Combat Frame XSeed

by Brian Niemeier

  “We’re five minutes from docking at Metis,” Dorothy told Zane. “Just sit tight.”

  “You don’t understand,” snapped Zane. “I have to do this.”

  “Dead Drop launching from main cargo bay,” announced NORMA.

  Dorothy bowed her helmeted head and sighed. “He won’t be happy till he gets himself killed.”

  Ritter looked over Dorothy’s suited form as the deck shook. A blue-white fire trail zipped from the shuttle toward the speeding white star. Pay Masz back for us, Zane. And stay alive.

  34

  Zane got a clear look at the white combat frame before it showed up on radar, and he felt the pilot’s vile presence long before that. His lips curled back from clenched teeth behind his helmet’s visor. Masz humiliated us, Dead Drop. Now we’ll make him pay!

  The XSeed, as Naryal’s source called the white CF, rocketed through the void twenty klicks above the lumpy gray surface of Metis. Zane tried to clock his quarry’s speed, but he couldn’t even paint it with a laser. Clearly the XSeed’s outer layer was even more radiophobic than Dead Drop’s nonconducting, heat-resistant armor.

  No big deal. Nothing can shrug off a plasma bolt! His sensors’ inability to pin down the XSeed didn’t bother Zane. If he couldn’t get a target lock, he’d just have to eyeball it. He deployed the plasma cannon housed in Dead Drop’s left forearm, lined up a shot in the white CF’s path, and fired. A violet beam blazed through the gas envelope raised by the titanic rockets on Metis’ far side. Zane’s beam missed the XSeed by an inch and impacted the surface.

  Zane increased speed to keep his target in sight and fired again. This time the XSeed rolled to face him, causing the beam to narrowly miss its right pauldron. Zane tilted right a split second before the white CF fired the familiar rifle in its left hand. A thick blue beam lanced through Zane’s previous position. Even in the thin atmosphere, the shock of its passing rattled his cockpit.

  A second sapphire blast followed the first. Zane silently thanked Zeklov for the extra maneuvering thrusters that moved him clear of the XSeed’s beams the instant he sensed Masz firing. He snapped off another shot of his own that kicked up a plume of vaporized rock from Metis’ surface when the white CF dodged.

  Despite the rage clouding his mind, Zane saw the odds stacked against him in a plasma gun duel where only his opponent could get a target lock. I love a challenge.

  “Why do you keep interfering with our sister’s work?” Masz rasped over the comm.

  Zane’s voice broadcast his incredulity. “You stole Dead Drop and nearly destroyed it. I don’t give a damn about Megami!” He fired again. Blind wrath drove his shot into the void.

  “You really are too stupid to live,” said Masz. “Your combat frame was a means to an end. Its role is finished. You sought the past and lost your destiny. Now you can burn with all who oppose Miss Megami!”

  The white CF pulled a back dive toward Metis, flipped over, and skimmed above the pitted surface toward the black horizon. Using the antennas studding the asteroid as reference points, Zane guessed the white CF was cruising near Mach 3.

  “Time to test Zeklov’s work.” Zane fixed the dwindling white point in his sights and opened the throttle. Crushing force pinned him to his seat. The white dot steadily resolved into the XSeed’s robust form. Euphoria washed over Zane as he overtook his foe. He detached his cannon’s barrel, extended a blade of violet plasma from its muzzle, and swung at the white CF’s exposed back.

  The XSeed rolled and caught the blow with its shield. Layers of ablative coating boiled off the glossy surface. The white CF’s right hand drew a plasma sword from its back, ignited the sapphire blade, and channeled the rest of its roll into a powerful slash at Dead Drop’s midsection. Zane angled his sword and met the XSeed’s blade. The blue-violet flare burned itself into his vision despite his screen’s antidazzle filter.

  “How could you have caught me in that inferior machine?” Masz shouted as their duel raged over the scarred face of Metis in a flurry of incandescent thrusts, slashes, and parries.

  “Dead Drop’s not as ‘inferior’ as you thought!” Zane blocked a savage hammer blow and drove the black CF’s left fist into Masz’s cockpit hatch. Hearing his opponent’s pained grunt over the comm gave him visceral satisfaction. But his glee only lasted until the XSeed bashed its shield into Dead Drop’s chest with a brutal backhand that forced the air from Zane’s lungs.

  Zane heaved a deep breath and saw the XSeed skimming perpendicular to the surface with its heavy plasma rifle pointed straight at him. His heart clenched as he realized Masz couldn’t miss. Zane fired all his maneuvering thrusters downward. Dead Drop barely descended before the blue flash burst from XSeed’s gun. Goodbye, Dorothy.

  The fat sapphire beam blazed overhead. A ten-story satellite dish disintegrated in a firestorm of superheated gas five klicks behind Dead Drop. Zane felt the tremors through his chair when he touched down in a wide crater.

  “I had you dead bang,” whined Masz. “Darving’s fire control software is trash!”

  Zane smiled as he catapulted off the crater floor toward the XSeed, leading with his plasma sword gripped low in both hands. Rather than risk another shot with a faulty targeting system, Masz whipped the white CF around and blasted around the asteroid’s curve, trailing white flame. Zane gave chase. “Stand and fight, Masz. You can’t outrun us!”

  Dead Drop gained steadily on the white comet, but a brighter pillar of fire appeared from beyond the horizon to outshine the fleeing XSeed. Metis’ rocket engines. What’s Masz thinking?

  The inverse mountain of burning gas erupting from the cluster of football stadium-sized nozzles filled Zane’s field of view. His close proximity to such a vast energy source played havoc with his radar, but he could just glimpse the XSeed—now a dark speck against the tower of light—plunging straight into the inferno.

