A Fiery Sunset

by Chris Kennedy

  “Well this is fun,” Rick gasped through teeth clenched against the brutal gravity. He now weighed well over two tons. He’d been under 10 Gs before, though only for a few seconds. It was one of the few times he envied his lieutenant. The MinSha were among the most G-tolerant races in the galaxy. T’jto could take 11 Gs all day long. Or close to it, anyway.

  “You Humans are pathetic.” That was Private Yeet. The Aposa were pretty damn tough, too, though Rick was sure he could hear her gasping for breath.

  “Quit your whining,” Trah’q said. Like the MinSha with her insect-like physiology, the crustacean-analog Xiq’tal were well suited for this.

  The command staff would be in their hydraulic combat couches in the bridge. The pilot was a Bakulu and almost as good at taking Gs as a MinSha.

  “Prepare for five seconds of 15 Gs,” came the bridge’s warning over their headsets.

  “Oh, f—” Anderson never got it out before another four times their weight was piled on top.

  Rick swam back up from the void. His armor’s heads-up display was flashing a control icon, a sure sign he’d passed out. Rick used his pinplants to send the same icon back to the computer to prove he was conscious, and the controls came alive again. His suit said they were under three Gs and dropping. He felt like he’d been beaten by Oogar with baseball bats. His mind whirled for a second.

  “Come on, Jim,” Rick said and lobbed the softball underhand. It was the 20th time he’d pitched a ball to his chubby friend, and he fully expected it to be the 20th miss. But Jim Cartwright locked his bright eyes on the ball, tracking it precisely until the right moment, and swung the metal bat with all his might. Clink! The ball soared into the late afternoon summer sky.

  “I hit it!” Jim screamed.

  “You did it, Jimbo!” Rick said, dropping his glove and sincerely applauding. “Way to go!”

  “Call out,” T’jto said, snapping Rick back like a slap across his face. Jim Cartwright, he thought. He’s my friend! Rick had remembered something serious for the first time since he’d been shot in the head. He also felt a little happiness. That, too, was new. He suppressed the feeling for now and listened to his squad mates call out.

  “Dragon 2, good to go,” Johansson said.

  “Dragon 3, mashed but okay,” Rick said. He’d tell Johansson what he’d remembered later.

  “Dragon 4, I think I have a couple popped ribs. I’ve taken a pain shot, I’m combat effective.”

  “Dragon 5, fine,” Yeet said.

  “Dragon 6, bored,” Trah’q said. All three Humans silently cursed.

  “Bridge, marines are good, standing by.”

  “Détente has been disabled and is adrift,” Captain Crispin said. “We’ll be alongside in one minute. Marines, prepare to board.”

  “Aye aye, Captain,” T’jto said. As one, those with faceplates on their armor reached up and snapped them closed. Rick heard his suit lock and felt the slight puff of atmosphere pressurizing inside. His heads-up display confirmed suit integrity, and he knew T’jto would see the same on her status board. “We’re ready.”

  “All hands, prepare for opposed docking. This is a boarding action. I repeat, this is a boarding action.”

  Rick used his pinplants to prepare his weapons. All of the troops were armed with weapons to both take the crew alive and to kill the Grimm. The situation was too unknown to predict. All they knew was the Grimm was aboard, it had just used a five-day trip through hyperspace (something Hussars ships weren’t capable of doing independently), and the ship hadn’t responded to the presence of Bucephalus the way it should have. Something was very wrong.

  His internal clock ticked down. At almost exactly a minute, there was a violent shudder and a Bang! resounded through the ship.

  “Capture!” someone called over the PA.

  “Marines, you’re a ‘go,’” Captain Crispin said.

  The light over the port lock indicated they’d use that one to dock. The door swung inward a second later. As JAL’s mission often called for unusual roles, her airlocks were quite large. Large enough for all of Dragon Squad to swarm into. If the Humans had been in CASPers, though, that wouldn’t have been possible.

  “Yeet, open it,” T’jto ordered.

  The Aposa leaped over and worked the control panel now linked with the other ship. A moment later she shook her head. “Jammed or locked out,” she said.

