Defeat's Victory

by Mark Tufo

  “That was many a year ago, now.”

  “Come, come, one does not simply forget the killing lust and the euphoria of endorphins released during a life or death struggle.”

  “I have made peace with the self-preserving choices that were forced upon me.”

  “Forced? I think not. What have these primitive primates offered you that could even begin to compare with the glories bestowed upon you in our world?”

  There was no part of me that thought Dee regretted his actions; it was different to see it from another’s viewpoint, though. Bear baiting and dog fighting were once popular sports on our world. Here was a living being, high ranking, who believed what Dee had been made to do back then was somehow glorious; that he was an illustrious combatant, now missing the spotlight. Yeah, at that point, I was hoping I might get to put his head on a spike anyway.

  “These primitive primates do indeed have their problems. But among them, I have found some of the most uniquely complex living beings the universe has ever known. And they have an unusual grasp of honor, something your civilization has yet to embrace. I have faith that they will bring about the end of the Progerian way of life.”

  “The Progerian way of life is your life!” Alken shouted.

  “I am Genogerian, my way of life is my own!” Dee forced the ancient Prog up against the wall before violently ripping his tunic. Attached to his side was a small device, looked somewhat like a key that would fit into a padlock, though it was as thin as a sheet of paper. Dee pulled it away, taking a few layers of the Prog’s skin along with it.

  “This will allow you entry into any part of the ship.” Dee handed me the keys to the ship, literally.

  “You are a traitor to your kind!”

  “No, Imperial Witness, it is you that are a traitor to our kind! You enslaved us and altered us to suit your desires. You forced us to kill beings we had no quarrel with to right the wrongs your ancestors had committed. I wanted no part of it, and I will do all that is necessary to see that it does not continue to happen.”

  “You fool. It matters not. The Stryvers will destroy everything.”

  “If that is what is to happen, it is a fate I can die with.”

  “Lock his ass up,” I told a couple of my men. I had already passed the key off to a go-team that was even now winding its way to the weapons room. If we could destroy their arsenal before they could even use it, the battle would be over before it started.

  “Michael, the Progerian command will do all in their power to liberate him.”

  “I don’t have the manpower to guard you, Alken.”

  Alken seemed to be pleased with this, thinking I was going to let him go.

  “Get on the comm Alken. You tell your friends up on the bridge you have been captured, though I think they’ll figure that out soon enough. You tell them if one unauthorized mute, Progerian, or Genogerian steps on this deck without my approval I will have several bullets put in your head. Problem solved.”

  “You cannot kill me!”

  “Are you an immortal?” I asked.

  “I am not.” He seemed indignant to have to answer that.

  “I can kill you then and I will kill you if it becomes necessary, or I just suddenly feel the urge to. Now do it. I already have your access key; I need you less and less and I will not risk one person to guard you.”

  Chapter 5

  TRACY

  Corporal Jennings motioned to the squad led by Colonel Talbot that they were a go. Tracy looked over to see her husband talking to Alken and Dee; they had done their part, now it was imperative that she did hers before the bridge became aware that something was amiss and the ship went to high alert.

  “Two decks, that’s it.” She steeled herself before she followed Jennings out of the hallway and to an access shaft. She was not comfortable using the elevator; elevators could be stopped, tracked, or ambushed. Jennings was a floor up by the time she got on the ladder. The five with her waited patiently as Jennings placed a disc roughly the size of a hockey puck on the heavy doors. Tracy flipped a cover on a viewing device she had on her wrist.

  Three. She held up her fingers to tell her squad how many were in the hallway. She flicked her wrist with two fingers, informing them that two were further down the hallway and one was much closer.

  “Pry it open,” she said softly into her microphone.

  Jennings climbed higher up to the top of the door and placed what looked like an ice pick into a crack in the opening. He pressed a button and a small hydraulic motor exerted enough force to move the door an inch. Tracy had got into position, the suppressed barrel of her weapon sticking out into the hallway. The Progerian in front of her appeared to be working on something inside the wall. She lined up her crosshairs with the base of his neck; he was too close for her to get the appropriate angle for a head shot.

