Armada

by Paul Teague

  “Do tell,” said Conway, intrigued now despite her usual cynicism.

  “Vengeance has been here–on the other side of the portal–for fifty-three years. That must mean Stansfield and his crew were in stasis the whole time, just waiting for the portal to reopen. No wonder the old man looks so damn ill, he hasn’t had any fresh air or sunshine for over half a century.”

  Davies flicked more screens of information onto the display. “It even has the official story recorded on here, the one we were all fed in the Academy. Officially MIA, unofficially sleeping in space.”

  “Bloody hell,” said Conway, leaning forward to get a better look. “So they’ve known about this portal for years? What else have they been keeping from us?”

  Davies played with the controls in his HUD, moving files around and hacking deeper into the system. There was a sound from outside the door and he looked round, distracted.

  “Might be more Mechs,” Conway said. “I’ll check.”

  She followed her rifle cautiously around the corner, leaving Davies to continue his interrogation of the system.

  “It’s just Ten and the others,” she said a few moments later, returning with the Marines.

  Davies peered up at them, a grim expression on his face.

  “What is it?” asked Ten. “You look like you’re about to release the world’s biggest fart.”

  “This is serious stuff,” said Davies, shaking his head. “Staines wasn’t entirely truthful when he sent us on this mission.”

  “An officer lied? Why am I not surprised?” said Jackson.

  “What do you mean, ‘lied’?” said Ten.

  “Stansfield and Vernon know exactly what’s coming in that armada of ships,” said Davies quietly. “They’ve fought this enemy before.”

  11

  “They’ve split up,” said Kearney. She was watching the video feed from the drone that was following the pack of Unborn that had escaped from the cloning bay. “They’re going to be a devil to catch.”

  “They’re as stupid as they look,” said Hunter dismissively, slamming a fresh power pack into his arm. “Together they’re dangerous, but alone? We hunt them down, one at a time, and drop them.”

  “Microwave laser, right?” said Mason, nodding at Hunter’s arm. “It stopped the Unborn dead in their tracks.”

  “Interfaces with my eye,” said Hunter with a smug grin. “Auto-targeting system, hits anything I’m looking at,” he said, peering meaningfully at Mason. “Never misses. Very good for hunting great blobs of alien flesh and taking them down with a single shot.”

  “Well, we’re going to need it,” said Mason as he reloaded his rifle. “Nothing else has had much effect on them.”

  Kearney started moving along the corridor, checking the drone’s position. “There’s at least one on this deck, but the others have gone down to Deck Four. Preferences?” she asked.

  “Let’s clear this deck first,” said Mason, “then move down the ship. Any idea where they’re going?”

  “No,” said Kearney, “but I wonder if one of them was wounded?” She had a tracking app open in her HUD alongside the drone feed, but it was showing the location of only two of the Unborn. “It isn’t showing on the tracker. If we get a report from the other teams, we can factor that in as we go along. You armed and ready, Hunter?”

  “Ready to shoot my load at a moment’s notice,” said the Penal Marine.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” muttered Kearney. “Just make sure you don’t shoot your load too soon, okay?”

  The corridors were now fully lit, but eerie in their silence. The crew of Vengeance had been placed on restricted movements while Charlie Team and their supporting Marines hunted the Unborn that roamed the ship. Personnel areas were on lockdown until the situation was resolved, which meant that Vengeance felt like a ghost ship.

  And there were bodies everywhere. Every few metres they’d come across a pile of Mech parts or, worse, a human body that had been caught in the fighting. It reminded them that the mission imperative was to save lives, not just hunt down the creatures.

  Kearney raised her hand. Hunter and Mason stopped behind her. “There’s one up ahead,” she whispered. “Mason, you’re up in three.”

  “Roger,” said Mason.

  Kearney held up three fingers, dropping them one at a time, and on the final finger Mason slid out into the corridor. He fired on the beast with short, controlled bursts, luring it into an attack so that Hunter could take it out as it ran towards them.

  Only the creature didn’t do what they expected.

  “Did you see that?” Mason asked breathlessly as the Unborn disappeared into another corridor.