  “Bridge, we’re going to have to force it,” T’jto said. “Sealing the inner door.” The inside airlock door swung closed, sealing them in. The outer door rotated aside, revealing Détente’s outer airlock door. Yeet again moved to the door and examined the glass. A simple tube with a liquid filled membrane. If there’d been vacuum on the other side, no liquid would be visible.

  “Pressurized,” Yeet announced.

  “Clear out,” T’jto said, then to Trah’q, “Private, breach the lock.”

  “About damned time,” the Xiq’tal said and pushed off. Everyone was careful to stay out of his way as the massive crab grabbed the perimeter of the hatch with several legs, then brought his huge armored claw back and down with blinding speed and tremendous force. The attack was similar to a mantis shrimp on Earth, only generating more than 20 tons of precise force. Where the docking was loud, the stunning impact rang the Détente’s hull like a gong.

  There was a whoosh of equalizing atmosphere as Trah’q’s claw punched through the thick, armored airlock door. It was loud, even through Rick’s helmet, and he was grateful they’d closed their face shields.

  The alien struck several more times, then jammed the claw in and used it to shear the remaining steel between penetrations. With a final wrenching action, the lock failed.

  “Hell of a can opener,” Anderson remarked, an instant before a laser nearly sliced him in half.

  “Cover!” T’jto chittered, and the team pressed back against the walls of the airlock. Trah’q merely turned his claw side-on and held it sideways toward the enemy. Lasers scored but couldn’t penetrate his naturally-resistant armor.

  Anderson’s body jerked, and his arms flailed about. Rick could see his eyes wide in surprise. He’d been shot by a laser more than once; he knew the cold kiss of death. Rick saw the pleading in Anderson’s eyes as he realized how badly he’d been injured. Then his face went slack, and his eyes unfocused. It was over.

  “Captain Crispin, we have a KIA. We’re switching to lethal force.” T’jto said over the radio.

  “Understood; good hunting.”

  The MinSha glanced at her team once, then began giving orders. “Switch to heavy weapons,” she ordered. “Yeet, combat drones.”

  “Roger that,” the Aposa said. She snatched the egg-shaped cylinders from her belt and heaved them into the breached lock where Trah’q was still taking fire. The devices ricocheted off several walls inside the other lock, then deployed their drives. Each one had a pair of ducted electric fans and a suite of sensors. Capable of operating for hours and transmitting data, they were invaluable tools in boarding actions where you hoped to avoid collateral damage. If they’d wanted the Grimm dead despite the crew, Captain Crispin would have just nuked Détente and been done with it.

  The drones sent their data on an encrypted channel back to the controller; in this case Yeet. She then shared the feed on the squadnet. The virtual heads-up display created by Rick’s pinplants showed the view of both drones in their dizzying flight through the other side of Détente’s lock and into the ship. Few Humans could observe their immediate environment and simultaneously make sense of two data feeds with their eyes. The pinplants made it second nature.

  “Fixed weapon,” Yeet announce as the drones orbited a medium laser emplacement which was hacked into the ship’s power grid.

  “Killed by a damned booby-trap,” Johansson said and cursed. “Shut it down, private.” Yeet nodded and used her pinplants to order the drones. The machines weren’t much use against armored targets, as they each carried a tiny 1kw laser and just enough juice to power it for fiv
e shots, but that was enough against the laser emplacement’s power cable. A single shot severed it with a shower of shorted superconducting cabling. The laser fell silent.

  “Good,” Trah’q said. “My claw was starting to get warm.”

  “Corporal,” T’jto said, “secure Anderson’s body, then take point.”

  Rick had known that was coming; the entire reason their squad had been sent was him. He’d proven to be at least partly resistant to the Grimm’s abilities. He retrieved an elastic cord from his equipment belt and secured Anderson’s remains to a handhold. He patted him on the thigh once before turning and pushing into Détente.

  Entering the ship, Rick stopped at the passageway intersection a short distance past the laser emplacement where the weapon sparked and smoked from the sliced power cable. He used his suit’s remote camera on both suit gauntlets to look around the corner quickly.

  “Nothing in the immediate corridor,” he reported. “No sign of a fight.”

  “Understood,” T’jto said, “Yeet, send the drones out.”

