Blue Star Marine Boxed Set

by James David Victor

  Kitzov dropped, his back to the console, and checked his wrist-mounted holo-stage.

  Boyd glanced down. The image was clear. Union ships in orbit were exchanging fire with the Skarak, and then he saw the smaller frigate of the Blue Star Marines landing.

  “Now the kravin’ Union are here,” Kitzov said with a roll of the eyes. “Maybe it’s time to leave.”

  “We’ll never get away on our ships with Skarak and Union in orbit,” Poledri said. “We can take that one.” He pointed at the frigate landing, Marines running out in good order by squads.

  Boyd looked down and could see it was his squad, the Blue Stars. Then he spotted the tiny figure running out with the final squad. It was his boss, Major Featherstone.

  Kitzov was going to try and steal the Resolute. Boyd couldn’t let it happen.

  “With the Skarak and Union slugging it out, we might be able to slip away,” Boyd said.

  “You are right, Mr. Boyd,” Kitzov said.

  Boyd felt a swell of pride. When Kitzov praised you, it felt good. He was a special kind of leader. Boyd could see how he was so admired, and how the Union needed to capture him.

  “I will escape on the Silence,” Kitzov said. “I went to a lot of trouble to get that ship. I’m not abandoning it now.”

  “Yes, the Silence,” Poledri said. “She’s more than a ship. It’s a symbol of the Faction, and our will to defeat the Union. I will cover your escape, give the Union something to shoot at and give you a way out.”

  Thresh tapped into her holo-stage and checked the condition of the Odium Fist. It was much nearer than the Silence. “We can get there and have her off the ground quickly. We can use her to cover Kitzov’s way to the Silence.” She looked at Boyd. “Can you keep her low and slow?”

  “No,” Poledri said. “Boyd will go with Kitzov. He’s the best pilot here.” He turned to Kitzov. “Take Thresh too. She’s a great engineer and she has a devilish skill with the weapons console. She’ll keep you safe and Boyd will get you clear.” Poledri turned to Thresh and Boyd. “You hear me? These are your orders. Get Kitzov out of here.”

  Kitzov nodded his approval at Poledri’s plan.

  “Okay,” Boyd said. “We just need to get back to the surface. There must be another way out of here.”

  His memory was good enough that Boyd could still remember the basic layout of the complex from his brief look at the holo-map. The complex was spread deep underground and there were other access points. He would be able to get out and take Kitzov to the Silence. Then, with the flight console at his fingertips, it would be easy to deliver Kitzov into the hands of the Union.

  All he had to do was get out of the complex and onto the Silence alive.

  Featherstone checked his holo-stage and moved in on Boyd’s position. He was somewhere over the far side of the landing zone, which was covered in Faction ships. Some ships were dark, their drive assemblies cold, while others were smoldering wrecks. In between the ships, Featherstone could see Skarak soldiers darting from cover to cover.

  More Marine landing craft were arriving on the surface filled with the Union Marine regulars from the Titan. They moved out across the area, firing at the Skarak soldiers still on the ground. The Skarak weapons were powerful, and Marines were falling every few seconds, but the weight and numbers of the Titan battalion was winning the day.

  Moving under the lower hull of an unpowered Faction ship with his squad, Featherstone advanced swiftly. A Skarak soldier dropped in front of them and opened fire. The beam sent a Blue Star Marine tumbling backward. His suit’s medical data relayed to Featherstone that he was in critical condition.

  The squad poured fire into the Skarak at close range and it fell under their assault.

  “Doc,” Featherstone said, “check out the casualty.”

  As Cronin moved over to the fallen Marine, slinging his pulse rifle over his shoulder, another Skarak dropped from the top of the ship. It landed on Cronin’s back and latched on with two small mid-torso limbs and began to drag Cronin away.

  Sergeant Dorik reacted first and ran after Cronin and his abductor. He slung his rifle and drew a pulse pistol. He fired. The smaller weapon was much easier to handle while at a run.

  The Skarak continued to drag Cronin away. It leapt vertically into the air, but fell back to the ground. It was as if the Skarak expected to launch itself into orbit.