  “It was too fast,” said Hunter, “didn’t catch it.”

  “It’s got a freaking OctoBot attached to its head,” said Mason, playing back the video from his helmet cams. The images were small, but they showed the OctoBot’s legs latched onto the Unborn’s head. “And it was moving completely differently from in the cloning bay.”

  “You think it’s been hijacked by an OctoBot?” asked Kearney.

  “That’s what it looked like to me,” said Hunter. “We’ve seen some crazy shit from these things. I wouldn’t put it past them.”

  “If that’s what it’s done,” said Kearney, “we’re now dealing with a massive, ugly brute with enough brain to be dangerous.”

  “You’re reading my dating profile,” said Hunter.

  “Only thing missing is the bit about the robotic arse scratcher,” said Mason. “Mustn’t leave out your most charming feature now, eh?”

  Then there was the sound of flesh on a steel plate. The three troopers looked at each other; then Mason eased himself to the corner and peered around.

  He jerked quickly back. “It’s got arms now, four of the bloody things.”

  “It’s salvaged parts from the Mech bodies,” Kearney said as she flicked into the corridor cam feeds.

  “Like Mr Potato Head gone bad,” snarled Hunter, trying to get a good look at what was approaching them along the corridor. “I’m still gonna take it out.” He stepped into the corridor, then dived back into cover as the Unborn opened fire.

  “You didn’t mention guns,” yelled Hunter over the racket as smoke and bullets filled the corridor.

  “I said it was armed,” said Mason, waving his rifle. “Arms!”

  “Quit whining,” Kearney shouted over the gunfire. “Mason, you got any explosive tricks up your sleeve?”

  “I’ve got grenades if you want to tickle it,” said Mason, “or shaped charges if you want a hole in the hull.”

  “If we could get close enough,” said Kearney, making an obscene gesture. Then she shook her head. “Forget that. We’ll do it old school.”

  “Shoot it in the face till it dies? On three?” said Mason.

  “Too slow,” said Hunter as the firing suddenly stopped. He launched himself into the corridor, arm swinging around to bring the laser to bear, but he’d estimated it badly. “Argh,” he managed as the monster shoulder-barged him out of the way, then skidded into the wall at the end of the corridor.

  Hunter rolled aside as the Unborn shook itself back to its feet. Mason was on one side of the fork in the corridor, Kearney on the other, with Hunter stumbling around between them.

  The Unborn screamed and charged again, guns discarded and arms raised to slash, as if the impact with the wall had barely registered.

  “Get down!” Hunter shouted as the creature hurled itself at Kearney, its speed and power formidable. The creature raged up the corridor as Kearney fired again and again. Then she was gone, disappearing beneath the Unborn’s bulk in a tangle of limbs.

  “Kearney!” screamed Mason, emptying his magazine into the Unborn.

  “Fuck,” said Hunter as the Unborn screamed again, its chest a bloody ruin. Then it charged again as Mason dropped his rifle and pulled a pistol.

  “The OctoBot,” yelled Hunter, “kill it!”

  Mason nodded and took careful
aim. His first shot missed, but the second hit the OctoBot. There was an immediate change as the creature released its eight mechanical arms and leapt from the Unborn to the floor. It scurried away, leaving a trail of fluids behind it.

  The Unborn, lost without its controlling brain, slewed to a halt, screaming its rage and pain, any hint of intelligence lost. It peered down the corridor.

  “Where’s Kearney?” said Mason as he slid a new magazine into his pistol.

  Then the Unborn screamed and charged.

  “It’s all yours,” said Mason, ducking aside.

  Hunter grunted and raised his arm, all the time watching the creature’s teeth and assessing the range.

  “Pop,” he said quietly, firing one shot at the Unborn’s head. A hole appeared in the creature’s messed-up forehead, and the monster dropped to the floor, its momentum sliding it along the deck. Hunter took one step back, and the tip of the Unborn’s head just touched his boot as it came to rest.

  “Miscalculated,” he said looking down. “By one step.”

  “Where’s Kearney?” said Mason again, looking around as Hunter nudged the corpse with his toe.