  “On it,” the Aposa said. The drones buzzed past where Rick floated and split to go in two different directions. Less than a second later, the signal from the drone that went forward cut off as a pair of laser beams lanced through the air.

  “Fire from forward,” Rick confirmed.

  “Engineering is sealed,” Yeet said, “that drone shows a laser weld on the door.” They all had the blueprints for Détente in their pinplants. The courier ship was a lot like JAL, though it had a larger cargo capacity and was unarmed. In civilian hands, it would have been classified as a free trader. With a crew of 11, its living spaces were minimal.

  “There’s a good chance the crew was subdued and locked in engineering,” Johansson said. T’jto nodded her head in agreement.

  “There’s a small shuttle docked under the bridge forward,” Yeet reminded them. “Our hostile could be making for that.” T’jto considered for a moment, then gave her order.

  “Johansson, take Culper and Yeet, go forward, and secure the target. I’m taking Trah’q aft to the engine room to secure any possible prisoners.”

  “Understood, LT,” Johansson said. Yeet, never one for formalities, just nodded. Rick guessed she assumed that course of action had the highest probability of violence, so she didn’t argue. They split into the two teams and proceeded.

  The ship only had one main deck. The fore to aft central corridor they were on led directly to the engine room at the back of the ship. Up from it, the tiny shuttle bay was directly ahead, then up a short ladder and into Détente’s bridge from below. Like JAL, the Détente was too small for a CIC.

  The corridor forward had four openings before it ended, two on either side. Rick pushed off and caught the doorframe of the first space to the right, using his momentum to swing inside. As he flipped around, he speed-drew his trusty Ctech HP-4, his pinplants already linked with the weapon’s integral sights. A red crosshair was superimposed over his vision, showing where the gun was aimed.

  The room was crew berthing space with a tiny galley. Rick bounced off the far wall, scanning everywhere possible for someone to be. After his previous unnerving encounter with the Grimm, he wasn’t inclined to hold fire if he saw anything dark and shadowy. Especially after Anderson’s death. He was getting tired of losing squadmates.

  “Clear,” he called over the radio.

  “Clear,” Yeet said on the other side in officers’ quarters.

  “Rebounding,” Johansson said as she flew past to the next set of rooms, storage and multiple purpose rooms. Rick was just flipping back into the corridor when his armor mic picked up a gunshot from where she’d disappeared.

  Quick as a flash, Yeet launched herself ahead. Rick was less than a second behind. Despite wanting to follow her in after Johansson, he went to the other door on the opposite side of the corridor.

  “Report,” T’jto called from aft.

  “I shot a blanket blowing in an air duct,” Johansson said, the chagrin in her voice evident.

  Rick entered the last room, the galley and common spaces, the same way he had the other. He was keenly aware that the further they went, the more likely they were to encounter the Grimm. Thus, each entrance was increasingly likely to result in violence. He still didn’t feel any fear for himself, but he did feel something for Johansson, with whom he’d been intimate for some weeks now.

  Rick swept the room with his gun. Nothing was moving. He heard Johansson’s contralto voice mumbling about nerves, and his mind suddenly wandered.

  “Did you get it?” Jim Cartwright asked as Rick came into the library. The two had started spending their lunch hour there to enjoy unapproved entertainment. There weren’t many places a 10-year-old could get privacy.

  “You bet,” Rick said and pulled out a computer chip from his pocket.

  “Excellent,” Jim said and took the chip. Jim had his lunch out already on the little table that they both considered theirs in the food-allowed area of the library. Rick would rather be out running or something, but Jim enjoyed this so much. His friend produced a slate and slid the computer chip into it. Music began playing with a man talking.

  “There are those who believe that life here began out there. Far across the universe, with tribes of Humans who may have been the forefathers of the Egyptians, or the Toltecs, or the Mayans. Some believe there may yet be brothers of man, who even now fight to survive, somewhere beyond the heavens.” The music became dramatic and strange; improbable space ships flew by.

  “Entropy, look at those ridiculous ships!” Rick said, shaking his head.

  “Shhh,” Jim urged, “this is classic!”

  “Culper, you with us?” Rick shook his head, the memory receding. It was coming back to him, but he had to concentrate on the mission.

  “Yeah, sorry. Clear.”