  Doc Cronin cried out in pain as the pair landed heavily. Sergeant Dorik activated his suit’s grav field generator and made himself marginally lighter, allowing him to leap forward. He barreled into the Skarak and Cronin, knocking them both to the ground. They skidded over the loose white gravel, Cronin rolling to one side while the Skarak stood up and faced the oncoming Dorik.

  Landing on his feet, skidding forward, and raising his pistol, he slid to a halt a meter in front of the Skarak. He felt his finger on the trigger.

  Dorik looked into the enemy’s faceplate. The two upper limbs brought the long, silver weapon around to aim at the Blue Star sergeant.

  But he was frozen in place. The Skarak chittered inside its helmet, and he watched the weapon come up to point at his chest.

  Then a pulse round rang out, and it glanced off the Skarak helmet. It looked down at Cronin, the pulse pistol held in two quivering hands, then back at Dorik before bounding off in huge arching leaps.

  “What was wrong with that thing?” Cronin said, getting to his feet. He clutched his sides in pain where the Skarak had gripped him. He administered a painkiller from his suit’s onboard med-pack.

  “I don’t know,” Dorik said, looking down at the pulse pistol in his hand—a pistol he had never previously had any difficulty in discharging.

  Why did he not fire at the Skarak? Why had the Skarak not fired at him?

  “Let’s get back to the squad,” Cronin said, moving uncomfortably.

  A roar in the upper atmosphere drew Dorik’s eyes. He saw a billowing vapor trail and fire trail off a ship that was falling into the atmosphere. A ship had been destroyed and was falling to the ground.

  Dorik’s holo-stage sounded with the voice of Featherstone.

  “Reports from the strike force. We have additional support arriving from the rapid response frigate arm. The Skarak are withdrawing. We’ve beaten them back. Now let’s get Kitzov.”

  Dorik helped Cronin to his feet and supported him as they moved over the rough ground. “Your hunt is over, Doc,” Dorik said. “You can check out the wounded and then get back to the Resolute.”

  “I’m good, Sarge,” Cronin said. “I didn’t join the Blue Stars to sit on a frigate. A stim shot and dermal patch and I’ll be fine. Let’s check out that wounded Marine and get on with the job.”

  The escape route Boyd had picked would take them deep underground and back up to the surface on the far side of the landing zone. Kitzov was ushering his followers out of the control room and keeping up the rear defense, holding back the Skarak. Just as Boyd was about to leave, he heard the rumble in the corridor. It rose in volume until a clamoring mass of broken bodies came rushing into the control room.

  “Everyone, back!” Kitzov shouted. He fired at the bodies in their blood-soaked clothing, torn and covered in white Kalis dust.

  Boyd fell back. He could see the Skarak soldiers behind the mob of possessed—only a handful, four at most—but they sent twenty or more of the possessed before them, soaking up the defenders’ fire as they fell back through a doorway at the far side of the room.

  “A new group of signals arriving over Kalis,” Thresh said. “More Union ships. Frigates. The Skarak are leaving. Their ships are falling back.”

  Boyd fell back and was last through the door. Kitzov, who waiting just inside, dropped a tall cabinet across the open doorway.

  “Go,” he said to Boyd as he walked backward, firing through the open doorway at the clamoring horde.

  Captain Poledri and Noland came up on either side of Kitzov and urged him to leave.

  “We have to get you out of here,”
Poledri said.

  “Go, Poledri,” Kitzov said, “get to your ship.” He aimed at the mass of possessed. “I have a pilot.” He looked at Boyd.

  Boyd stood alongside Kitzov and opened fire at the surging bodies. The possessed ran into the open doorway and the minor barricade Kitzov had thrown there. They collided with each other and fell over one another as they pushed through the doorway, tumbling over the cabinet and jamming up against each other.

  Then, all at once, they dropped. All motor functions in all the possessed instantly ceased. Arms dropped, heads lolled, and legs gave way, but the mass pressed into the doorway held itself up until gravity overcame friction and they slumped to the deck.

  Boyd and Kitzov exchanged a puzzled glance.

  Poledri stepped forward and nudged a collapsed body with his toe. Then he turned to Kitzov.

  “Can we go now?”

  “Yes. Follow me,” Kitzov said.

