The Rimes Trilogy Boxed Set

by P. R. Adams

  “Make it good,” Rimes said.

  “They haven’t secured the interior hatches, just the airlocks. And I’ve blocked them open now.”

  Rimes sucked in a lungful of air and slowly exhaled. “Pasqual, seal Chung up. Assume they’ve detected our entry by now. Bhat, Fawcett, Orr, go.”

  Bhat popped the hatch and scanned the passageway, then waved the rest of his team through.

  After moving to the hatch, Rimes opened a window in his display to watch Bhat’s camera. The others took up their positions, Chung limping but mobile.

  Rimes scanned the passageway, waved the team through, and started jogging. “Bhat, how’s it going?”

  “At the secondary stairwell hatch,” Bhat replied.

  Fawcett and Orr settled against the bulkhead on either side of the secondary stairwell hatch. Orr’s fingers hovered over the open button on the access panel. Bhat stepped to Orr’s side and tapped him on the shoulder.

  Orr opened the hatch and fell back.

  Bhat’s camera showed an explosion.

  Rimes froze. “Bhat, what was that?”

  “And here I was hoping for a fruit basket,” Bhat said. “Hatches are rigged with makeshift shrapnel devices. Um, hull looks intact.”

  Rimes resumed jogging. “See anything else?”

  “We’re waiting for the smoke to clear, but it looks open from here to the stairs.”

  “Bhat, lob a flashbang in there, see if it sets anything else off.” Rimes came to rest against the bulkhead next to Kleigshoen. He patted her back.

  A flash lit up Bhat’s camera display.

  “Looks clear,” Bhat said.

  Rimes signaled for Pasqual to open the hatch. Pasqual tapped the access panel.

  Rimes tensed, ready for anything.

  The hatch popped open, but nothing happened.

  “No explosive here.” Rimes released his breath.

  Pasqual held up a flashbang. Rimes nodded, and Pasqual tossed the flashbang into the stairwell.

  There was a blur of movement, then an explosion.

  “One Tango,” Rimes called.

  Pasqual and Chung opened fire with a controlled burst of flechettes. They pinged against the walls; then the passageway was silent.

  Pasqual popped around the corner again and fired a sequence of three rapid shots starting at chest height, then tracking up the stairs to the first landing. At the same time, Chung fired at ankle height and tracked up to chest height. They pulled back, and Rimes ducked out and tracked his muzzle across visible space.

  Halfway up the first flight of stairs, two forms lay, moving slowly. Rimes stepped into the stairwell and fired once into each.

  They stopped moving. Rimes cautiously moved up to the next hatch.

  “Clear. Bhat, you get that? No fruit basket here either, just a welcoming committee.”

  “Got it.” Bhat chuckled. “Never repeat a booby trap.”

  “We’re three levels down from the command deck. Proceed upward.” Rimes climbed the stairs slowly. His eyes jumped from the path above to edges and corners, watching for tripwires. At the landing, he spun and repeated his search.

  Rimes heard a scraping noise and stopped, but it wasn’t from his end of the stairwell. “Bhat, hold. We may have something. Chung, check that hatch below. I heard something over someone’s earpiece.”

  “Checking.” Chung hobbled down the stairs.

  “Holding,” Bhat added.

  The sound of gunfire and static erupted over Rimes’s earpiece. “Chung?”

  If Chung replied, it was drowned out by the gunfire.

  Static crackled over his earpiece. “Rimes, this is Lopez! Do you read?”

  Rimes leaned against the handrail and stared up at the hatch not three meters away. “I read you, Lopez. Go ahead.”

  “We’re just outside Reactor One,” Lopez shouted. A burst of noise drowned him out for a second: “—heavy enemy resistance. One of the bastards sneaked up on Gupta. I don’t know if he’s gonna make it. He’s bleeding pretty bad. We’re stuck here until the 82nd arrives.”

  Rimes bowed his head and sighed. “This is going to be over before they get anywhere close.”

  “They’re fast, Rimes. They’re everywhere. They’ve got us pinned down.”

  “You need to press on and keep them engaged,” Rimes said. “Keep them tied down so we can take the reactor.”

  “Negative. We can’t move. You’re on your own.”