  “That only leaves the shuttle and bridge,” Johansson said.

  “We’re cutting into engineering,” T’jto told them. “Can’t risk Trah’q’s trick, flying debris could cause a secondary explosion.”

  “Roger that,” Johansson said, “we’re going to hit the shuttle, then the bridge.”

  Rick pulled himself out of the room and looked across to Johansson and Yeet. Both had weapons in hand and were looking at the shuttle hatch. It was angled downward relative to the layout of the ship. The shuttle was designed to back into a notch under the nose of the courier, nestling in below the bridge.

  “Rick,” Johansson said, “hold back and cover us in case it tries that mind-blurring thing.”

  “Got it,” he said, and raised his weapon. Johansson and Yeet moved to either side of the shuttle hatch, and Yeet took out a breaching charge and armed it. Rick saw the movement out of the corner of his eye and shifted his view. A dark figure was half out of the opening hatch to the bridge. “Look out,” he snapped and moved his gun. The nightmare face with the red eyes looked at him, and his crosshairs blurred. A shot boomed out as the thing’s bony arm swung.

  The Grimm lurched as Rick’s 13mm armor-piercing round hit it a glancing blow. Yeet slid sideways, looking for a clear shot, and inadvertently blocked Johansson’s angle. The Aposa also caught the grenade square in her chest. The blast tore her apart and sprayed the corridor and Johansson with blood, body parts, and combat armor turned into deadly projectiles.

  Rick’s squadnet feed from Yeet and Johansson both went dead, which usually meant the armor’s occupants were dead as well. The Grimm spun away, and the bridge’s heavily armored door began to swing closed. Faced with choosing between his potentially-dead squad mates and their mission, Rick swung around and jumped as hard as he could at the door, already mostly closed. He shoved his left arm out, which went through to just below the elbow before his shoulder slammed into the hatch, and the door closed with a crunch.

  Rick screamed. The knowledge that it wasn’t flesh and bone being crushed did nothing to alleviate the agony. He flexed the synthetic arm and pulled as his combat armor was crushed inward a
nd the arm shredded. The motor in the door whined and protested, and smoke shot out from a housing. At the same time, the door went whang, whang, whang, and he felt something impact his arm. The Grimm was shooting.

  He held on, and a moment later the motor’s safety finally kicked in and reversed its motion. His cybernetic arm, the one replaced after he’d lost his natural arm defending Pegasus from boarders, was bent almost 45 degrees and punched through the palm twice by gunfire. At least it doesn’t hurt anymore, he thought. The circuitry that made it work was completely wasted.

  “I lost Johansson and Yeet on the feeds,” T’jto said. “What’s the situation?”

  “I have the Grimm in the bridge,” Rick said. “Yeet is dead; I don’t know about Johansson. You better send Trah’q as soon as you have entry.”

  “Will do, we just need another minute or two,” the LT replied.

  Rick let go of his HP-4. It floated in place while he used his right-hand camera to peak through. A shot almost scored on that hand, so he jerked it back. The bridge hatch was still opening, though incredibly slowly. Its motor was in bad shape. Rick used his pinplants to review the second or so of imagery. The Grimm was at one of the bridge consoles doing something unseen. I don’t have a minute, he realized.

  “Fuck it,” he said aloud.

  Rick snatched up his pistol and swung around the opening door. One of Rick’s favorite sports in school had been gymnastics. He’d caught a lot of shit from the rest of the football team, but it made him a formidable running back. Years of training and experience as a merc had honed his natural zero-gravity skills.

  As he came through the hatch, he spun. The armor on the rear of the suit was a bit thicker than the front to protect the life support and power packs. The Grimm fired, hitting the rear of his suit three times. The computer told him the first bullet hit his backup O2 tank, puncturing it. The second took out his primary rebreather. He didn’t need the computer to tell him where the third shot hit; he felt it tear through his lower back and into his abdomen.

  For once, his relative emotionless state served to help him. He didn’t experience the panic many felt when they were shot. Instead he thought, fuck, not again. He finished the spin, his feet hitting one of the bridge chairs and bringing him to what the Grimm would consider a quick and unexpected stop. The impact sent a searing wave of agony through his stomach.