  Boyd turned and followed, looking back at the mass of bodies. Beyond them in the control room, he saw the Skarak soldiers pulling the bodies aside, eager to continue the chase.

  Boyd ran along the dark corridor, Kitzov just in front. How easy it would be to put a pulse round in the man’s back. As charismatic as Kitzov was, he was still a terrorist, a pirate, a disruptive and dangerous influence who was destabilizing the Scorpio System by fighting the Union.

  Kitzov looked back over his shoulder.

  “Come on, Boyd. You are coming with me. We’ll get out of here, don’t you worry. The Union has had me in tighter spots than this.”

  Meeting up with the rest of the group in a chamber that had been a communication hub and corridor junction, Kitzov started sending smaller groups in all directions with instructions to make it to their ships and escape. Then the Skarak came into view at the entrance to the chamber and opened fire, the four Skarak standing together.

  Diving to the side, Boyd opened fire. He blasted in the general direction of the Skarak, sure that one of his pulse rounds would hit and hopeful to score a kill.

  The round slammed into one of the Skarak weapons just as it was about to discharge, the blue beam gathering between the fine pins at the muzzle. The energies of pulse round and crackling beam interfered violently, and fed back along the Skarak’s weapon, flooding back over it and up its arms. The blue beam then leapt to the sides, spreading to the weapons of his companions.

  The explosion was silent, but the cracking white lighting across the walls, floor, and ceiling was deafening. Cracks appeared in the ceiling, and the ground surged upward, suddenly knocking the Faction members off their feet.

  Boyd heard the ceiling cracking. He dashed to a side door to get away from the collapse. Someone grabbed him and pulled him faster. He fell through a doorway as the ceiling collapsed.

  In the dust and the dark, Boyd sensed someone next to him. Then he caught the scent of her hair.

  “Thresh,” Boyd said. “Where are we?”

  “Alone,” she said. “All alone.”

  14

  Boyd activated his wrist-mounted holo-stage, the glow from the display lighting up Thresh’s face. She did not appear at all concerned, she was as cool as a shard of black ice.

  “This place is like a maze,” Thresh said. She shone her pistol’s flashlight around the area they found themselves in. It was a bunkhouse with composite bed frames lining the walls, enough for a squad of Marines.

  “So, this was some kind of Union outpost. A concealed garrison. You were lucky to find this, Boyd,” Thresh said.

  “Not luck,” Boyd said, looking at Thresh with a grin. “Skill.”

  Thresh rolled her eyes. “I’ve never met a pilot who was interested in any skill beyond flying. Hunting for holes in the ground is not exactly in a pilot’s skillset.”

  “I am multi-talented,” Boyd said. “Why not go check the far end of the room and I’ll see if I can clear some of this rubble.”

  Boyd turned to the rubble from the cave-in. It had been a narrow escape. Now he needed to get back to the surface. He checked his Union map on his covert device, making sure Thresh was away and behind him so she couldn’t get a glimpse.

  He looked at the local area. The bunkhouse had a rear exit that led into a network of facilities and equipment lockers, and then finally back into the corridors that led to the surface. The squad housed here could exit the complex at several points on the surface. Hopefully, Boyd thought, it would be easier to get out of the complex than it had been to get in.

  “There’s a hatchway back here,” Thresh called out.

  Then Boyd saw the rubble from the cave-in move.

  “Someone is coming through,” Boyd said. He cleared some rubble away.

  Thresh ran over. “Is it Kitzov? The captain? Did they make it?”

  “I don’t know,” Boyd said and cleared more of the rubble away.

  Dust and small fragments tumbled down the side of the rubble pile as Thresh helped Boyd move a large piece of composite. The white, dense-yet-light material crumbled in Boyd’s hands now that it was broken into smaller chunks.

  Still the rubble pile moved, someone digging from the other side.

  “Captain?” Thresh called, moving closer.

  A hand shot out from the debris. A Skarak hand. It grabbed Thresh by the wrist and dragged her into the rubble.

  She yelled in surprise, then fear. As she was pulled, panic crept into her tone, and then finally a roar of sheer rage.

  Boyd drew his pulse pistol and activated the electron blade. He brought it down in a sweeping arc and severed the Skarak hand at the wrist.

