by J G Cressey
Becker didn’t hesitate in pulling the pin. The soldiers were almost on them, and the snake wasn’t all that far behind. The beast’s size was becoming terrifyingly apparent, probably able to swallow the lot of them in one go if they were good enough to bunch together for it. Becker pushed Christie back as she readied herself to the throw the bomb. Cal moved to her side, as did Franco. They were under no illusions that the bomb was going to be particularly effective out in the open against such a large foe, but it was something, and something was always better than nothing.
In a strange symmetry, Becker threw the bomb just as the two approaching soldiers withdrew their sidearms and tossed them in their direction. Cal snatched one of the pulse pistols out of the air and knew Franco would be doing the same with the other. A second later, Cal had adjusted the weapon in his grip and was tugging on its trigger. He’d been expecting the move, knowing that the team in the rescue craft would be fast thinkers and trained just like his own. The two soldiers skidded to their knees right in front of them, turning as they did so in order to blast out round after heavy round from their ten-click pulse rifles.
Christie’s bomb exploded a dozen paces in front of the snake and instantly slowed its attack. Rearing up and twisting away from the flames, the beast retreated a little distance then altered its course, its long, glassy body reflecting the little inferno as it efficiently maneuvered in a wide arc around it. The bomb had bought them some time, a handful of seconds, but inevitably, the beast was coming at them again, regaining its pace quickly. The feel of the fully operational weapon shuddering in Cal’s grip accompanied by the blaze of surrounding gunfire filled him with hope. But it didn’t last. Their defense was clearly doing the snake some damage—its pale, blunt head blackening to the point that it would soon be indistinguishable from the darkness surrounding it—but still, it was advancing, demonstrating that same reckless ferocity seen in its smaller kin.
Cal prayed for the beast to open its jaws, his past experience telling him that its insides were far more vulnerable than its near indestructible scales. But the beast didn’t oblige. Again, Cal found himself having to ignore his instincts, which were urging him to spread out from the group and attack the creature from different sides. But half the group were unarmed, and some couldn’t even move. No, they would stand fast and unleash everything they had until the very last. Either they all made it or none of them did. Even though the latter was fast seeming inevitable, none of them retreated—even when the monstrous beast was a few meters away, its pace and bulk like a wrecking truck. Cal held his trigger down, the weapon growing hot in his hand. Open your jaws, you bastard.
But the snake didn’t open its jaws…at least as far as he knew.
The beast was suddenly gone.
Something had hit it hard and fast—very hard and fast.
Cal eased off his trigger, confused and a little shocked as he stepped back and looked to his left. Max was there. The big battle robot had rammed into the side of the snake’s head, smashing it away from them, and was now furiously grappling with it. He seemed far smaller than usual, pitted against such a massive foe, but he was fierce, almost savage, as he repeatedly crashed his fist into the side of the snake’s head. All of them watched, barely moving, the sudden fight having thrown them into a stunned silence. Normally, Cal would have fancied the robot’s chances, but Max had multiple malfunctions and was already struggling as a result. One of his mechanized arms became caught within the monster’s jaws, and his left leg was juddering violently. It seemed the fight wasn’t going to last long. The snake was drawing its long body in, beginning to coil up and roll over, taking Max with it.
“Let’s move,” Cal shouted, turning to grab hold of Poots. But one of the soldiers was already there, perhaps realizing that fresh legs were better suited for the job. Cal didn’t argue. And likewise, no one argued with his order.
Their pace as they fled from the fight proved that much quicker now that they had two more able bodies in the group. As they ran, Cal again looked for the ship. From what he could make out, the link structure had been turned over and almost torn in two near one end. Becker had definitely been right to get away from it. Beyond that, there was a great deal of fire and a huge amount of smoke, dark and billowing against the gleaming surfaces of the base. But search as he might, he could detect no sign of the other snake or the ship—none, that was, but a faint thrum of engines that he hoped to God wasn’t just in his imagination. They ran on, but his attention never strayed far from the smoke.