  44

  20 March 2164. USS Powell.

  * * *

  The stairwell above Rimes was still empty; he could see the door to the command deck.

  “Okay. Hold on, Lopez. Do what you can.”

  “Will do.”

  Rimes muted the channel with Lopez. “Chung, did you check that hatch? Chung?”

  “I don’t see him,” Pasqual said. His microphone picked up a loud gulp and the wet sounds of him licking his lips. “I can move ba—”

  “Hold position,” Rimes snapped.

  Keep it together. Stay with what you know. Only act on what’s real, not what you guess. They could be influencing our thoughts and perceptions, like Perditori.

  “Dana, fall back and cover Pasqual. When he’s ready to move, you toss a flashbang ahead of him and back him up. Be sure of your targets. Don’t hit Chung.”

  Kleigshoen retreated down the stairs. “In position.”

  Rimes looked at the hatch above him and the command deck hatch above that, then risked a quick glance down. Kleigshoen held a flashbang at the ready.

  He keyed his channel to Bhat. “Bhat, what’s your situation?”

  “Still holding.” Bhat said.

  “Something’s wrong,” Rimes said. “They can’t possibly be everywhere at once.” He came off mute with Lopez. “Lopez, do you have a strength estimate?”

  “Twenty?” Lopez ground his teeth audibly. “They’re firing from three positions. We can’t really get a good look at them.”

  Kleigshoen’s flashbang detonated. Rimes looked down and saw Pasqual clear the landing.

  Gunfire erupted.

  The hatch above opened, and Rimes turned, instinctively emptying the magazine in a broad arc of fire. Flechettes bit into the bulkhead, filled the open hatchway, and tore through the genies trying to rush through.

  Rimes reloaded as he charged the hatch.

  “Jack,” Kleigshoen shouted over the gunfire, “We’ve got three of them down here. Chung’s dead. Pasqual’s hit.”

  “I’m okay,” Pasqual said. His voice sounded strained. “I’ve got them pinned down. You move up.”

  Rimes stood in the hatchway and scanned up and down the passageway, then stepped back and layered Pasqual’s and Kleigshoen’s data feeds over the deck plans. “Lopez, consolidate your squad’s BAS feeds and send them to me.”

  As Kleigshoen made her way back upstairs, Lopez’s data filtered in, populating known enemy positions and engagement zones. The BAS merged the data and constructed a solid three-dimensional image of the entire ship; Rimes shared it with Kleigshoen.

  Kleigshoen looked it over. “They’re waiting for us every step of the way. Do we blow the bridge?”

  Rimes shook his head. “One last thing to try.”

  Kleigshoen examined the BAS display again. “What? I’m not seeing anything.”

  “I want you to move up to the command deck hatch and wait for my signal. I’m going to see if we can give them a surprise for once.”

  Rimes poked his head through the hatchway; it was still clear. “Bhat? Hold position until I give the go. When I give the signal, make some noise. Not too much.”

  “Copy.”

  “Jack—” Kleigshoen’s voice sounded angry and panicked over the earpiece; when he looked, her face was strained, her eyes were wide.

  “Dana,” Rimes touched Kleigshoen’s EVA helmet. “I just need you to keep them occupied. Like what Pasqual is doing.”

  “Piece of cake, Agent Kleigshoen,” Pasqual said as he sent another shot through the h
atch.

  Kleigshoen let out a hiss through clenched teeth and slowly ascended the stairs. Rimes watched her go for a moment then stepped into the passageway.

  The passageway was still clear except for the dead genies. He stopped at a turn in the main passageway and glanced around the corner; a bulkhead several meters down blocked his view.

  Rimes edged down the passageway, stopped at the bulkhead, and listened. He picked up what may have been whispering, the faint squeak of a rubber sole. The hatch was ajar. He started to peer through the opening but sensed a hint of movement.

  He froze, then slid the CAWS into its brace and pulled his knife.

  An unexpected sense of calm, a cool detachment, washed over Rimes. His breathing was controlled, his hands steady, his awareness clear yet wide. The usual edginess that came with combat was gone. He sneaked his head forward until he could see around the hatch edge.

  A genie stood on the other side of the bulkhead, just through the hatch.

  A guard.

