Vengeance Enlisted

by James Scholes

  Death for Taylor.

  “Alright!” the drill sergeant said. His voice boomed across the hanger, louder than the whine of the drop-ship. Everyone turned to the sergeant and ignored the drop-ship as it rose in space, spun around to face the Devastator and flew off. We felt the wash of its engines, and then it was gone. The drill sergeant didn’t even flinch. He was like a concrete post. Unwavering. He waited for the drop-ship to depart before he continued bellowing orders.

  “Form into your pre-assigned training groups. The stewards will lead you through this mission. You all saw the wounded: if you don’t want the same fate, then listen to your stewards and follow their instructions. The wounded have to wait on this rock to get off⁠—⁠injured soldiers can’t fight, so they head home last. If you want to get off this station, then make sure you don’t get injured. Move out!”

  “Alright, you heard the man,” our asshole steward said, although now we were no longer on the battleship he felt more human and less malevolent. “Follow me, team. We are heading down to level fifty. Our mission is to clear out the level and return to this hanger. I want a tight formation, I want good communication, I want no screwing around. Got that?”

  “Yes sir!” we shouted back at him, less cocky than usual. There was something about this place that made us more of a team than before. Perhaps it was the cloud of blood that did it⁠—⁠a better reminder than most of our mortality. Perhaps we were just finally becoming marines, good at taking orders and working as a team.

  I could not help but feel like a traitor as we set off and marched out of the hanger. Everyone in my team was doing their best to be a marine, and all I wanted was vengeance. Did any of them suspect? Did it matter if they did?

  We would all find out soon enough.

  TWENTY

  Darkness claimed us. It was hot and cold at the same time: hot steam brushed against our face and body, almost scalding, and yet the air around us was freezing. I could feel small ice particles under my feet as I walked. They hung in the air, blown around by the wind. I could hear my squad-mates breathing. I couldn’t see them, but I knew from experience that they would be close enough for me to touch if I needed to, but not so close as to get in my way.

  “This way,” the steward in front said. I hated that man so very much⁠—⁠he had tried to kill me, after all⁠—⁠and yet he was my life-line in this hellish place. I wondered how he could see when we could not. Either implants in his eyes or a piece of kit that the recruits didn’t have. Perhaps it was just memory. It didn’t matter: what mattered was I clung to his voice like a beacon. A babe to his mother.

  Through this dark cavern we marched. It must have been twenty minutes. We were headed down, although the slope was negligible. For the first few minutes we had the glow of the hanger behind us, but it wasn’t long until the blackness was complete.

  We could hear machinery faintly through the rock: elevators running back and forth, turbines spinning, gas hisses and pumping. The station felt alive and dormant at the same time. It was an eerie place.

  Wilson was muttering to himself and I wondered if he was losing it. I could hear his breathing, hard and fast with a touch of panic. I reached out to calm him and he jumped at my touch.

  “It’s only me,” I said.

  “Don’t touch me,” he hissed back.

  “Silence back there!” the steward hissed.

  I could feel Wilson’s anger at me: I had made him look afraid in this place. He would have to try extra hard to make amends, less someone make a comment about his cowardice.

  But for now we had other issues to deal with: right now, there was light at the end of the tunnel.

  We closed in.

  As the light grew brighter I could make out more of what we were walking into: a huge cavern, covered in metal girders and mesh, with giant gears on both sides and pulleys with metal ropes lashed around a winch high in the ceiling.

  “We’re riding this all the way down,” the steward said.

  The entire room was an elevator.

  As soon as we were all loaded, the elevator started to move. I was amazed that this place was old enough to still use wires and pulleys rather than some kind of anti-gravity system, but that was of no consequence. The elevator travelled slowly down past multiple subterranean floors: some dark, some well lit, most showing signs of damage, decay or destruction. There were bodies here and there, left to rot. Strange smells wafted towards us, unpleasant and distressing.

  The steward was unmoved. He had seen it all before. Perhaps that was why he was such an asshole: what was the point of niceties when this was the end result?

