by J G Cressey
Cal did his best to break the hold, but Malloy was leaning heavily on him. He fought for breath and tried to harness some strength from his growing anger.
“Kill you, kill you, kill you…”
“Fuck you, Malloy,” Cal growled back as he shifted his grip and partially managed to push the man away.
“Kill you, spicer, kill you, kill you, kill you…“
Despite his spinning head, Cal’s anger started to boil over. The words being hissed in his face were really starting to grate. Shifting his grip again, he managed to get a hold of the fingers on Malloy’s left hand. With a slow, strained effort, he maneuvered them sideways into a position where the man’s own weight put stress on them. The harder Malloy bore down, the greater pressure he put on his own twisted fingers. Against any sane person, this move would have been enough to make them reconsider their actions. Unfortunately, Malloy was pretty far from sane.
Seconds later, three of the fingers snapped, and Malloy’s arm thumped back against Cal’s neck.
“Kill you, kill you, kill you, kill you…”
A barrage of curses exploded in Cal’s head. If he’d been able to get them past his throat, he would have gladly unleashed them into Malloy’s face. He’d had some tough fights in his time but never against someone suffering this level of rage. And the fact that Malloy didn’t seem to feel pain really wasn’t helping.
“Kill you, kill you, spicer, kill you…“
Cal tried for another counter move, one that he hoped to God would work before the pressure on his neck took its final toll. Without breaking his hold, he angled his right arm up and pressed his elbow against Malloy’s chest.
“Kill you, kill you, kill you…”
Cal pushed his elbow against the man with all the strength he had left.
“Kill you, kill you, kill—”
His neck burning and shoulders straining, a dull thud reached Cal’s ears. Almost immediately—and somewhat ironically—Malloy’s menacing death chant suddenly died in his throat.
Cal sucked in a breath as the attack abruptly ceased, and Malloy slumped forward on top of him. He could see a haze of blue light disturbing the darkness, once again giving his eyes purpose. As he heaved Malloy’s dead weight off him, the light grew infinitely brighter. He gave his battered head a gentle shake and blinked a few times. Once his vision had finally adjusted, he saw that there was a figure standing over him.
Sinclair looked as if she’d taken a slow walk through a long war. She held a lump of nondescript metal in her hand and was staring down at Malloy with pallid anguish. “I think I’ve killed him,” she said, her voice as worn as her countenance.
Cal managed to prop himself up on one unsteady elbow and, for the second time in what seemed like hours—but was certainly only a few minutes—he placed a hand on Malloy’s neck.
This time, there was no pulse.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Cal sat on a buckled storage crate, manually clipping his armor back into place while Couter patched up his head. The young private had already given him a stim to rekindle his wits and eliminate the last of the dizziness. The stims were incredibly effective, and already, he was feeling close to normal. Even the throbbing pain in his arm had been masked. He could worry about the lasting damage and the nasty aftereffects of the drug later, which with any luck would be during their safe passage back to the starship.
He wasn’t the only one injured. As well as a myriad of cuts and bruises, Sinclair had a makeshift bandage wrapped around her middle, and he could see a red patch off blood seeping through.
“Malloy stabbed me earlier in the day,” Sinclair said as she saw Cal observing the wound. “I managed to fight him off and barricaded myself in the cockpit. I passed out for a while but luckily came around in time to patch it up before I bled out.”
“What the hell happened to him?” Franco asked. The corporal remained on his feet, bolt rifle in hand. He looked as though he expected Malloy’s corpse to rise up at any moment and burst out of the dark corridor to attack them. “The guy was always so quiet and mild-mannered.”
“His T-tech implant became compromised,” Sinclair replied. She shook her head. “What a screwed up planet we found, eh!”
“Paradise with a dark heart,” Couter mumbled in agreement.