  Her first shot severed the spinal column, shattering the thick bone and careening to the side, ripping through arteries and flesh. Dark blood sprayed from the wound, coating the wall and the far side. He was dead before he had a chance to hit the ground. The suppressed round was quiet, but not that quiet. It sounded like a couple of two by fours being clapped together–a flat, echoless noise, but it still drew the attention of the other two Progerians in the hallway. Tracy was already readjusting her aim. Her second bullet broke through the protective plate her target was wearing and settled deep into his chest, puncturing his left lung and lacerating his heart. Blood bubbled up from his mouth in a frothy mixture of air and life-giving fluid. The third, after seeing his two compatriots fall, was hesitant whether to run or give aid. Tracy ushered along his indecision with a bullet-laden shove that entered into the left of his snout, curved up when it impacted with his spine, traveled through his brain and exited the top of his skull.

  “Clear,” she said.

  Jennings flipped the switch to get the door open wider before he forced it open with his arms. Two men crawled over Tracy and jumped into the hallway as she covered them. A third came up and checked to make sure all of the combatants were dead. Tracy came up next as Wendings gave her a nod that they were indeed, finished.

  “It’s a right at the end of this hallway and about halfway down.” She grabbed Jennings’ hand and pulled him through as he jumped down. “You stay here, Corporal. Watch our egress in case we have to make a hasty retreat. I don’t want our way blocked.

  He nodded.

  “Wendings, Sullivan, to the left; Hayes, Rodriguez, the right. I’ll watch the middle.” They moved quickly and quietly as a cohesive unit, all in fighting stances.

  “Got a problem, Colonel.” Rodriguez had made it up to the junction and was looking right. “Ten, possibly twelve mutes heading this way.”

  “Armed?”

  “Two are. Looks like the rest are heading for the armory.”

  “Sullivan, give me the Claymore. You and Wendings watch the left hallway. This is going to get sticky.”

  “Sticky, ma'am?” Sullivan asked.

  “Dammit, been around my husband too long. Got a feeling more mutes are coming. Full auto, you two.” She switched her selector as did Hayes and Rodriguez. She turned the corner; there was a momentary surprised pause from the mutes as she entered the hallway with them. That changed to action when she opened fire. With Hayes and Rodriguez joining her, they savagely cut through the front ranks. Instead of running for cover, the remaining mutes sprinted for the armory, hoping to obtain weapons. Tracy joined in their run, quickly flanked by her two wingmen. She briefly wondered if there was a medal for literally running into the teeth of the enemy. They had killed or maimed the majority of the mutes before they could make the entry, yet two still did. Tracy pulled a grenade from her chest. As she ran by the doorway she pulled the pin and tossed the explosive device in. She dove for cover on the other side as Hayes and Rodriguez pinned themselves up against the wall.

  A freshly armed mute was just heading out of the doorway when he was illuminated from behind; his back was shredded apart from s
hrapnel. He fell forward, sending multiple rounds careening dangerously close to Tracy’s head as he reflexively pulled the trigger. Rodriguez jumped over the fallen mute, grabbed the Colonel’s belt, and pulled her out of the way. Hayes placed two rounds into the mute’s head before it stopped firing. Tracy nodded at him as she got to her feet. The other mute had half his face missing and had fallen into a rack of blasters. The room was well over fifty feet deep and was stockpiled with every kind of Progerian weapon imaginable.

  “Seems like such a waste,” Rodriguez said as he planted charges.

  “You want to stay and guard it when a few hundred mutes come for their guns?” Tracy asked as she watched the hallway. That prompted Rodriguez to move faster and a snort of laughter from Sullivan.