  With a loud bang, the elevator came to a stop. An open corridor presented itself.

  “This is our stop,” the steward said. “Let’s move out.”

  Our squad followed him away from the elevator. At first glance everything seemed fine: the corridor was well lit and showed no signs of devastation. We could only see wear and tear.

  The corridor itself was huge: twenty feet high, seventy feet wide. Huge tyre marks ran the length of it, clearly from some kind of heavy mining machine.

  “There’s nothing down here,” Wilson said, almost laughing⁠—⁠clearly relieved.

  “We wouldn’t be down here if there was nothing,” Beth said. I tightened up at the sound of her voice. It had been so long since I had heard it. Pain gripped my heart⁠—⁠she was so close to me, and yet I felt as though she was lost forever.

  My hand tightened around my assault rifle. Taylor was silent, and a little in front of me. It would be so easy to just blast his brains out, right here, right now.

  Not yet, I told myself. Not yet.

  But soon… Oh so soon. Revenge was so close I could feel it. My trigger finger was tense, aching to be squeezed.

  We moved on, into an open chamber. The metal walkways and constant lighting were replaced with natural rock and a few mobile lights spread around the cavern.

  We were in the mine proper now: a warren of caves and tunnels, some dug by machine and some natural to the asteroid. Our boots left footprints in the dirt.

  “There are other marks here,” Harrod said. He stared at the dirt, his brow tight. “Not human.”

  “Just machines,” Taylor said, cocky and aloof, as though none of this mattered⁠—⁠it was just a training exercise; everything was fake, no matter how many recruits were injured.

  “Whoah,” one of the other marines said. “There was something there.”

  “Where?” Wilson demanded, gun up, looking madly at all the shadows. I noticed that the steward was silent, pensive. His eyes were wide, searching everything. He was nervous.

  So… There was something down here. But what?

  “Left! Left!” another marine shouted, started firing. Brilliant blasts of energy disappeared down a tunnel. Other marines joined in and soon half the squad were blasting blank energy rounds into nothing.

  “Cease fire!” the steward ordered. “Conserve your energy. You are shooting at nothing”

  The explosive gunfire stopped. In its place crept a pensive silence. We all watched and waited.

  There was… Something down here. I could smell it: not human, but familiar to the nose, and not in a pleasant way. I scanned the shadows, taking in all the caverns that surrounded us. Some were high in the walls above us. It could be anywhere.

  “I can hear it,” Harrod said, and then we all could: a small tumbling of displaced rock on dirt. On Earth I wouldn’t have even noticed it, but in this alien place the sound was as loud as a bell.

  My heart beat faster, the tightness in my chest grew. Whatever was in this place was here, somewhere… We could all sense it⁠—⁠the danger.

  Death was coming for us. The cavern echoed with the sound of our hearts beating so fast that the place buzzed, or maybe that was just the blood rushing through my ears.

  Then we saw it⁠—⁠we all saw it at once. It emerged from the cavern off to our left, big and dark and solid, tinted green. It moaned, a m
onstrous cry. An angry cry.

  We fired.

  TWENTY-ONE

  It didn’t matter that we weren’t using live ammunition. Everybody opened fire regardless.

  Except me. I couldn’t fire my rifle because if I did everybody would know I had live ammunition. My secret plan was unravelling before my eyes. I couldn’t join in the mission without exposing my deception, but if I didn’t join in then they would all question me, anyway.

  I had to look professional⁠—⁠I chose a stance that suggested I was waiting for confirmation before unleashing electric death. We had no positive target, after all. From the corner of my eye I saw that Beth was withholding from firing, as well. She was waiting for a positive target, just the same as me.

  The creature in front of us moaned, a horrible sound. Even though we were firing blank rounds, there was still enough energy flying through the air to kill⁠—⁠an entire squad unloading on the one object was devastating.

  “Cease fire!” the steward ordered. Once more, silence filled the cavern. “Marine: investigate!”

  The marine in question was Wilson. He nodded, apprehensive and nervous. He approached the hulking mass of flesh, looked down and laughed.