Sinclair smiled briefly at that. “Well said.” She turned back to Cal. “Malloy started showing signs of losing it shortly after you left. Small blunders at first. Then, he became argumentative. Then aggressive. Fortunately, we’d already isolated the ship’s functional systems before he really started to lose it. We got it into a state where it might just about fly. I mentioned the idea of trying to get closer to the base, but honestly, I had no real intention of trying it. Far too risky.” Sinclair looked down at her bandage and winced as she dabbed at the red patch. “Unfortunately, the throwaway comment seemed to tip him over the edge. To say he went berserk would be an understatement.”
“Can I give you a stim?” Couter asked. “Just enough to give you a boost?”
Sinclair shook her head. “Thanks, but no. I’ve had my fair share of stims already.” She dabbed at the bandage again then gave it a gentle tug to reposition it. She looked deathly pale, and Cal could tell that she was putting a brave face on the pain. Unfortunately, there was little they could do until they made it back to the base.
“At least let me put a fresh bandage on,” Couter persisted.
Again, Sinclair shook her head. “Might as well do it later.” She looked up at them with a tight smile. “He stabbed me with a goddamned pick tool. You believe that? He even grinned at me as he shoved it in.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “You think you know a guy…”
Cal wasn’t fooled by the bravado; Sinclair had always been tough, but she’d obviously been through one hell of an ordeal, and she wasn’t as young as she once was. There were cracks appearing in her resilient cast, and the physical toll was fast prizing them open. But there was also pain in her eyes that had nothing to do with her wounds.
“You know you had to kill him, don’t you?” Cal said.
She looked at him as if he’d just thrown her a lifeline.
“If you hadn’t, he would have killed me,” Cal continued. “There’s no doubt in my mind. And after that, God knows who else he might have attacked?”
Sinclair took some time before answering. “Possibly you’re right. But I should’ve just knocked him out… I meant to just knock him out. I guess my blood was up.”
“I think the Malloy we all knew would have thanked you for it,” Cal said. “I doubt there would have been any returning from insanity like that. T-tech augs are too deeply ingrained. Once they go wrong… Malloy deserved better than to live an eternal nightmare.”
Sinclair nodded and seemed to appreciate the words.
“Any contact with the powers that be?” Franco asked after a moment.
“There was no answer to our signal,” Sinclair replied. “But that doesn’t mean anything. The comm tech seemed extremely vulnerable to whatever it is this planet is dishing out.”
Cal nodded, deciding that now wasn’t the time to explain Ebner’s findings on the tech issues. “The research team found the same. Sensor and communication tech went first, then the rest gradually followed suit. I’m actually astonished you managed to get the ship here.”
“So am I,” Sinclair admitted.
“I particularly liked the landing,” Franco said.
“The landing gear was screwed. I thought I could rely on the belly thrusters to touch down, but they packed in shortly after I took off. I guided the ship here by varying the power of the rear thrusters and tweaking the stabilizers.”
Franco chuckled. “Jesus, Sinclair. Pretty soon, you won’t need a ship. You’ll just start flapping those arms of yours.”
“Trust me, it was mostly blind luck that I managed to crash so close to the base.”
Cal managed a brief smile at that. Luck built on a solid foundation of skill and ability, he mused. Sincl
air had always been modest. He looked up at Couter. “Okay, Private, that’ll have to do,” he said, putting an end to the young man’s medic attempts. He stood up and was relieved to find that the stim’s effects endured. “So let’s try and rekindle some of that luck and get ourselves back to the base in one piece.”
“Had no trouble getting here, sir,” Couter pointed out.
“True, but best not get cocky.”
“You want me to retrieve Malloy’s body?” Franco asked. “Carry him back with us?”
Cal turned and looked toward the gap and the dark corridor beyond. “No,” he said after some thought.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure, Corporal,” Cal said without taking his eyes from the corridor. “Malloy is long gone from this place.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It had started to rain.
Only light drops but enough to bump Cal’s adrenaline up a notch and make all four of them run that bit faster through the night. The fires from the crash had all but died out, and the clouds had thickened to the point that almost no moonlight penetrated. Cal had been forced to use glow-tubes but had only activated the chemicals to their dimmest setting. The decision was born out of necessity, but he still wasn’t happy about it. The rain was sure to attract larger snakes out into the open. He didn’t know how long it would take, but he wasn’t about to hang around in a static, blue glow to find out.