  Tracy was back in the elevator shaft. She waited until the doors were nearly closed before activating the explosive. The initial charge had been sufficiently strong enough that she readjusted her grip. The secondary percussion had enough force that the detonator fell from her hands even as she attempted to hold on tight. The shaft twisted from the force. Debris fell all around her, mini-missiles of bolts, cables, and wires.

  “Everyone all right?” she yelled out. Something wasn’t right. The ship was still vibrating some twenty seconds later, and she couldn’t hear her own question. She flinched when she felt a hand on her calf. She looked down to see Rodriguez, he had a wicked looking gash on his head and was yelling something to her, though no sound was coming out–or at least nothing that could get past her damaged eardrums.

  He was tugging on her pants, she didn’t need to hear him to realize he was telling her to climb down. A piece of machinery the size of a motorcycle whizzed past Tracy, she cried out when a jagged piece of it ripped down and through her shoulder, nearly making her lose her grip. She looked up and saw much larger pieces swinging freely from their moorings.

  “Go!” she said loudly, trying to get past her own handicap. Rodriguez was on the move. Tracy placed the soles of her boots on the outer edges of the ladder and more slid down than climbed. Arms reached out and roughly pulled her through the next opening. She grunted in pain but was relieved when she saw what looked like the entire shaft collapse in on itself. Wendings was being carried down the hallway, blood pumping from his severed arm. The ship lights were blinking, white, red, and off. A haze of smoke was obscuring her vision. She was certain there was a trilling of alarms the likes of which she’d never heard before, and right this very moment she was happy she couldn’t hear them.

  She sat down heavily; standing was becoming a difficult process. Her husband was running at full speed down the corridor to get to her. There was a mask of rage he wore that only revealed itself with the red light. Tracy had caught glimpses of it before, but now it was absolutely terrifying as it was coming for her. Mike was slammed to the wall as another concussion rocked through the ship.

  “Too strong, the explosions are too strong,” she told her husband when he picked her up. He didn’t say anything as he ran back the way he’d come. “I can’t hear,” she said from the edge of an elongating tunnel. Her husband was doing his best to keep from crashing into things. The strobe-like effect of the lights, the constant rocking of the very decking they walked on, and the multitudes of injured were making it difficult. She could see the strain on Michael’s face as he shouted commands. He placed her down on a cot and got close to her, his hand on her face.

  She thought he said, “You’re going to be alright.”

  Chapter 6

  MIKE JOURNAL ENTRY 5

  I stood up. The medic had just injected some pain meds into my wife’s thigh and she was fast approaching la-la land. I was wishing I could join her. Unfortunately, we were in a ship trying to fold in on itself and as much as I told Alken I was willing to die for the cause, it didn’t mean I wanted to die.

  “Dee, what the hell is going on?” I had to wait for another rolling concussive wave to pass by before I could ask the question. The flooring, walls, and ceiling had actually rippled as it did so.

  “There should have been nothing within their arsenal capable of this. I fear that the explosions are getting worse rather than better.”

  “I feel the same way.” The question was now what? Sure, it was easy enough to detonate a bomb, but how did you put all that energy back in the box once it was out?

  I got my answer quick enough in a shoulder slamming encounter with Private Pender.

  “I’m sorry…I’m looking for General Talbot!” he yelled out without ever looking at me. I grabbed him before he could dash away.

  “You found him.”

  He seemed relieved, but also petrified. “I think I know what’s wrong and I have an idea how to fix it.”

  He gave me the quick explanation. I went immediately to the brig; I was going to need Alken.

  “What have you done?” He was standing in the doorway, almost like he was expecting me to come and confess to my sins.

  “What we had to, but it looks like we started a chain reaction that’s going to pull this ship apart. This man here has a way to possibly stop the damage and maybe take care of our Stryver problem–but this has to happen quickly, like the next few minutes quickly or we’re all going to get stretched like taffy. This ship is in a death rattle, or something, according to boy-genius here.”

  Got to hand it to Alken, he could have gone with the standard “why should I help you?” or any number of “fuck off” go-tos, instead he waited for me to undo the force field before he led the way.

