The Rimes Trilogy Boxed Set

by P. R. Adams

  Only the camera’s blotchy feed of speeding terrain remained.

  Rimes blinked impatiently as the earpiece cycled. It was an inconvenient time to experience a problem.

  They were almost to the abyss’s rocky shoreline by the time the green contours winked into view again. Rimes scanned across the display, trying to resolve the extent of the approaching mountain range. He caught a glimpse of the contours, saw a ten-kilometer line near the highest peak, then cursed.

  The earpiece had glitched again.

  By the time the topographical overlay was displaying again, the shuttle camera was already capturing the mountain range in amazing detail.

  They were at twenty kilometers altitude, their velocity a much more manageable eight thousand kilometers per hour.

  The warning tones were gone now, replaced by a muffled roar. Somehow, the shuttle had managed to hold together.

  Rimes shifted in his harness to take in the rest of the team. A few seemed anxious, but most seemed calm. Theroux stared back as if nothing were happening, his unmoving eyes barely visible behind the dark face visor.

  Shaw’s connection to Rimes activated again. “Rimes, I’m taking the flight controls back to manual.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Our friends are back, and they seem interested in getting together again. I really think it’s a bad idea, but they’re persistent. Clingy sons of bitches.”

  So much for losing them with the descent maneuver. “Where’s 332?”

  “Twenty klicks ahead, fifteen klicks below, same heading.”

  Rimes focused on the belly camera feed in his helmet display. The mountains filled every millimeter. He pulled the focus back to get a better look at everything around the mountains and beyond. The image showed a stretch of sand beyond the mountains, a possible desert expanse.

  The display dropped to nothing but the raw feed as the earpiece glitched again.

  Rimes sighed. “My earpiece keeps cycling.”

  Shaw clucked nervously. “Yeah. It’s something in the data. I’ve turned everything off but the altimeter. Linking that to you now. Limited data is better than bad data. I can’t afford to have the system crap out on me at a time like this. Hurley’s having the same problem with 332.”

  Rimes waited for the earpiece’s feed to reappear. They were in among the mountains by the time it returned, the altimeter data was a jittery streak of brilliant green that was almost useless to his untrained eyes. Peaks passed a few kilometers below. Something rattled off the hull.

  The shuttle banked hard to the right and went into a dive. Rimes’s stomach lurched. He risked a pull from his water tube.

  “Rimes, Hurley’s reporting damage.” Shaw sounded anxious.

  Twenty-five, maybe thirty kilometers. That’s the edge of our communications range.

  Rimes tried to open a channel to Lopresti. “Lopresti, this is Rimes, do you copy?”

  After a moment, Lopresti’s voice came over the channel, weak but understandable. “Copy. Go ahead, Captain.”

  Rimes reflexively twisted as the shuttle banked hard again. “Give me a status.”

  “We’ve been hit. The lieutenant’s conscious, but he’s hurt pretty bad. We lost Amacker and Wang in the airlock explosion.”

  Another juke and Rimes felt his stomach flip. He swallowed to clear the vomit from the back of his throat. “How’s your shuttle handling?”

  Lopresti whimpered softly, then she coughed. “There’s either a lot of turbulence or we’re not doing so—”

  “That’s it.” Shaw’s voice was flat, as if resolved to the inevitable. “They got 332.”

  Rimes closed his eyes. “Follow it.”

  Shaw exhaled loudly. “Tracking.”

  The shuttles were sturdy, built to take a beating. Unless the systems or power were completely destroyed, 332 could theoretically land on its own. Even one survivor made following it down worthwhile.

  Rimes switched back to Lopresti’s channel. “Lopresti? Lopresti? Do you copy?” He tried opening a channel to Durban but couldn’t get a connection.

  Shaw hissed something incomprehensible. “They’re circling back.”

  The shuttle executed a quick series of maneuvers.

  “Rimes, if we go in for a landing, they’re going to tear us to pieces.”

  “Did 332 explode?”

  Shaw said nothing for a moment. “No.”

  Another overlay appeared in Rimes’s video showing a smoke trail and a line tracking 332’s descent.