  Rimes slowly pulled back. He examined the BAS. Everyone was in position, waiting on him. He had no idea if there were other genies beyond the guard. He had no idea if there were genies at the hatch beyond, where Bhat’s team waited. What he did know was that the guard had to be eliminated or nothing else would matter.

  Rimes imagined the guard’s exact position based off what he had seen. A lethal strike would require moving into the hatchway. That meant being visible and exposed.

  It would be extremely high-risk but also extremely satisfying.

  Rimes blinked. What?

  He imagined killing the guard again.

  Satisfaction. Reward. Excitement.

  The sensations were alien.

  It’s Kwon.

  Rimes exhaled silently and refocused. He still had to eliminate the guard. A quiet intake of breath, a grip of the knife in disturbingly steady hands.

  He signaled Bhat, then moved into the hatchway.

  The battlefield’s details resolved with alarming speed and ease as he scanned first down the corridor, then at the guard. He could make out a half-dozen forms at the far end of the passageway, squatting, lying prone, pressed against the bulkheads nearest the stairwell hatch. Their eyes were glued to it.

  The guard was turning, responding to a change in pressure, a sixth sense, or luck; Rimes had been silent as death.

  The knife rose, not to where the guard’s jaw was but to where it would be. Rimes pivoted on his right foot, rotated his hip. He threw every bit of energy he could into the thrust.

  For a split second, it appeared the genie might react too quickly for the strike to connect. His eyes went wide. He swung around the submachine gun he’d been holding slack at his side. His mouth opened.

  The knife struck.

  It drove up through muscle and bone, severing nerves and blood vessels. It pinned the genie’s mouth shut and momentarily lifted him up onto his toes.

  He died without a sound.

  Rimes used the momentum to pull the lifeless body through the hatchway in a single, fluid motion. The corpse twitched, its heart, not yet aware it was no longer needed, sending blood gushing through the wound.

  Rimes squatted and listened, filtering out the quiet storm of his own racing heart and rushing blood. It was still quiet. The genies were focused on their ambush.

  Rimes whispered, “Bhat, you’ve got six, probably more, just outside that hatch, waiting to catch you from behind. I want you to proceed with caution up to the command deck. Dana, on my signal, open the hatch.”

  “Moving up,” Bhat said.

  Rimes pulled his last two flashbangs and twisted back around to watch the genies through the hatchway. A second ticked by. Another.

  The genie closest to the hatch panel waved the others forward. Rimes pulled the first flashbang’s pin and tossed it through the hatchway into the midst of the genies. He counted to two, then ducked through the hatchway after it, sprinting toward the genies at the other end of the corridor, the second flashbang ready in his hand. At three seconds, he closed his eyes and pulled the pin on the second flashbang.

  The force of the first flashbang’s explosion impacted Rimes’s suit. He opened his eyes, took in the genies staggering and slumping in the corridor, and hurled the second flashbang, angling it for the open bay to the right of the stairwell hatch.

  Then he unslung the CAWS and slammed into the right-hand bulkhead. When the second flashbang went off, he opened fire, emptying his magazine into the stunned genies. He reloaded and spun into the open bay.

  A genie lay on the ground, knocked mostly senseless by the flashbang and reaching weakly for her weapon. Rimes fired twice, center mass. Blood sprayed from flechette wounds, and the genie went limp.

  Rimes’s earpiece was full of thunder.

  “All kinds of fun up here, Jack,” Kleigshoen shouted, barely audible over her CAWS and the return fire. “There must be ten of them.”

  “Don’t give them anything to shoot at,” Rimes searched the genies for explosives, shoving three of their improvised flechette grenades into his thigh pouches. “I’m on my way. Bhat, how about you?”

  “Ready to dance. Give us the word and we’ll toss some flashbangs out there.”

  Rimes gave the bloody scene a last scan and jogged back to the main stairwell. At the hatch, he gave Bhat the go-ahead. Explosions and gunfire filled the audio as Rimes climbed the stairs, one of the improvised flechette grenades in his hand.

  Rimes stopped as his head came even with Kleigshoen’s boot. She had her back pressed against the bulkhead, the hatch to the command deck open just enough to allow her to glance through—and draw fire.

  He ducked until the firing stopped. “Dana.”