  “Just you two,” he said when I had a squad of five following.

  There was no time for arguing. Another deck wave was rolling toward us and I swear I saw a rat hanging ten on this one. I gave Alken back his access key and he led us into a stairwell. We were heading down into engineering.

  There were a whole bunch of Progs looking like their scales were on fire running around, mostly checking gauges and screens on panels. Like maybe they were trying to wish their problem away by staring hard at it. It was going to be their inaction that led to their demise. Even with the popping and grinding of metal as it was savagely twisted about, even with the klaxon of alarms warning us of the obvious danger we were in, and even with the shouts of engineers tossing out ideas like yesterday’s garbage, we did not go unnoticed. First off, we had the Grand Witness or whatever, who was a big deal, and then here were two humans who shouldn’t be where they were. Yeah, we didn’t go unnoticed.

  Pender grabbed a tool box and started removing a panel on an innocuous looking part of the wall. Well, it looked innocuous to me, but it immediately got the attention of all the Progs in the room. Like if they wanted to kill us because we were human, now they wanted to kill us twice because we’d added stupid to that noun.

  “Imperial Witness, it is High Engineer Gerkin.”

  “Like the pickle?” I asked. I had time on my hands.

  “What this human does is not wise.” He pointed at Pender like he was a culprit.

  “High Engineer Gerkin, what have your technicians come up with in terms of a solution?” Alken asked.

  “We know that the ship will be rendered incapable of travel in less than twelve minutes,” High Engineer Pickle-Boy stated, as if he was proud of the fact that he’d figured out when we were all going to die.

  “That is acceptable to you?” Alken asked.

  Gerkin didn’t seem to understand the question. “It is a fact we have ascertained.”

  “What does it matter, then, what the human does?”

  Gerkin wanted to protest, probably tell Alken that it wouldn’t, but he just didn’t want the dirty ape’s hands all over his equipment.

  Pender stood and pointed at a thing. “There it is, sir.”

  I didn’t see much, looked like a filter for a refrigerator, it was that unremarkable. For all the trouble it could apparently cause, I figured it would have fricken lasers sticking out of it or at least bundled up in a bunch of yellow caution tape or a skull and crossbones stenciled on. It was a
dull gray color and didn’t even have a light on it.

  “Now what?”

  “Now I pull it out.”

  “You can’t!” Gerkin nearly lost himself in the moment and rushed us. It was a look from Alken that immediately changed his mind.

  Pender gingerly reached out.

  “Hey, hold on, Private. Didn’t you tell me this thing had like, a couple hundred thousand volts running through it?”

  “It’s shielded.” I nodded, noting the significant quiver in his voice.

  I was about to order him away and take the hit myself. “My idea sir; I’ll do this.” Before I could react, he’d snatched it and pulled it loose like a Band-Aid covering chest hair. It came away surprisingly easy for something that important.

  The death rattles didn’t stop immediately, but on the plus side, angels didn’t sing and my face didn’t become seventeen miles long. And there was a change. The engineers could already sense it; their frenetic pace went from crazed indecision to doubtful hope to something more. The ship slowly began to even out. The decking under our feet was no longer rippling. The alarms had mercifully been cut off. There was an actual moment of peace. I could possibly even see happiness, or maybe relief. If Gerkin was that type of species I think he would have clapped Pender on the shoulder and offered to buy him a beer. I started thinking long-term. The panel; it always starts at a fucking panel. Maybe if we had all panels removed, only good could come from it.

  “High Engineer!” One of the progs called out. He’d no sooner said that and the fucking alarm began anew, sounding even louder because of the silence it had shattered.

  “Put it back in,” I urged Pender.

  “Doesn’t work like that.” He was racing over to the same panel the alarmed prog was at. Whatever the fuck was going on was so immense that the creature did not realize Pender was next to him. In fact, the much smaller man was even able to get under the Prog’s arm, force himself into position and more or less shoulder the engineer out of the way.