by P. R. Adams
Rimes jogged in a half-squat to check on Sung. The genie was still moving. Rimes fired twice at point blank into the genie’s face.
The movement stopped.
Sung struggled to right himself. He gasped and stared into the darkness.
“Are you okay?” Rimes realized he was nearly shouting. He took a deep breath. “Sung, are you okay?”
“Y-yeah.”
Sung’s carbine was on the ground nearby. Rimes retrieved it and set it at Sung’s side. Sung slowly turned his head to examine the carbine.
Lazarro’s body lay nearby. Rimes glanced at it, but he already knew what he’d find. So close to the genie and without any cover, it was pointless to hope Lazarro’s helmet would have been enough. Lazarro’s face was shattered, his nose and jaw obliterated.
Whatever they’re using, it’s good enough to deal with our armor.
The fallen genies were next. One was still breathing weakly. Rimes could feel the warmth coming off it, the raw energy and power flowing through its extremities. He closed his eyes and felt the animalistic urges—Kwon’s urges—pulsing just beneath the surface. Conquest, reward.
He shook away the thoughts and memories of another time, another person. It’s not personal. It’s not lust. He set his knee against the genie’s throat until the breathing stopped.
It’s survival.
Alternately focusing on the cave entry and the fallen, Rimes gathered weapons and ammunition. When he returned to his position beside Meyers, Rimes set the salvaged assault rifles down and settled to the ground, quickly reloading the weapons. He could feel Meyers watching him.
Finally, Meyers looked away, toward Bowring’s corpse. “Two for five. Would you have taken those odds if you’d known?”
“Known what?”
Meyers turned to look deep into the cave’s shadows, then to the entry. “We might be trapped in here. The ambush wasn’t very effective—they got in just fine.”
“There are five genies lying on this cave floor. If you think that’s anything less than a major success, you aren’t being realistic. I trained the team to anticipate their speed, but it’s almost impossible to understand until you’ve experienced it firsthand.”
Meyers sighted in on the entry. The cave interior was silent for several minutes. After a while, Sung passed behind Meyers and Rimes, clearly favoring his left arm. He stooped down to check on Shaw. They whispered for several minutes. Shaw’s voice was shaky; he was rattled. As a pilot, he was used to handling some pretty tense moments. The gun battle had taken him too close to death.
Sung moved from Shaw to Watanabe then to Murphy. Rimes sneaked a glance at each one in the darkness, reassured when they moved. He turned back to the entry in time to see shadows again.
Rimes whispered, “BASes on. Wait for my fire. Leave the first genie to me. Focus on the entry.”
The first wave hadn’t been a simple probe. The genies had hoped for a quick threat elimination. They’d come close. They knew what to expect now and would make another serious effort. Rimes knew his one chance lay in stopping the attack before the genies could get the numbers they wanted.
“Shaw, Watanabe—the second you hear me fire, I want you to put sustained bursts into that opening. Do you copy?”
“I copy,” Watanabe said, confident and determined.
Good. That’s exactly what we need right now.
Shaw shifted to get a better look at the entry. He had to give up cover to get a clear line of sight. Finally, he said, “Copy.”
The first genie rushed into the cave, skidding and cutting ninety degrees before accelerating toward Sung’s position. Rimes tracked the movement, saw three more genies rushing into the cave. Rimes fired before the target was five steps into his charge. He tracked three bursts from shoulder to thighs, adjusting as the genie twisted from each impact.
After the third burst, Rimes turned back to sight in on the entry. One of the genies was already down and a second was firing his assault rifle one-handed, his other arm dangling limply. Three other genies were edging forward in a low crouch. Rimes fired on the closest one.
Bullets whizzed past, cracked against his armor, ricocheted off the stone floor. It was a nightmarish span of seconds filled with intermittent silent pauses in the dark, interspersed with much more frequent muzzle flashes and terrifyingly close impacts. Finally, the attack broke, and the genies retreated. They left behind their fallen.
Rimes reloaded his carbine and set it aside; he pulled his pistol again. “Conserve power. Stay alert.”