  “It’s about forty klicks back.” Shaw’s voice cracked; he was struggling to stay calm. “I think—”

  The shuttle went through a series of radical maneuvers.

  It wasn’t enough.

  Rounds tore through the hull, then through people. One round nearly split one man’s head in half, another round hit someone—Zircher, Rimes realized—in the chest, snapping her spine. She slumped awkwardly in her harness.

  Rimes twisted as something changed in the air beside him. Watanabe stared in disbelief at the hole in her environment suit. Blood bubbled up slowly from her left shoulder.

  The shuttle began to slowly buck and twist.

  Rimes caught Meyers’s eyes. They were seconds from crashing or exploding, and they both knew it.

  “We’re fucked,” Shaw said suddenly. “I’ll do what I can, but the controls are sluggish. We’ve taken too much damage.”

  “Just put us down wherever you can. We’ll get through this.” Rimes spoke with a confidence he couldn’t quite understand. Do I actually believe that?

  “There’s a narrow valley a few klicks back.” Shaw sounded nervous, terrified. “Ugly, but if I can get us into it, they’ll have a hard time strafing us.”

  “Do it.”

  For the next several seconds, the shuttle bumped and groaned and shivered as Shaw tested its limits. Finally, he pushed it too hard and, with a deafening squeal, the tail tore free, taking with it the airlock and the two aft seats.

  Two names flashed in amber on Rimes’s helmet display: Murphy and Plauche were falling outside tracking range.

  A piece of the torn fuselage whipsawed and smashed into another soldier, shearing through harness and armor as easily as if they had been paper. With a spray of blood, the ruined torso flew out the shuttle rear, followed a moment later by the legs.

  A name flashed in red across Rimes’s helmet display: Leveque was dead.

  Rimes blinked in disbelief as the tail section disappeared from sight. The shuttle dropped rapidly, passing a rocky outcropping. The sides of the valley rose around them.

  Shaw calmly cursed before the shuttle banged off something and gave up more of the fuselage. A second later, the belly groaned beneath Rimes’s feet, and a deafening screech filled what remained of the converted cargo bay.

  Rimes looked out the section where the tail had been and saw the reactor and railgun bouncing against the valley floor and rebounding off the walls. The amber interior lights winked out, then winked back on as power switched over to batteries.

  They weren’t flying anymore, just plummeting.

  He wondered how long they could stay in the air without propulsion. He wondered how the shuttle would handle the crash to the rocky floor with so much of the structure already torn away.

  A moment later, he found out.

  22

  26 October, 2167. Fourth planet of the COROT-7 system.

  * * *

  Rimes shoved off his harness. His shoulders, ribs, and hips ached from the impact, but everything seemed functional. Watanabe struggled with her own harness. Her left arm seemed too weak to disengage the lock. Rimes popped the lock and helped her out of the device, then he helped her to her feet.

  He opened his helmet, shook out the last of the vomit, and looked around.

  Free of his helmet, the air had a strange smell to it, vaguely rotten, sulfuric. It coated his tongue and throat. Sand powder hovered in the air like a gray fog. The hull ticked as it bled heat, and sand softly rained down o
n it with a sustained hiss.

  Watanabe wobbled and nearly lost her balance.

  Rimes caught her, wincing at the stiffness in his joints. “Can you walk?” His voice was a shout in the relative stillness.

  Watanabe looked around the shuttle interior, eyes lingering on the blood and bodies.

  “Lieutenant? Can you walk?”

  She nodded slowly, seeming close to shock, a fragile, pretty doll that he needed to protect.

  She’s a soldier, an asset. She needs to contribute.

  Rimes pointed to the hole at the rear of the shuttle, where sunlight was leaking in. “See if you can find us some cover. Hurry, but be careful.”

  As Watanabe stumbled out the rear, Rimes turned to take in the rest of the wreck. Sunlight shone through the breach, lighting much of the interior, bouncing off the waist-high, gray haze. Meyers was already up, moving among the remaining squad—Sung, Lazzaro, Bowring. Meyers helped each one from his harness, then ordered them to gather weapons and ammunition and exit the shuttle.

  The entire time, Theroux stood in front of his seat, unmoving.