Then, the thrum increased, gaining credibility in his mind the louder it became. “Come on, come on,” he whispered under his breath. Suddenly, as if in answer to his quiet plea, the ship burst out of the smoke and immediately altered its course to head in their direction.
“Here’s our ride,” Franco shouted.
The corporal yelled something else, but the ship was incredibly swift, and already, the increasing sound of its thrusters drowned out his words. The pilot flew low and set down far closer to them than was considered safe. Thruster burns, however, were the least of their concerns.
Despite the relative proximity of the landing, they still had a little way to run. Without breaking his stride, Cal looked back to try and catch a glimpse of Max and the now distant fight. His eyes battling the dark, he peered through the sweeping, stinging rain and after a moment confirmed his fears. The clash between monster and machine was over. Max was nowhere to be seen. Only the snake was emerging, once again sliding relentlessly toward them. The huge creature was slower than it had been, clearly injured in its battle. But still, it pursued them, seeming entirely mindless in its need to attack…to kill. Cal had to wonder which of them was truly the machine: Max or the beast.
There was a familiar change in pitch as the ship’s thrusters prepared to take off again. Don’t you bloody dare, Cal thought, shooting a fierce look toward the cockpit window. Whoever sat at the controls was nowhere near as ballsy as Sinclair had been. “Corporal,” he shouted, “get on that ship, and stop that bloody pilot taking off again. Not before the civvies are on board.”
Franco put on a burst of speed. Cal, on the other hand, slowed to a near stop and turned to fire his weapon at the approaching menace, gradually backing his way toward the ship as he did so. Maybe he could slow it just enough.
Seconds later, one of the soldiers joined him.
“The bitch refuses to die, eh.”
A ten-click pulse rifle was shoved at him. Cal grabbed it and managed half a grin as he thrust it forward and tugged on its trigger. The soldier was Becker. Somehow, she’d acquired two of the pulse rifles—probably forcibly. He refocused his attention back on the snake. The beast slowed under the fire, but it was close. Too damn close.
Without relenting his defense, Cal glanced back again to see Ebner, Campbell, and Christie being pulled into the folds of the ship. “Okay, Sergeant,” he shouted, confident that Becker would know his intentions as well as he did. “Let’s go.” Together, they spun and bolted for the ship, doing their best to gain momentum on the wet, muddy ground. The ship was already beginning to rise. Abandoning their weapons, they leaped for the opening, crashing into its hard edge and scrambling for a decent hold. The soldiers reached down to help them, but the look of horror on their faces was enough to turn Cal’s head. The snake had increased its speed, and as the ship continued to lift, the beast arched its body, raising its head in an attempt to smash into the underside of the hull.
Cal stared, transfixed, the passing seconds painfully stretched. He was now completely incapable of affecting the outcome one way or the other. For a terrible moment, it seemed the snake was going to achieve its goal. But suddenly, its massive head jerked in midair as if hit by an immense electrical surge. Then, it was dropping, having inexplicably lost all of its lethal drive. Something long and sharp was protruding from the top of its head—a huge blade, shining bright under the fierce light of the ship’s thrusters, blue, glistening blood coating its length. The snake’s im
penetrable scales were upended where the weapon had pushed them apart from the inside.
Cal could scarcely believe his eyes. Dragging himself forward, he leaned out of the ascending ship’s hatch and watched as the lifeless beast pounded into the dark mud. The killing blade had already been retracted, no doubt automatically sheathed back into Max’s big forearm. It seemed that being eaten simply wasn’t enough to prevent the robot from saving their lives one last time.
Cal became aware of hands grasping him, pulling him back as questions were being asked. Climbing to his feet, he shrugged the hands off and called out for whomever was in charge. A woman stepped forward, deactivating her night vision visor as she did so. Cal recognized her immediately; he’d worked with her on a couple of missions a few years back. She was a good officer and thankfully at this moment appeared entirely composed. She had to shout to be heard over the noise of the thrusters. “Harper, what the hell happened here?”
“Lieutenant Shaw. I’ve no time to explain,” he shouted back. “How long have you been in the atmosphere?”