  “I’m over here,” said Kearney as she pulled herself to her feet. She was on the far side of the corpse.

  Hunter blinked in confusion. “How the fuck did you get over there?” he asked.

  “School gymnastics champion,” Kearney deflected, scooping her rifle from the deck. She looked down at the Unborn. “One down, two to go.”

  “Gymnastics, my arse,” said a disgruntled Mason, but Kearney just shrugged.

  “Did you see how it changed when the OctoBot buggered off?” said Kearney. “The moment it was gone, the Unborn lost all control. It turned back into a crazy beast.”

  Hunter grunted and stretched his neck. “Where’s the next one?”

  “Somewhere on Deck Four,” said Kearney, checking her HUD. “And if the others have picked up OctoBots, we could have a real problem on our hands.”

  Hunter opened a channel to the bridge. “This is Hunter. One Unborn dead on Deck Three. We’re heading to Deck Four now.”

  “Move faster,” said Stansfield. “One of the Marine teams is in trouble.”

  “Roger,” said Hunter, closing the channel.

  The three Troopers ran for the nearest staircase, making their way down as fast as they could get there.

  “Steady,” warned Kearney, scanning the cam feeds in her HUD as they neared the door to Deck Four, “hostiles nearby.”

  Hunter grunted and yanked open the door. Even before he’d stepped through the doorway, a decapitated head flew down the corridor and bounced off his chest.

  “Whoa,” said Hunter, looking out into a scene of bloody desolation. He eased into the corridor, peering carefully around the door frame. An Unborn stood twenty metres away with a Marine’s torso hanging from its mouth, pools of blood and gore covering the deck.

  “Found one,” whispered Hunter. “No OctoBot on its head. Looks like we’re alone with it.”

  The creature raised its head, as if it were sniffing the air. Then it dropped the corpse and padded carefully towards the doorway.

  Hunter calmly raised his arm and triggered the laser. Nothing happened.

  “What are you waiting for?” hissed Kearney from the stairwell. “Fucking kill it already.”

  “Technical problem,” said Hunter, banging his arm against the wall, as if that was ever going to make a difference.

  But the Unborn snapped around, sightless face staring right at the door. Hunter banged his arm once more on the wall, and the Unborn screamed and charged.

  “Shit!” said Hunter, stumbling quickly back into the stairwell and heaving on the door as the Unborn swept down the corridor.

  “Close it,” yelled Mason.

  “What do you–” Hunter began angrily; then the Unborn shoved on the door and Hunter was flung aside. He bounced off the wall and slid to the deck, blood running from a head wound.

  The Unborn roared and dived at Kearney as she fired her rifle at the beast. It swatted her weapon aside and grabbed her, scooping her up in its hand and raising her above its head. Kearney screamed, flailing at the beast’s head. The Unborn roared, shaking the helpless Trooper.

  Then there was an explosion of flesh and internal organs. The Unborn crumpled, and Kearney fell onto the hard metal of the staircase in a mess of organic gore.

  “Fuck me, that was close,” she whispered, wiping blood from her face and scouring the area for Mason and Hunter. Hunter was shaking his head behind the door, dazed and now covered in blood and muck.

  But Mason just stepped down the stairs, a big smile on his face. His armour was only lightly spattered with blood.

  “You’ve got some pretty neat tricks yourself, Mason,” said Kearney. “How the hell did you manage that?”

  “You gave me the idea, as it happened.”

  “You didn’t?” said Kearney with a disgusted frown. Then she glanced around at the steaming, smelly puddle of monster guts in which she sat.

  “Yep,” said Mason with a grin. “Grenade up its arsehole, worked a treat. At least I think it was its arsehole. For all I know, it might have been an ear.”

  12

  “We’re being hailed by Orion, Admiral,” said Midshipman Khan on the bridge.

  “Patch them through, Mr Khan,” said Stansfield. With two of the escaped Unborn down, the Sphere almost totally under their control, and, finally, some back-up from Sol, he was hopeful that things might be about to improve.