  Rimes rinsed his helmet and wiped it clean, then he made his way toward the cockpit hatch. The frame was warped, the hatch buckled. It looked bad. He slowly worked his shoulder until the muscles quit protesting and tapped on the hatch.

  No answer.

  He banged on the hatch. He tried to raise Shaw through the earpiece. Finally, a channel connection opened.

  “Rimes?” Shaw’s voice was weak.

  “Can you move?” Rimes examined the hatch more closely as he spoke. It wasn’t going anywhere.

  “My leg’s a mess.” Shaw whistled softly. “I can move my arms, but my back hurts like you wouldn’t believe. You ever throw your back out?”

  “No.”

  “That’s okay. It’s nothing like that anyway.” Shaw laughed, then gasped. “Shit!”

  “Shaw, the hatch is broken. We’re going to have to get you out through the front.”

  Shaw sighed. “Okay. That sounds like it ought to be a fun trick.”

  Rimes turned, nearly bumping into Theroux. He was staring past Rimes at the crumpled hatch. Theroux’s eyes looked almost glassy. He was either in shock or completely unfazed by what they’d been through.

  “We need to leave him, Captain.” Theroux’s voice was cold.

  Rimes pushed past Theroux without a word, joining Meyers at Zircher’s seat. She was still breathing. She’d coughed blood onto her faceplate, but her face was still largely visible. Her terror-filled eyes darted quickly, trying to see who had approached.

  Meyers looked up at Rimes, eyes hard. When Meyers spoke, his voice was a raspy whisper. “Spine’s snapped, no sensation in the arms or legs. I’m pretty sure her lung is pierced. She says it feels like she’s drowning in her own blood. We can’t move her; we can’t treat her.”

  Rimes looked at the soldier who’d taken a round to the head. McFayden. He’d gotten off easy, his brains spattered on the crumpled wall behind him. “What do you propose?”

  Meyers shook his head slowly.

  Rimes closed his eyes. Zircher was a good soldier, a good person. She was popular and well-liked. “Extract McFayden’s stem cells, then see if you can get to Lieutenant Shaw. Try and go through the front.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the cockpit. “Get the radio and emergency beacon while you’re in there.”

  When Meyers moved off, Rimes squatted down to look into Zircher’s eyes. He marveled at the fear there, at how green they were. Like emeralds. Glistening with tears. She was dying. Alone. With him watching her.

  Rimes growled at Kwon, pushing the inhuman thoughts and impulses down. Kwon was still there, though, a snake coiling somewhere in the shadows.

  Proper protocol said Rimes should open Zircher’s helmet, salvage her oxygen for survivors to use.

  Proper protocol felt every bit as inhuman as Kwon.

  Zircher blinked rapidly. Her eyes were expressive. Her terror showed so clearly; it was intoxicating.

  No.

  Cursing inwardly, Rimes opened a channel. A few seconds passed with Zircher mouthing something Rimes couldn’t hear through her helmet. Finally, she managed to accept his communication attempt; the channel opened with a gentle click.

  “Corporal, you’ve got a pretty nasty wound there.” Rimes tried his best to sound reassuring.

  “Yes…yes, sir.” The fear was in her voice, too.

  Nearby, Meyers collected McFayden’s weapons, ammunition, and oxygen. The stem cell extract was a simple enough process: a clamp built into the environment suit’s frame shot a needle into the hip and did all the work. Meyers pulled the small tube of fluid from the suit, along with McFayden’s water and oxygen capsules.

  Meyers gave a thumbs up signal and was gone.

  Rimes looked Zircher in the eyes again. They were still bright and alive. She was fighting, facing the end with incredible bravery. “We need to get the team out of here so the genies don’t attack the ship. We’ll take your ammunition and weapon. The genies shouldn’t bother you if you’re unarmed.”

  Zircher blinked rapidly and gasped for air. “I…I understand.”

  Rimes nodded. “We’ll come back for you after they’ve moved on.”

  “Thank…thank you, sir.”

  If she sensed the lie in his words, she didn’t show it. He tried his best to look reassuring. “You hang tight until we get back. Can you do that?”

  Zircher tried to blink away tears. “Y-yes. Yes, sir.”