Shaw didn’t hesitate and tapped a control on her data pad. “One hour twenty-seven minutes.”
Cal nodded, satisfied. It hadn’t been long. “Any trouble with the engines?”
Shaw’s brow creased as she shook her head. “None.”
“Any other technical problems?”
“Our targeting’s started to play up. Made it near impossible to use our Jago cannons.”
“What about other signs of life…human life?” Cal knew full well that neither Orisho nor Wilson had survived, but he wouldn’t have been able to forgive himself if he hadn’t at least checked.
“You lot are it,” Shaw replied. “We’ve done multiple scans.”
Again, Cal nodded and turned to look out of the open hatch. The pilot had brought the ship to a static hover, ensuring an altitude that posed no risk from predators on the ground no matter what their size. Fire still burned near the base, fierce despite the rain as it continued to billow thick, black smoke. The area was becoming increasingly hard to see. “And the snake? The other big one by the base?” he asked without turning from the hatch.
“It finally retreated. We managed to fire a helix bomb at it…but with the screwed-up targeting, it took some doing…”
Thank Christ for that, Cal thought as he took hold of an overhead grab rail. Leaning forward, he looked directly down to get a bird’s-eye view of the huge beast that had almost been the end of them. The ship’s thrusters were casting a bright light, which illuminated the entire length of the dead snake’s body. It was undeniably an impressive sight, but he didn’t waste time gazing at it. His attention was on the relatively small, hard-edged form lying a few meters from the creature’s massive, gaping jaws. A tangle of twisted parts that now lay inert bar the odd, juddering, cybernetic spasm. Even under the bright light, Max would have been barely recognizable were it not for the domed head and those unmistakable round eyes that still retained a soft glow. Never one to give up, the battle robot had crawled free from his opponent’s jaws, leaving a trail of blue gore in his wake.
Cal felt transfixed by the sight of the robot. The move to crawl away from his defeated opponent was one last demand from his AI protocols to ensure the ease of retrieval at a later date. Or perhaps there was more to it than that. Cal couldn’t deny those little spikes he’d seen in Max’s system, the ones that occasionally caused something akin to a personality to flash into existence. Maybe the big combat robot had crawled free deciding that he didn’t want to be left—didn’t want to be abandoned on some hellhole by his team. Cal struggled with the thought. It seemed impossible. Maybe he was losing it. Maybe this mission and all its tragedy had proved too much for him. His rational mind was screaming at him to just get the hell out of there. To leave this damn planet in their wake and let it become someone else's problem. But those round, glowing eyes seemed to be staring up at the ship, staring directly up at him, imploring him not to forsake a teammate.
Shit, I really am losing it.
Cal continued to stare—seconds feeling like long minutes, those round, glowing eyes staring right back.
Damn it.
He turned back into the ship and did his best to appear entirely sane. “Shaw, we need to get out of here; this is not a friendly planet. But first, I request a quick retrieval of my last teammate.”
Shaw looked puzzled. “Like I said, Lieutenant, the scans showed no signs of—”
“I mean our combat robot directly below us.”
Shaw hesitated. Understandably, she appeared surprised by the request, but she seemed to be weighing it up nonetheless.
“I’m referring to the same robot that just saved every single one of our lives,” Cal added. He considered elaborating with some bullshit about critical data stored within Max’s system which was imperative to retrieve, but in the end, just as Max had done, he let his eyes do the talking.
It took some moments, but eventually, Shaw activated her comm. “Paulter, retrieve the combat robot below us. Do it fast, and use the grasper. Be ready on the emergency release in case there’s any trouble.”
“Copy that,” the pilot replied.
“Once it’s done, take us on a fast track out of the atmosphere.”
Cal felt himself relax, Shaw’s words seeming like a mild sedative. He held the woman’s gaze. “I appreciate that.”
She gave him a brief, consoling smile. “It seems like your team’s already suffered enough loss.”