The four of them moved as swiftly as possible. The muted, distant light emanating from the base made for a poor beacon compared to the earlier flames from the crash, but it was enough to stop them running in circles. Cal’s head was throbbing a little, but the stim drug was proving lasting in its effect. They ran in a line, ten feet between each of them—close enough to offer aid if a problem occurred but not so close as to be falling over each other. His bolt rifle thrust before him, Franco led the way, Sinclair next, then Couter. Cal stayed at the rear, keen to keep an eye on Sinclair. He suspected that her wound was worse than she was letting on, but so far, she was managing to keep up.
They made it almost halfway before their luck ran dry.
A loud thump up ahead was quickly followed by a sharp curse. Cal squeezed his glow-tube a little harder, increasing its luminosity, and after a few paces found Franco flat on his back. Thankfully, the corporal was still moving and looked reassuringly pissed off. Cal swept the muzzle of the old bolt rifle around, his trigger finger poised as he searched for the attacker. Couter did likewise. For a time, nothing could be seen; then, a familiar noise sounded a short distance ahead. Max’s cybernetic joints whirred softly as he emerged out of the darkness. The limp in his left leg had become worse, and his eyes seemed dimmer. He came to a halt a few paces in front of them and remained still and silent.
“You okay, Corporal?” Cal asked as he reached down to pull Franco to his feet.
“Yeah, armor took the worst of it. Hit me damn bloody hard though,” Franco said as he retrieved his bolt rifle and directed it at Max.
“Hold up,” Cal said as he pushed the muzzle downward. Max was clearly out of sorts, and he didn’t want the big robot taking offense. Besides, pointing such a weapon at him was a futile exercise; it might as well have been a child’s pea-shooter. “Max,” he said tentatively. “You okay?”
Silence.
“Are you fully functional, Max?”
Silence.
The rain was becoming heavier, large drops that made plunking sounds as they struck Max’s domed head and wide, armored shoulders. From what he could see in the dull light, Cal was sure the combat robot still had his water proofing seals activated. But, as Ebner had pointed out, that would probably do little more than slow the progress of his already malfunctioning systems.
Max gazed down at them blankly. Cal had always found those glowing eyes somehow endearing; now, they seemed a little intimidating. “Stand aside, Max. We’re returning to the base.”
As if frozen in time, Max made no move and said nothing.
“I need you to scout the area for me, Max,” Cal said in an attempt to change tack.
It didn’t work. Instead, the robot took two abrupt steps forward—the sound of his footfalls seeming horribly amplified in the darkness—and moved one of his great fists back to adopt a combat stance.
Recognizing the posture, all four of them took a step back.
“Okay, everyone stay calm,” Cal said, doing his best to take his own advice. He briefly wondered what sort of effect the chem-bombs would have on Max. He suspected very little. He had personally witnessed the robot fight on when completely engulfed in flames, and there’d been almost no resulting damage. If Max decided to attack, they’d be like a group of children facing a raging bear.
Franco cursed again, quietly this time. “The gods must really be pissed at us today,” he mumbled.
Cal wholeheartedly agreed. First Malloy, now this. And to top it off, he spotted his first snake: a small one that slithered past his foot. He ignored it and kept his attention on Max. “You don’t want to hurt us, Max. We’re your team…your friends. We look out for one another… We protect each other.” Cal wasn’t entirely sure that talking of friendship to a robot was going to be all that effective. Max’s AI system was fairly advanced, but there were laws limiting AI capabilities, particularly when it came to emotional intelligence. Right at this moment, however, he could think of nothing else that might help. “Are you going to protect us, Max?”
The robot just stared at them, still unmoving except for his left hand, which had begun to twitch, the fingers fluttering in some sort of malfunctioning spasm. Another snake slithered past, a good deal larger this time. Max didn’t shift an inch, the soft, blue light from the glow-tubes highlighting the multitude of rain drops trailing down his smooth chassis.
