  My mind had shrieked to a halt when I’d first spotted the enemy. Now it rushed at light speed, running through options, playing out scenarios, tallying up the risks of any action I could take. No matter how I looked at it, every alternative carried a high level of suckage.

  I chose the option that would make the Tragooms as miserable as possible.

  They were halfway through cutting a hole in the wall when I headed to the armory. I locked myself in the back room.

  I forced myself to use care in choosing the best weapons for me. I was trained with a percussion blaster, so I went for that, making sure it was fully charged and ready to fire. I also found a holster to attach to my belt, so I grabbed another blaster. One for the hand, a second for in case I needed it. I set them both for rapid fire, maximum spray. I wasn’t playing target practice with my foes.

  I had my knife. If I had to go up against more than two Tragooms at once, it wouldn’t do me much good. I was glad to have it nonetheless. It comforted me.

  There was a crash. I figured it was the Tragooms busting through the hole they’d cut in physical rehab. I was nearly out of time.

  Some months ago, we Earthers had been trained to use blasters. We’d also been allowed to learn about other weapons, like laser rifles. Those are precision instruments, more for sniper attacks than all-out battles.

  Instead of a laser rifle, I snagged what we Earthers referred to as an ‘egg shooter’. It looked similar to our guns on the home world that fired grenades at enemies. Kalquorian grenades were much smaller, more the size of robins’ eggs. They exploded mightily, however, a deadly bit of business if they went off within a couple of feet of the enemy. Tragooms’ hides were thick, capable of withstanding a lot of damage, but a blast from an egg shooter would knock them down, all right. I loaded up mine with a full magazine and slung it by the strap over my shoulder.

  The booming sound of heavy feet running nearby made my heart skip a beat. The Tragooms were definitely in, and they were hunting. I prayed that if they were heading in Resan’s direction, they would decide i
t was too devastated to bother with. If they found him, he didn’t have a chance in hell.

  Fortunately for him and much less fortunate for me, booms shivered the door to the store room. Knock, knock, little Shalia, the piggy faces want to come in. I was betting they knew a bunch of weapons were in here.

  I hunkered down behind a rack of laser rifles as heavy hoof-like fists continued to beat on the door. I stayed close to my only exit. It would be an easy run if they got far enough in to give me the chance of escape. If I were lucky, they wouldn’t scent my exact location immediately. Tragooms have awful eyesight but an insanely good sense of smell.

  The banging stopped, replaced by snorting and chuffing. I wasn’t aware if the Tragooms talked to each other or simply enjoyed producing noise. It didn’t matter. The door abruptly opened and the stench of rotting sewage preceded their entrance.

  I held my breath and crouched as small as possible. The first stomped past, its heavy tree-trunk arms cradling the biggest damned blaster I’d ever seen. The Tragoom strode straight to the middle of the room, its snouted nostrils flaring and pointed ears swiveling on top of its head.

  Another followed it in, coming a few steps within, putting its back to me. It raised its nose toward the ceiling, snuffling hard. No way it wouldn’t pinpoint my scent.

  There wasn’t room for me to sneak out before it snagged me. I was about to be a snack.

  I spared myself not a second to think. I rose up, simultaneously pulling my knife from my belt with my non-dominant hand. Larten had warned me to train with both hands, and Idow had drummed the lessons into me until I was almost equally good fighting with both. It was a blessing they’d insisted. If I could take at least one of these bastards out without alerting the rest of the boarding party, I stood a better chance of living for a few more minutes.

  None of that was on my mind as I launched myself at the Tragoom now turning in my direction with a snort. If he’d been wearing protective chest armor, I’d have been well and truly dead.

  Once in a great while I’m lucky. This was such a time.

  I never paused, trusting the Tragoom to complete its turn as I reached it. My blade slid into the vulnerable soft part of flesh under its sternum. I drove it up into the creature’s heart.

  It uttered a soft grunting noise as it slid to the floor. I darted toward the other Tragoom and fired my blaster a mere foot from its skull. The distinctive shoo-wup sound of the blaster echoed, making my ears ring and shattering the Tragoom’s face.

  I had no opportunity to hang about and think. I’d fired, alerting the others that someone hostile to their invasion attempt was in the area. I ran out of the armory’s storage room, rolled over the countertop in the front room, and raced out. A quick look at the corridor showed me where the pair of scouts had cleared a path to the rehab area, and I could hear a lot of squalling in that direction, along with the thud of approaching Tragooms.

  I turned and vaulted over a heap of wreckage. I hid behind it, not wanting to go too far for fear of leading the Tragooms to Resan. I snuck a look through the debris to find out how many were after me.

  Four Tragooms hove into view, shoving through the enlarged hole in the pile of debris between the training and rehab sections. I noted how the lighting panel shards didn’t cut their rock-hard hides. I was so jealous of those bastards.