He moved among the fallen genies, again finishing off the wounded, again fighting Kwon’s dark thoughts. There were eight dead now.
He backpedaled to his position, once more dropping the newly gathered weapons and ammunition into a pile with the rest. “Sung, check our wounded.”
Sung moved from person to person, talking with each, making sure there were no wounds missed in the chaos of combat. He lingered with Watanabe.
Meyers watched Sung, only giving the cave entry an occasional glance. “Her shoulder’s nicked, and he treats her like she’s in ICU.”
Rimes smiled. “Cut him some slack. She’s a pretty lady, and we’re in a world of shit.”
Meyers was quiet for a moment. He shifted his attention back to the entrance. “He needs to be focused on the battle.”
We all do.
As Sung slouched back to his position, Meyers waved him over. They talked in hushed voices, but Rimes caught enough to get a sense of the conversation. Meyers talked tough, but he handled Sung fairly. Sung returned to his position and readied his weapon.
Shaw edged forward awkwardly, stretching toward Rimes. “Rimes?”
Rimes glanced at Shaw, then back at the entry. “What is it?”
“We can’t keep this up.” Shaw’s voice was a little too loud and desperate-sounding. He groaned softly. “They got me in the shoulder a few times. This flight suit doesn't have the sort of armor yours does. My arm’s numb. I’m bleeding. I don’t even know if I can hold my weapon anymore.”
Rimes nodded. “Yeah. They’re going to have to try something different. We should have a few minutes before they come—”
Scraping—boot soles on sand and stone—sounded behind them. Rimes spun, weapon trained on the sound.
Theroux stepped from the shadows at the rear of the cave. He stared at the genie corpses.
“Theroux?” Rimes slowly adjusted his sights, centering on Theroux’s face.
Theroux stared.
Rimes gently began to squeeze his trigger. “Theroux?”
Theroux turned, finally, staring at Rimes, oblivious of the gun.
Did they get him? Through his peripheral vision, Rimes watched the carbine in Theroux’s hands. “Theroux?”
Theroux looked back into the darkness behind him. “The left tunnel. It leads out.”
25
26 October, 2167. Fourth planet of the COROT-7 system.
* * *
They were a good fifty meters into the bowels of the canyon wall and the tunnel floor’s upward slope was still increasing. The tunnels were tight. Light leaked through infrequent pinprick holes in the ceiling, reflecting off the walls. Moving from darkness to momentary light and then back to darkness produced a near strobe effect. It quickly became disorienting, hypnotic.
After a couple minutes, Rimes took the lead, and Meyers drifted to the back of the line to listen for the genies. They moved at Shaw’s slower pace.
It was inevitable the genies would realize the cave was empty and pursue. And they would close on the team while they were in the tunnel. There were no other options but to press on and slow the genies however they could.
The group straggled in a twisting, single file line behind Rimes, with Watanabe close behind him. Theroux followed her.
Theroux was more animated than he’d been since the crash, occasionally barking a warning and shouting what, for him, amounted to words of encouragement. Plauche trailed Theroux. Sung herded Shaw and Murphy i
n front of him, occasionally stopping to let them rest. At least until Meyers caught up and gave a disapproving headshake.
When Theroux said they were past the midpoint, Rimes began feeling optimistic they might make it without further trouble. Of course, he knew better than to feel optimistic. Optimism was a form of delusion that life in the Commandos had driven out of him.
Gunfire bellowed from the rear of the line, yanking Rimes back to reality once again.
Optimism gets people killed.
Rimes had Plauche take the lead. As each person passed, Rimes gave a word of encouragement. He stopped Sung with a gentle tug on his elbow. Sung let Murphy and Shaw go on; they leaned on each other for support.
Once Murphy and Shaw were far enough away, Rimes leaned in close to Sung. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “You’ve got to push them. We have to get to the other shuttle, and we’re not going to make it if you don’t find their limits. Their real limits.”
Sung’s eyes widened and he made a sour face. “They’re wounded, sir. They’re in extreme pain.”