  Thresh fell back, the hand still attached to her wrist. It somehow continued to grip powerfully. She felt the bones in her wrist compacting together.

  “Get it off me, Will,” she said as she scurried back along the floor.

  Boyd grabbed her arm and held her steady. With a few slices, he cut the Skarak hand into bits that fell harmlessly to the ground.

  Boyd helped Thresh up as she cradled her wrist. It was already badly bruised.

  The rubble pile fell in a small avalanche, and the Skarak soldier moved its head and shoulders through the pile. Boyd turned and fired pulse rounds into its head. They seemed to sink into the helmet, defusing through the strange, viscous armor. As more pulse rounds poured in, the armor became translucent and the head of the Skarak could be seen within—large, dark eyes and a small mouth with mandibles on either side, chattering as they knocked repeatedly together. Boyd stepped forward and continued to fire. Thresh drew her pistol with her good hand and added her own barrage.

  The Skarak stopped moving and its head slumped forward.

  As Boyd moved back to the rear exit of the room, dragging Thresh with him, he saw the Skarak soldier pulled back through the rubble, causing the pile to collapse further. Then a Skarak weapon burst out and fired a series of wild blasts before the creature carrying it came through, emerging from the pile.

  Boyd ran through the hatch at the far end of the room and out into a corridor. He had only looked at the schematic of this area for a few moments but had committed the layout to memory. Only a few turns and he and Thresh would be on the surface. A hatchway at the end of a few hundred meters of corridor and they would emerge on a ridge overlooking the landing zone.

  “Where are we going?” Thresh asked as Boyd pulled her along.

  “As far away from those Skarak as possible,” he said, deflecting attention from the fact that he ran through corridors around turns as if he knew where he was going. “The further away we get the better. We’ll lose them in these corridors if we’re lucky.”

  “One thing is for sure, I don’t think you and I will be getting lucky in here,” Thresh said.

  Boyd looked at her, his mouth open in surprise. Thresh liked to tease him, but he couldn’t help but wonder if there was something behind her jabs. She grinned at him and added a cheeky wink.

  Boyd careened around a corner and saw the stairway up to the exit hatch.

  “There,” he said.
“A way out.”

  “That is lucky,” Thresh said.

  Her tone sounded a little suspicious, but Boyd ignored it.

  “Wait here. Let me check it.”

  Boyd ran up the stairs in leaping bounds. The hatch showed a holo-display of the internal locks with a red word saying, ‘Locked.’ It was sealed with a Union code. Glancing back down the stairs, Boyd made sure Thresh was out of view.

  “How’s it looking down there?”

  “Just hurry,” she called back.

  He patched in with his covert device and the hatch unlocked.

  “This way,” Boyd called down the stairway. “It’s open.”

  A blast of Skarak weapons fire slammed into the base of the stairway. Boyd took a step down, eager to help fight off the Skarak that must have burst through the rubble of the cave-in. Then another blast of Skarak fire and Boyd was sure Thresh had met her end.

  “Thresh!” Boyd shouted, but he knew it was pointless.

  Thresh came bounding into view and leapt up the bottom few steps. Another blast slammed into the composite stair just below her, and the composite blistered and vaporized under the blue crackling beam.

  Boyd flung the hatch open and burst out onto the surface of Kalis. The moon had moved in its orbit and the distant blue giant star was sitting on the edge of the gas giant, shimmering in the thick upper atmosphere. The light on the surface dropped as the blue light from Scorpio vanished and the sky was lit only by the dull orange glow of Extremis.

  The air was flickering with weapons fire from all sides. Boyd pulled Thresh out of the hatch just as a Skarak soldier appeared at the bottom of the stairway, its weapon pointed upward.

  Thresh dropped a blast grenade behind her as she cleared the stairway. Boyd slammed the hatch shut. It locked in place and shimmered as the camouflage field blended it into the white gravel.

  The grenade exploded and the ground shuddered, dust rising around the hidden hatch.

  “That should hold them,” Boyd said.

  Thresh slung an arm over Boyd’s shoulder. Her face next to his. She glanced down, showing Boyd the blood-soaked leg of her suit.