  Then I thought of how I’d stabbed their cohort. I’d been face to face with it, vulnerable as hell. Then I blasted another into the hereafter. Shit, I’d killed two Tragooms all by myself. Me, Shalia Monroe.

  Unfortunately, I had no opportunity to feel triumph. Enemies were en route, the odds four-to-one. Can you say screwed? I knew you could.

  They stalked toward me, their noses sniffing the air. They paused in front of the armory and softly grunted at each other. One in particular made a bunch of noise. I don’t know Tragoom, so whatever words he slobbered between those curved yellowed tusks growing from his lower gums was unintelligible to me. I watched and waited to discover what they would do.

  After a moment, the speaker and another Tragoom went into the armory to investigate. The others continued in my direction.

  Okay, so the odds had gotten a little better. It would have been nice to blow the pair to pieces while they were at a distance, but I wanted to give those in the armory a chance to move past the counter. The longer it took for them to come running, the better my chances of picking them off and staying alive.

  A smidge of a plan to do that had formed in my mind. Not a great plan by any means, but the only plan I had. A girl takes what she can.

  I waited as long as possible, letting the Tragooms close in barely a yard from the pile of wreckage I hid behind. They stomped slower and slower, no doubt discerning my scent was strong. They had to know I was nearby. Their heads strained forward on their almost non-existent necks as they peered uncertainly at heaps of debris.

  I gave myself no time to think. I lunged and opened fire, the wide blast range and their close proximity my best chance. I moved fast.

  They moved faster. Had it not been for the suddenness of my attack, the fact I’d stayed low to the ground, and that most of me remained behind cover, they would have been quick enough to kill me. As it was, their percussion blast shots took my cover and grazed my shoulder. Shrapnel from the blasted wall of rubble peppered the exposed parts of my skin.

  It didn’t matter. They fell dead an instant later. I did not. Now I had to get the fuck out of there before the others came after me.

  I ran deeper into the training section. The air shivered about me and more wreckage went flying as the other two Tragooms fired, thundering after me.

  I had not a moment to glance at how close they were. I sprinted all out, weaving among the piles of trashed corridor, expecting to be hit at any moment. I ran faster than I’d ever run before. I had the crazed idea that Resan’s esteemed grandmother, may she live forever, would have been proud.

  Then a wall of debris I’d barely been able to tunnel through before was in my path. I didn’t pause for an instant. I dove into the small channel through broken bits of ceiling and wall and crawled as quickly as I could go.

  When I arrived at the other side, when I pulled myself clear and rolled from the small opening, I couldn’t believe it. I was alive. By the prophets, I hadn’t been killed! It was a miracle, which I couldn’t spare an instant to be properly grateful for.

  I peeked through my just-big-enough-for-Shalia passageway. No sign of the Tragooms yet from my vantage point, but I could hear them coming. I grinned and pointed my blaster. I was about to add to my kill count.

  The first rounded the last pile. I opened fire. My aim wasn’t very good since there wasn’t much range due to the gap I shot through. I hit the Tragoom, knocking it into its companion which had followed it. I failed to kill it though. My victim squalled, hitting the floor and jerking all over the place, squealing in pain. I shot it again. A mistake.

  Instead of firing at the healthy one still on its feet, I killed the Tragoom I’d already injured. Dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb. I realized that as soon as the able-body Tragoom wheeled around and ran out of sight.

  Fuck. If Resan had seen me do that, he would have piled on the insults. He would have been right to do so. If there was anything I hated more than proving Resan correct, I couldn’t think of it.

  Thinking of the goon reminded me that he was in big trouble. If I was to get him out of it, I needed to stop playing target practice with Tragooms. I needed to run my ass to Medical.

  I listened hard. Alarms continued to sound in the background, the clamor familiar now. In the distance were crashing sounds. More walls and ceiling falling apart, no doubt. There was no sign of the Tragoom I’d let escape.

  I crawled through the hole in the wreckage. The odor from the Tragoom I’d killed was easily the worst stench I’d ever had the displeasure of inhaling. I gagged silently, trying hard not to give my position away if its buddy remained in the vicinity. I was thankful I hadn’t had much to eat in the
last couple of days.

  I stepped over the corpse as quietly as I could. Staying low to the ground, I skirted the edge of the first pile of debris. Nothing waited for me there, and I let a little of the tension in my shoulders loosen.

  I kept heading for Rehab. I stayed cautious, but I could have done better. I was halfway there when I walked into the damned Tragoom I’d let escape.

  The Tragoom grabbed me, knocking the blaster out of my hand. The heavy trunk arm circled my waist, pinning my stabbing arm to my side and imprisoning me. I was caught. Worse yet, the Tragoom pressed its blaster to the side of my skull.

  Time slowed down. Each second was like ten. It was like I had all the hours in a day to act, but few options available to do so.

  However, I’d been in the same position I was in the past. In training with Oses more often than I could count, to be precise. We had drilled on this very scenario to the point that my body went into action long before my brain figured out what was up.