  Rimes gently removed Zircher’s carbine and magazines. He stood, and his thoughts turned to what was going through her mind. She had always been strong, physically and emotionally, yet she lay powerless now, drowning in her own blood.

  How would I handle the same situation if that were me? Would I ask for a mercy shot?

  He walked to the back of the craft, his thoughts dark, looking at the debris trail that marked their crash. The tail section was somewhere behind them among the brown-gray stone walls and sand. It couldn’t have been more than a few kilometers back. He turned and looked at the ruin of the passenger bay.

  Their survival had been pure luck.

  No, we owe Shaw for what he did. He made this possible.

  After considering everything for a moment, Rimes approached the center row of seats. He squatted at the last seat facing the opening and pulled a shredder from his hip pouch. Cautiously, he attached the tripwire to the center row, mid-shin high, then attached the explosive to the end of the row of seats where Zircher was slumped. He took a final look at Zircher, then stepped into the painfully bright sunlight.

  As he came around the side of the shuttle, he got a better look at the wreck and the surrounding area. Shaw had made the valley after all, and it would make strafing runs a tough proposition, even for the genies. They were fifty, maybe sixty meters down, with no more than twenty meters between the twisting canyon walls. Fifty meters back, the canyon hooked hard, disappearing from view. It didn’t even seem possible Shaw could have gotten them down in one piece after losing the reactor, but he had.

  Rimes’s eyes tracked up the nearest wall. There were plenty of handholds and a few natural ledges, so climbing out was a realistic option. The odds of even better climbing surfaces deeper in the canyon were pretty decent.

  A pain-filled howl made him spin.

  Meyers and Sung backed into view. Shaw was draped between them, his right leg carefully cradled. Shaw was a relatively large man, shorter than Rimes, but stockier. Sung, with his slighter frame, visibly struggled to keep Shaw steady as they moved him.

  Theroux was barely visible beyond the three of them, watching, detached.

  Rimes jogged over, throwing a nasty glare at Theroux.

  Meyers and Sung set Shaw down next to the gathered weapons and gear they’d collected from the cockpit. Sung squatted and cautiously examined Shaw’s leg.

  Shaw’s normally ruddy face was a brilliant red. Sung gently massaged Shaw’s ankle and shin, eliciting a g
runt and grimace.

  Shaw clenched his teeth. “Need a hammer there, Doc?”

  Sung touched Shaw’s knee.

  Shaw doubled over and groaned.

  “Can you put any weight on it?” Rimes asked.

  Shaw nodded. “Oh, sure. Yeah.” He gasped. “This happens…all the time. I just need to walk it off, y’know?”

  Sung looked at Rimes and shook his head skeptically.

  Shaw growled. “Doc, I’m right here. I’m telling ya, I’m good.”

  The wind gusted momentarily, kicking up a gray dust devil that slowly danced around them, then trailed away.

  Rimes brushed sand from his face. “Sung, see if bone paste will firm that bone up, then harden that leg of the environment suit and rig him a crutch.” He looked around, hoping to spot shelter or an obvious, easy path out of the canyon. He didn’t see anything promising. “Meyers, keep everyone away from the shuttle; I’ve got it booby trapped. Let’s get someone up on that wall, see if they can find us a way out. I’ve lost Murphy and Plauche on my display. They were yanked out when the tail fell away. Try and radio them. If you don’t get a response, send your best runner back to see if there’s any sign of them. At the very least, maybe we can recover their gear. Do the same with Leveque. Weapons, food, water, oxygen, stem cells—we need it all.”

  Meyers stared at Rimes for a moment, then wandered off with his team.

  Rimes settled to a knee in front of Shaw. Theroux hovered in the background, watching from the shadows cast by the shuttle nose. “That was some impressive piloting. You probably saved our lives a few times over.”

  Shaw nodded and tried to smile. “Make the best of what you’ve got, right?” He gulped at the air as Sung turned the environment suit leg rigid. “Hey, Doc, maybe a little less with the brute force approach? Pain meds didn’t kick in yet, okay?”

  Theroux shifted, cocking his head as if he were watching insects toiling in the sand. “Captain Rimes, now is not the time to become sentimental. We should be on the move. He’s wounded. He’ll only slow us down.”