Cal nodded. “It’s been bad,” he replied. The statement sounded woefully inadequate, but now wasn’t the time to start baring his soul and certainly not to a fellow officer. He glanced over at the civilians, then at the last of his team. The sight of them alive and mostly intact went some way to banishing the sorrow that was already trying to creep its way back into his mind. “To be honest, Lieutenant, it’s nothing short of a miracle that any of us made it out alive.”
“Gotta be grateful for that.”
“I am,” Cal said more to himself than Shaw. “I truly am.”
Epilogue
Cal breathed a long sigh of relief as the ship’s juddering came to an end. Finally, they were clear of the planet’s atmosphere. Clear of its hellish dangers and ominous secrets. Soon, the ship would reattach to its bulky Slipdrive, which lingered idly out of orbit. Then, they’d make the long journey back to the starship—back to debriefings, a shit load of questions, and some hard decisions. Cal would say his piece, draw up his reports, and make damn sure they were given the right attention. If he could help it, no more lives would be claimed by Capsun 23. Then, he’d pay a visit to Captain Decker—force a visit if necessary. As he’d suspected might happen, Decker hadn’t even bothered to send a backup rescue ship. If Shaw and her team had failed to retrieve them in time, the cycle would have started over again. Cal found himself wondering how many times that would need to happen before the idiot captain saw sense. How many lives needed to be lost? He decided it would probably be best to give it some time before he confronted Decker—not a lot but enough for his anger to dissipate to a degree where he was less likely to cause the man serious damage.
Resting his head back, Cal was pleasantly surprised to find that this ship actually had decent smart-gel padding. He felt a wave of gratitude for that little element of comfort—to a level that was probably completely disproportionate. Right now, however, he’d happily grasp whatever blessings came his way no matter how small and seemingly insignificant. Perhaps unsurprisingly, he felt as though his body had been pulled through a meat grinder. On top of that, it probably wouldn’t be long until the unpleasant aftereffects of all the stim drugs he’d consumed kicked in. Fortunately, he was fairly adept at disconnecting from such physical pains. A part of him wished he had equal talents for pushing away the mental pain, to numb his mind until the passing of time inevitably lessened the impact. But there was another part of him, a far more dominant part, that allowed it in. Forester, Malloy, Orisho, Wilson, Sinclair, and Cout
er. He needed to remember the loss. He needed to learn from it. Bad decisions had been made, most notably his own.
Beside him, Becker deactivated her restraints and climbed to her feet in order to strip off her armor. In truth, he felt like doing the same himself but couldn’t even come close to rustling up the energy or the will. For a moment, he wondered how she was managing it. But as he watched her unlock and peel off her chest plate, he noticed her battle-scarred arms trembling under the effort.
“Sergeant, sit down before you fall down. That’s an order,” Cal said, his tired voice lacking any real authority.
Letting the chest plate drop to the deck, Becker collapsed heavily back into her seat. “Just had to get out of that fricking thing. Felt like it was crushing me.”
Cal looked down at the armor, the blue blood stains and massive teeth marks reminding him just how lucky he was to still have his sergeant with him.
“Thanks for having my back down there, Becker.”
“Ditto, boss. I think we made it out just about even on this occasion.”
Cal smiled. No matter how many times they saved each other’s lives, Becker never made a big thing out of it.
Letting out a small groan, she pressed her head back into the smart-gel. “When we get to the starship, remind me to ask for some time off.”
“Consider it already asked and approved,” Cal replied.
The request and answer were both made in jest, but in truth, Cal doubted whether any of them would be fit for duty for quite some time, especially Poots.
“You think Max will be fixed up again for service?” Becker asked.
Cal shifted in his seat and rubbed at his eyes. Max’s retrieval had thankfully gone without a hitch. If it hadn’t, it would have been a tough one for him to explain. Now, the combat robot was secured in the hold where Franco had set him to recovery mode; he needed to recuperate just as much as the rest of them—probably more. To say he was a malfunctioning, mangled mess would be an understatement. “I hope so,” Cal replied. “The big guy deserves it. And we’d have been screwed without him.”