  “It’s a bovine,” he said. “It’s painted green!”

  “A bovine?” Taylor asked.

  “A cow,” I told him.

  “I know what a cow is!” he snapped.

  “Yeah, but you’re too stupid to know what a bovine is,” I said, cocky, feeding off his fear⁠—⁠and Taylor was afraid.

  “What did you call me?” he demanded.

  “I called you stupid,” I said, finger on the trigger. I turned to point my rifle at him, but he had moved. I hadn’t realised it⁠—⁠I had been too focused on the cow that the trainers had planted deep in the mine. A decoy. A trick. I had dropped my guard.

  Now Taylor was standing right next to me. His fear had turned him into a rage. He had to prove himself. Prove his worth. Had to be the big man.

  Now was my chance.

  “Say that again!” he shouted. The steward watched on, detached.

  “I said you were stupid,” I said with a smile.

  Taylor punched me in the face.

  The punch took me by surprise. My plan to shoot Taylor in the face evaporated. Worse: I dropped my rifle.

  Taylor’s punch sent me backwards into another marine. I bounced off her, my brain rattling inside my skull, and flew back into Taylor.

  There was no room for Taylor to attack with another punch. We were too close together. Instead, he grabbed me around both shoulders and we stumbled across the cavern.

  “Marines!” the steward yelled. “You have exactly ten seconds to return to formation before I step in and break your ass! Stop fighting this instant!”

  I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to: Taylor had me locked in a snake-like embrace. I couldn’t do anything but throw my momentum around, which I did⁠—⁠I jerked my head to the side and bent my knees to lower my centre of gravity. Even in the lighter gravity of the asteroid, this was enough to over-balance him.

  Taylor and I went down. We landed in the dirt still locked together.

  “Marines!” the steward shouted, full of rage. Again: we ignored him, although I was no longer helpless. My left arm had come loose when we fell. Taylor was still squeezing me, but that was ineffectual. He might as well have been giving me a cuddle. He was no good at hand-to-hand combat. His only skill was surprise, and surprise didn’t last long enough to kill.

  My skill was rage. I would kill him.

  My left hand wrapped around Taylor’s throat. I squeezed.

  “Taylor!” That was Beth. She no longer called my name, may never call my name ever again. It was too late for that. Vengeance and love could never mix⁠—⁠and I chose vengeance.

  Taylor screamed, or tried to. My thumb was pressed so tight against his windpipe that only a squeak escaped his throat.

  “Marines!” the steward bellowed. The ground shook as he stormed towards us. I ignored it all, just focused on squeezing the life from Taylor.

  I could feel his heart beat through my gloves. Heavy and fast and terrified.

  I squeezed even harder, my right arm free now⁠—⁠free and around his neck.

  “Taylor! Stop it!”

  I squeezed so hard my fingers ached.

  Everyone was screaming. The noise was incredible: marines shouting, jostling, yelling. Discipline went out the window. The terror of this place had broken us. Our training counted for nothing.

  I lay on the ground, hands around Taylor, locked in an embrace of death. Taylor was trying to strangle me now, but his hands didn’t have the strength to kill. It felt like a tickle, nothing more. He was so weak that it might as well have been a lover’s caress.

  “Taylor! Taylor!” Beth was screaming like a schoolgirl. She had forgotten what she was: a marine, brought back from the dead. A killing machine with the strength to match her talents. In this low gravity she could have pulled me right off him and thrown me clear. Perhaps she wanted me to win. Maybe she was tired of Taylor. It would be easier if he were dead.

  Soon… So soon. His heartbeat was getting weak, irregular. His hands just brushed against my face, like a tissue in the breeze. He was dying.

  “Marines!” The steward was in a panic, I could hear that. I could still feel his footsteps thundering towards us, too large to be real⁠—⁠as though he were a force of monstrous proportions.

  “Marines!” another cry, useless just like the last. I felt him grab me; strong hands on my shoulders, ready to pry me free.

  “Taylor!” Beth’s scream echoed throughout the cavern, laced with terror. Taylor’s eyes bulged in his head. He had lost all colour in his face.