“Max, I—”
Cal’s words were cut short as Max made another abrupt move forward. Now, he well and truly loomed over them, his stance still poised for destruction. Cal did his best not to appear fearful—not an easy thing when it was clear he’d been picked as the first target.
“Sir.” Couter shifted slightly beside him.
Cal slowly held up a hand. “It’s okay, Private. Stand down. Max won’t hurt me…will you, Max?” The next few seconds seemed to stretch into hours that were counted down by his thudding heart. Again, the robot remained completely still, but Cal suspected there was a great deal of confusion and conflict going on behind those round eyes.
“We’re your team, Max.”
More long seconds ticked by.
Then, Max stepped back.
Swiftly twisting to his left, the big robot brought his fist down and pounded it into the ground with shocking force. Then, he lifted it and repeated the action, harder this time. Then again, and again.
Cal breathed a slow, quiet sigh of relief. “Okay, go,” he whispered.
Max didn’t react as Couter, Franco, and Sinclair slowly stepped away. Instead, he continued to smash his great fist into the dirt as if a part of him was desperate not to hurt them—the loyal, dutiful side attempting to distract the savage, killer side.
Once the others had safely made it past, Cal followed. But only once he was a dozen steps away did he give the order to run. The rain had started to come down hard, and he suspected that very soon, Max would be the least of their problems.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Without slowing his pace, Cal brought the old bolt rifle up and shot the snake just behind the head. The shot wasn’t fatal, but it stunned the beast enough for him to leap over its gaping jaws and continue his run. Ahead of him, Sinclair was struggling through the heavy rain. It was obvious now that her injury was rapidly eating away her strength. Cal caught up and forced her reluctant arm over his shoulders. She whispered something in his ear, her voice seeming as exhausted as her body. Cal couldn’t decipher what she’d said, but he imagined it was along the lines of saving himself. He ignored the words and surged on, half hauling her as he went. More than anything, he wanted to scoop her up and
carry her the rest of the way to the base, but to do so would compromise his ability to shoot. He couldn’t risk it. More and more snakes of varying sizes were emerging from the darkness, the scales on their long, pale forms shimmering almost supernaturally as they met the bubble of blue light that emanated from the glow-tubes. Cal glimpsed one beast with a head as wide as his torso, armor and all. Franco and Couter were doing a good job keeping the majority at bay, dispensing round after round from their bolt rifles. But occasionally, a snake would slip past unscathed, and Cal was finding his reactions tested to the limit.
Sinclair suddenly slipped, and Cal almost went down himself in an attempt to right her. The deluge of rain was softening the mud beneath their feet. Yet again, he found himself cursing the malfunctioning tech. Normally, the soles of his Corrian armored boots would detect the slick terrain and activate hundreds of tiny smart-spikes that would thrust in and out, their lengths adjusting accordingly within a fraction of a second. With this function inert, the soles remained close to flat, and Cal suspected they’d have been better off with even the cheapest civi boots.
As he and Sinclair stumbled and slid in a battle to regain their pace, a snake burst out of the darkness to their left. Cal twisted and swung his rifle around with a curse. It wasn’t the biggest he’d seen, but on this planet, that wasn’t saying much. Trying to retain his footing, he unloaded three quick, clumsy shots that, more by luck than anything else, found their mark. The snake recoiled, swiftly disappearing into the black void. Gritting his teeth, Cal pulled Sinclair up and tried to gain a better positioning. She was leaning heavily on him, her feet starting to drag. Cal felt a cold anxiety creep into his gut; he knew better than anyone how tough Sinclair was and what it would take for her efforts to fail. Fortunately, they were almost at the base. There were lights up ahead, and as he peered through the gloom, he could see Orisho dispatching snakes with fierce precision, his sword little more than a blur. The entrance behind the veteran was closed, but Cal knew that Wilson would be on its other side, preventing snakes entering and waiting until they were closer before opening up.