  Her helmet twitched, but she kept her eyes on the hatch. “Jack.”

  “When I give the signal, I want you to kick that hatch open wide enough for me to throw a grenade out there.”

  “Got it.”

  Rimes examined the grenade; everything about the device was infuriatingly foreign. He had no idea how much of a fuse it had. He rotated it in his hand until he found the trigger mechanism.

  “Jack?”

  “One second,” Rimes grumbled. “These guys may be geniuses, but they obviously don’t know how to build an intuitive weapon. Okay. Go.”

  Kleigshoen kicked the hatch’s bottom corner and pulled her leg back just as a hail of flechettes filled the stairwell. Rimes triggered the grenade and tossed it, trying to direct the blast into the chamber beyond. He ducked down the stairs and dug for another grenade.

  The explosion was disappointingly modest.

  Silence.

  Rimes lobbed the second grenade a little harder and ducked again.

  Another unimpressive explosion.

  Silence. No movement. No gunfire.

  Not much of bang, but the silence spoke volumes about the grenades’ effectiveness. A few common-sense improvements, and they might be on to something.

  “Bhat, we’re clear here,” Rimes said.

  “Still cleaning up,” Bhat replied. “One particularly stubborn …“ Gunfire drowned out Bhat’s audio. “Okay, we’re clear. Moving to join you.”

  Rimes climbed to the top of the stairs and took in the chamber and hallway with a quick sweep. Blood covered the walls. Genies lay in twisted heaps. Rimes spotted an unexploded grenade in one of the genies’ hands.

  Rimes opened a private channel to Kleigshoen. “It’s clear. I’m going to take point. You stay tight on my six. Okay?”

  Kleigshoen blinked rapidly several times, then nodded. Rimes patted her shoulder. He cautiously stepped out and scooped up the genie’s grenade.

  Rimes hefted the grenade as he looked down the passageway. He opened the team channel. “Pasqual, stay sharp. We’re moving to the bridge.”

  “All covered,” Pasqual said. “They’ve gone awfully quiet.”

  Rimes stopped. “Okay, change of plans. Pasqual, get up here. Take up position outside this hatch with Agent Kleigshoen. Bhat
, station Fawcett outside your hatch. I think you’ve got some visitors coming your way. Move it.”

  Rimes gave Kleigshoen a thumbs’ up, then jogged to the central corridor to wait for Bhat and Orr. When they arrived, he showed them the grenade he’d taken from the genie. He explained the basics of the trigger and gave the grenade to Bhat, then dug the final genie grenade out of his pocket.

  “It’s going to go down easy, or it’s going to go down hard,” Rimes said. “Easy is popping the door and lobbing these in, then doing a little close-in mop-up.”

  “Nothing’s been easy today,” Bhat said. “What’s hard?”

  “We blow the explosives and lose the bridge.”

  “Y’know, hard sounds awfully appealing right about now.” Bhat pressed flat against the bulkhead opposite the hatch with the grenade ready to trigger and throw. “Ready.”

  “Ready.” Rimes thumbed the grenade trigger and leaned against the bulkhead.

  Orr opened the hatch and kicked it wide.

  Rimes and Bhat tossed their improvised flechette grenades inside—but the result was more impressive this time.

  A deafening explosion tore through the bridge, knocking them backwards for a moment.

  Then they were almost instantly pulled forward.

  The atmosphere within the bridge had begun to evacuate.

  The explosive charges on the porthole must have detonated!

  How wasn’t particularly relevant at the moment; what mattered was sealing the bridge.

  “Seal the hatch!”

  Bhat was already in motion, hooking his hand on the hatch and pulling it against the force. Rimes placed a knee against the bulkhead and grabbed the hatch, adding his strength. Orr joined them.

  For several seconds, they made slow progress, gaining a few centimeters only to lose one. Finally, the hatch shut and Orr slapped the control panel, closing it.

  “Rimes, you there?” Lopez shouted. His signal was weak but clear.

  “Go ahead.”

  “They stopped firing,” Lopez said. “They’re retreating. Just like that.”

  “It’s over,” Rimes said. He was ready to collapse. “Whoever was on the bridge somehow detonated the charges we put on the porthole.”

  “This engagement goes to you, Colonel.”