  “Marine!” the steward shouted in my ear. Bits of spittle hit my face. I ignored it, focused on murdering Taylor, instead.

  “Marine⁠—⁠” a last, panicked scream and then the steward was gone.

  I blinked, looked up.

  The steward was dangling in the air. A giant, clawed hand held him around the head. The claw squashed the steward’s head like a melon. Blood and brains exploded everywhere. Then the monstrous hand threw the corpse against the far wall of the cavern where it lazily tumbled to the ground, almost comically.

  But there was nothing comical about the monster standing before us. No, not a monster. An alien.

  A gecko.

  TWENTY-TWO

  The gecko towered above me. Its alienness was overwhelming: it was eighteen feet tall, with two giant legs and four arms. Red reptilian eyes stared out of a face full of splintered teeth. Its skin was tough and leathery, a shade of brown and green with touches of yellow on its belly. A tail stretched out behind its bulk, just as long as it was tall and thicker than the trunk of a tree.

  It was a monster in the truest sense of the word. And it stank. The odour was impossible to identify; my nose had never smelled something so horrid before. The closest I could compare it to was rotting meat. Perhaps that was just the stink of the cavern.

  The gecko was wearing body armour, which added to the sense of unease⁠—⁠this creature looked like an animal, not something that would wear armour. The armour covered its chest, its legs, the tip of its tail and its skull. From where I lay, it looked like it was made out of a single slab of metal, or carved straight from rock. Straps wrapped around the creature to hold each piece in place.

  It was unarmed, but the gecko was so large that it didn’t need weapons. It swept two of its four arms down and collected half of our squad like they were dolls. They flew through the air, looking comical in the low gravity. They landed with broken bones, concussed or worse. It had been a simple swipe and half the team was gone.

  The rest were in panic mode.

  “Fire!” Harrod shouted, and they opened fire with their assault rifles⁠—⁠but their rounds were blanks, and even though they had killed a cow there was no way they had the energy to slow down a monster of such size. The blasts ricocheted
off the creature’s armour like fireworks.

  The gecko roared⁠—⁠a scream that echoed painfully throughout the cavern⁠—⁠and it stepped forward. The ground shook. The marines stepped back. Some ran.

  Taylor and I were stuck between its feet, with its bulk towering over us. We took one look at each other, our feud forgotten.

  Then we ran⁠—⁠he ran towards Beth. I ran towards my assault rifle, which was lying in the dirt not more than ten feet away⁠—⁠and it was the only weapon we had that could kill the beast.

  The gun was so close, and yet it might as well have been lying in another galaxy.

  I dived towards it. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the massive gecko take another step. Its leg was as big as I was. I tried to pivot to avoid it but I was in the wrong place and a collision was unavoidable.

  The leg crashed into my side and sent me sprawling. I tucked my legs in so they weren’t crushed under its weight.

  The gun was still lying there, but the gecko was on a rampage. I saw Wilson fly through the air, his face blank. Was he dead? I had no idea.

  I had to focus: get the gun!

  I tried again. This time I managed to scoop up the weapon along with a fistful of dirt. I rolled, out of control. I was in a panic just as much as the rest of the squad. As I rolled I couldn’t see anything but rock but I could hear screams and useless gunfire. I recovered, looked up, saw the gecko staring down at me. Two red, beady eyes focused like a camera lens. I felt my blood run cold.

  Did it see me as a threat? Absolutely.

  I was in no position to fire: I was in a half-crouch, with one hand pressing into the dirt for stability and the other on my rifle. I was over-balanced. The gecko was already swinging two of its arms towards me. I had half a second to move, maybe less. Not even a heartbeat of time to react.

  There was a natural ledge in the rock, barely two feet off the ground. It was the closest shelter to me. I ducked, used my momentum to my advantage and rolled again. The swinging claws reached me, tore my armour and half the skin from my back. I screamed even as I found the safety of the ledge. The gecko couldn’t get at me now, not unless it ducked down low and scooped me out like gunk from a shoe.