  A face that looked far too young for a captain’s chair flashed onto Stansfield’s screen. “Admiral Stansfield,” he said in a tone that held confidence beyond the man’s evident years, “it’s a privilege, sir. I’m Captain Ryan, and Orion is at your disposal. How may we be of assistance?”

  “It’s good to have you out here with us, Captain. What do you know about our situation?”

  “Bare bones only, sir. Admiral Staines said you’d share the details when we arrived.”

  “The situation is fluid,” said Stansfield, signalling Lieutenant Yau, “and there are many gaps in our knowledge. We’re sending the briefing package. Your eyes only for now, Captain.”

  “Understood.” For a few moments, Ryan was distracted by the initial flood of information onto his screen, and Stansfield couldn’t help but take a frisson of enjoyment as he watched the cocky expression on the captain’s face dissolve into one of earnest concern.

  “Resolution and Conqueror are on their way,” said Stansfield, “but they’ll arrive a little too late for the initial engagement.”

  “Orion had been ordered through the portal to join you now the Sphere’s been disabled. The Admiralty are keen to learn more about the ships you’ve encountered.”

  “Negative, Captain. We cannot yet confirm that it’s safe for you to cross the portal. We believe the Sphere targets ships with the new Sol signatures. Vengeance got through because we’re old school.”

  “But the Sphere has been disabled, sir, hasn’t it?” Ryan persisted. “My orders are to follow you through and lend whatever support we can. In light of the arrival of this” – he paused to look down at his screen – “this ‘armada’, there doesn’t seem to be any time to waste.”

  “That’s as maybe,” growled Stansfield, “but there’s still the problem of the portal’s defenders.”

  “Orion uses a new drive system,” said Ryan, clearly not willing to be deflected or intimidated by Stansfield’s history. “It leaves virtually no trace. What happened with Colossus was unfortunate, but the Admiralty believes it was due to the design nature of its engine system.”

  “It was due to offensive action on the part of the Sphere,” snapped Stansfield. “I have to advise against portal entry, regardless of the Admiralty’s orders.”

  But Ryan shook his head. “My instructions are clear, sir, both with regards to Orion and to your orders.”

  “My orders?” hissed Stansfield.

  “We’re not reckless,
sir,” Ryan went on, ignoring Stansfield’s growing anger. “Orion has some of the most advanced equipment available. We’re despatching a simulation probe to imitate our engine signature and test the Sphere’s capabilities. If all goes well, Orion will cross the portal.”

  Stansfield glanced at Vernon, who was standing to one side to listen to the conversation. The commander shrugged, as if to say ‘the Admiralty will do what the Admiralty will do’.

  “You must make your own decisions,” said Stansfield eventually, “but the Admiralty are a long way away, Captain. I urge caution.”

  “Noted, Admiral,” said Ryan, without a hint of acceptance of Stansfield’s warnings. “We’ll wait here and let you know as soon as we’re clear for entry. I have an engineering team working on your shuttle rig. It’s very clever, but we’re re-routing it to a StaticBuoy to improve performance.”

  “What,” said Stansfield carefully, “is a StaticBuoy?”

  Ryan looked briefly surprised. “It’s just a buoy that retains a fixed position in space. It’s a little neater than your wreck of a shuttle and it won’t go floating off in space, so you’ll retain your comms system when the portal is open.”

  Stansfield nodded, unable to fault Ryan’s decision. “Fair enough, Captain. Now, I must get back to the matter at hand. Keep me informed. Out.” And he closed the channel before Ryan could protest or offer more unwanted advice.

  Stansfield flicked at his slate, opening a new channel. “Davies,” he barked, “what’s going on over there?”

  “We’re working on the interface between the Bot brain and our database, sir. Every step is firewalled so they won’t get into our systems.”

  “How long till you’re finished?”

  “Twenty minutes, no more.”

  “Good,” said the admiral, nodding. “Report back as soon as you’re done.”

  “Ay, sir,” said Davies.

  “Carry on,” said Stansfield. “Out.”

  “The shuttle crews are stripping the armoury and salvaging some sample Mech discs,” said Conway as she tried to figure out what Davies was doing. “When are you going to ask Stansfield what’s going on?”