“They’ll be dead if you don’t push them.”
The sour face lingered, and Sung looked up the tunnel at Murphy’s disappearing form.
“Corporal, you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Sung slumped, then ran to catch up with the rest.
Rimes jogged back toward the sound of gunfire.
He was almost too late reaching Meyers. The genies had him pinned down with suppression fire, and one of them—bug-like in his strange, globular helmet and carapace-segmented armor—was crouched only two meters back, waiting for another round of suppression fire to leap out of cover and close for the fatal attack. Rimes pressed against the tunnel wall and dropped low, watching the gap just beyond Meyers and waiting for the genies to fire again.
He didn’t have to wait long.
Gunfire filled the tunnel. Meyers shrank back, and the closest genie ran forward, gun raised, ready for the kill.
Rimes leaned out from cover and fired a burst, then another. The charging genie collapsed, even more bug-like as he twitched on the tunnel floor.
“Meyers, fall back. Three meters.”
Meyers moved quickly, hugging the opposite tunnel wall until he’d passed Rimes’s position. Rimes fired into the darkness beyond the dead genie, then waited and watched.
Meyers’s voice was a whisper over Rimes’s earpiece. “In position.”
Rimes fell back, hugging the wall, minimizing his profile as best as he could. The genies continued to advance, firing at anything they could see, but they were now the ones at a disadvantage. It was a slow, draining effort, but it counteracted the genies’ numerical and physical advantages.
With ammunition running low, Rimes switched to one of the assault rifles he’d taken off the dead genies. It was longer, and clumsier to use in the confined space of the tunnel, but he had several magazines of ammunition. He tossed the last of his carbine magazines up the tunnel to Meyers. The genies fired, and bullets knocked chunks from the tunnel walls around Rimes.
He glanced at his BAS display. They were fifteen meters from an opening. The light was sufficient to reveal mottled patterns on the tunnel walls. If they hadn’t already, the genies would soon realize the chase was up.
“Meyers, next time you fire, aim high and give me a second burst.” Rimes reached into his hip pouch and extracted his last shredder. He secured it to the wall behind his hip and played out the tripwire. “Now!”
Meyers fired, sending the genies back. Rimes stretched the tripwire across the tunnel, attaching it to the opposite wall so it ran around mid-shin level. Meyers fired again and Rimes retreated, stopping three meters up from Meyers and aiming back along the tunnel.
Rimes watched for movement. The genies were waiting. “When that shredder goes, run. Theroux said the opening is tight, so you’re going to need to push your weapon out in front of you.”
Meyers gave Rimes a quick thumbs-up, then he was gone.
Heartbeats. Silence. Boots scrunching sand against rock.
The genies were advancing. Something tripped the shredder. Screams filled the tunnel, and somewhere above, Meyers ran. Rimes counted to three, let off a short burst into the dusty haze created by the blast, then he ran too.
The tunnel narrowed faster and sloped upward more steeply than he had expected, angling what must have been more than sixty degrees. His shoulders scraped along the walls two meters short of the exit. Brilliant sunlight shone through the entrance, making it impossible to be sure of his position.
He squinted. He compressed his shoulders. He tucked himself as tight as he could and pushed forward.
The genies were closing.
He toyed with the idea of making a stand, then realized he was panicking.
He pulled the carbine off his shoulder and pushed it and the assault rifle in front of him. With a herculean effort, he managed to launch himself forward enough to shove the weapons up and out of the tunnel mouth. He twisted and wiggled and stretched, but he couldn’t get his shoulders free.
He panicked. A primal scream formed at the back of his throat.
Any moment now, the genies would be on him, and he would be defenseless against them. Death frightened him less than the idea that he would die without a fight.
Suddenly, hands gripped his arms and pulled at him. He felt himself moving up and pain shot through his shoulders, then nothing. He was hopelessly stuck. The genies were closing, their sharp blades were ready to open arteries, to stab into nerve bundles.
The hands pulled again, and this time, he came free.
He kicked away from the tunnel and lay on his back, panting. He looked at the hole, certain that a genie head was going to pop out.
“We need to seal this.” Panic put an edge to Rimes’s voice.
It took some effort, but he finally pulled his eyes from the hole and looked around. They were in a shallow depression atop the west canyon wall, smack in the middle of an uneven expanse of sand-covered rock. Here and there, a few fist-sized stones were visible, but there was nothing big enough to seal the hole. Sung was already leading the wounded for cover twenty meters distant.
Theroux sat on the southern edge of the depression, calmly watching them. “They won’t pursue. Not through that exit. Wait for the first one to try it. Shoot him. They may try once more, then they’ll abandon the tunnel and scale the canyon walls. Now’s your opportunity to put some distance between you and them, Captain.”
Rimes realized that, annoying as Theroux was, he was right. Just as the cave and then the tunnels had nullified the genies’ advantages, so would the exit. Given how fast and athletic they were, the genies could easily scale the canyon wall rather than waste time on a futile effort.
Rimes nodded at Sung’s retreating form. “We’ve got to keep them moving.”
Meyers handed two magazines to Rimes. “Shaw and Watanabe had a little to spare,” Meyers’s tone was dry. He turned to watch Sung for a few moments. “I’ll stay on them. Don’t fall far behind.”
Rimes shoved the magazines into hip pouches. “Don’t worry about me. If Theroux’s right, I’ll be fifteen minutes behind you, if that.” He settled onto his side, neck craned to listen to the opening.
Meyers waved Plauche on, then lingered a moment. He seemed to struggle with something—a thought, a sensation. Finally, he exhaled loudly. “Good hunting.” He jogged away quickly, before Rimes could reply.
Rimes felt more than saw when Theroux finally stood and jogged after the rest.
Doubts began gnawing at Rimes almost immediately. Had the genies abandoned the tunnels already? Had they sent scouts up along the canyon walls? Were they lying in wait, killing off the team once they disappeared from sight?
He rolled his head, and closed his eyes, then took a cleansing breath.
They’re coming. They’ll send a wounded one through first. Maybe wounded enough he’ll require assistance even to get out of the hole.
He didn’t have to wait long
for the genies to test the exit. Theroux’s retreating footfalls were still detectable over the BAS when the first hint of movement echoed up from the hole. Rimes readied the assault rifle, sighting in on the exit.
A tingle coursed up his spine as he imagined the look on the genie’s face when he realized he was pulling himself up into an ambush. There would be a moment of terror. Genie or mere human, there was always terror. And there would be desperation as the ones in the tunnel fled.
Rimes licked his lips at the thought.
With a soft grunt, Rimes shook away the alien thoughts. Kwon’s thoughts. I don’t relish the killing. It’s not a sport. There is no thrill. It’s my job. Survival, just survival.
Quiet as he could, Rimes edged back from the tunnel opening. He brought up the assault rifle, for the first time truly looking at it. It was a cheap but functional EEC model. In the end, it was a tool of destruction. So long as it killed, it was effective.
He sighted on the hole. There was a fresh magazine loaded and no reason to spare the ammo.
The genie cleared the exit with amazing speed. One second the exit was empty, the next, the genie’s torso was above the hole, back to Rimes. Rimes held his fire until the genie was standing. It favored its left side. It was a good twenty centimeters shorter than Rimes and slender as a girl.
The genie seemed totally at ease, its helmeted head busily scanning the horizon where Meyers and the others had fled. Finally, as if through a sixth sense, the genie turned and spotted Rimes.
In the split second where their eyes met, Rimes could see so much. Bullets had pierced the genie’s armor along the left ribcage, and bloody sand traced from the holes to the hips. The genie was female, slender, probably young. She moved, but not to draw her pistol.
Rimes felt the first hint of a push, initially ineffective, but present. He fired two bursts.
The genie crumpled.
They’re taking calculated risks, assuming we’re fleeing. He sprinted to the hole, caught a glimpse of someone—a male genie—rapidly scurrying back, an abandoned weapon clattering down in his wake. Rimes emptied the magazine and swapped in a fresh one.