  Zane ground his teeth. Flying around the astronomical cone of rocket exhaust would take him over a klick out of his way. In a combat frame approaching Dead Drop’s speed, Masz would certainly give Zane the slip long before Ritter and Dorothy completed their mission.

  The exhaust’s temperature averaged three thousand kelvins. Dead Drop’s armor was designed to give some protection against far hotter plasma—for milliseconds at a time. Masz’s willingness to fly through the rocket wash probably meant the XSeed was built to withstand atmospheric reentry. Could Dead Drop survive prolonged exposure to that kind of heat? Zane had no idea.

  He dove headlong into the flames anyway. Unearthly forces battered Dead Drop as it passed facedown over the first nozzle. Zane redirected his maneuvering thrusters to fight the blazing torrent trying to shoot him into space. Dead Drop’s altitude kept rising with its hull temperature, forcing him to divert main thrusters to steady his flight at a cost in speed.

  Enveloped in a total whiteout, Zane had passed roughly a quarter of the way through the hellish gauntlet when his first maneuvering thruster blew. Dead Drop jerked upward. Zane angled another main thruster to compensate, slowing himself further. A second maneuvering booster burned out, followed by a main drive nozzle. Shrieking alarms and strobing red screens warned that external temperatures had exceeded armor limits.

  Perhaps Zane lurched across the halfway mark. It was a moot point because all of his remaining drives were laboring to keep him from hurtling into space and losing his foe.

  “Don’t quit on me, Dead Drop. We’ve come too far to give up now!”

  The last of Zane’s thrusters died in the immolating heat. Dead Drop became a black metal coffin tumbling into the void.

  Ritter unstrapped himself and rose from his seat as soon as the King of Hearts landed inside the Metis receiving dock. The six EGE soldiers followed his lead. Dorothy remained seated, her helmet’s visor facing the window that looked out on the empty, rock and steel-walled hangar.

  “Young, Nixon, Green, and Phillips, come with me,” Ritter said. “Dorothy, why don’t you monitor the comm from the cockpit?”

&
nbsp; The young woman gave a start but unbuckled her harness and glided toward the front of the shuttle.

  Ritter gestured to the last two men. “Thompson and Roth, stay with the shuttle and keep her ready to take off as soon as we get back with Captain Darving and his team. Zane might have given us extra time, but stay on your toes. The Socs may know we’re here.”

  NORMA opened the hatch. Ritter rushed out and overshot the ramp in the low gravity. A firm hand grabbed his gun belt and pulled him down to the gangway. “Careful, sir,” said Young. “Me and the other guys have been doing zero-g training in Zeklov’s cargo planes. Operating in less than earth-normal gravity takes some getting used to.”

  “Thanks,” said Ritter. “I’ll take that lesson to heart.”

  Ritter’s five-man fireteam skimmed across the empty loading dock floor with weapons ready. Ritter hoped he wouldn’t have to use the super light carbon nanotube assault rifle cradled in his hands, but holding it felt reassuring.

  The other men took up positions surrounding the heavy steel exit door while Young stood to one side and worked the control panel. The hatch slid open with a pneumatic hiss to reveal a clean hallway dressed with ceramic panels. White LED strips lined the corners. Phillips checked the corridor in both directions before motioning the others through.

  A security door stood closed about fifteen meters to the right. Nixon bounded over and tested the reinforced hatch. “It’s electronically locked. The controls are offline—probably on the other side, too.”

  “Captain Darving probably sealed this section when he got our landing request,” said Young. “That makes finding the way easy.” He pointed to another security door thirty meters down the hallway in the other direction. He led the team down the corridor with Ritter coming second.

  Nixon tried the second door. “This one’s locked too.” His gloved fist thudded against the matte white ceramic. “Hey! This is the EGE. We’re here to get you off this rock. Open up!”

  A blast from the hallway’s far end punctuated Nixon’s order. The pressure slammed Ritter and his men against the door and the surrounding wall. Bullets were zipping through the air before Ritter collected himself. Thankfully, Young and Phillips were already returning fire against the gray-uniformed Socs who advanced through the blackened door frame, unencumbered by spacesuits.

  Ritter pounded on the door. “Let us in!”

  Nixon, who’d been knocked to the floor at Ritter’s right, staggered to his feet and pushed the Corporal down. A bullet meant for Ritter tore through Nixon’s side. The PFC rounded on the Socs, still gripping his weapon, but two more rounds punched through his suit’s visor and painted the inside of his helmet with his blood.

  Bring everyone home. Collins’ words and Nixon’s death spurred Ritter to spray the corridor’s far end with automatic fire. The three Socs in the hallway hit the deck while the rest of their squad took cover on either side of the blasted-down door.

  “It’s open,” Young shouted over the jackhammer din of gunfire. “Everybody inside. Move it!”

  Ritter kept firing till his rifle clicked empty. He turned to see Green standing in the open doorway frantically waving Ritter through. A red trail on the floor showed that someone had seen to Nixon. He made a dash for the door. Green grabbed Ritter’s outstretched arm and pulled him through. A volley of shots ricocheted off the opposite wall before Green pulled the heavy door closed.

  “Locked,” panted Green.

  “That won’t hold them for long,” said Young, whom Ritter was glad to see standing in the short intersecting hallway to his right. His spirits fell when he saw Phillips rise from a crouch over Nixon’s still form and shake his head.

  “Let’s keep moving,” Ritter said.

  The narrow hallway led to another closed hatch like the one giving on the loading dock. This door opened as the rescuers approached, revealing a hangar about half the length of the Yamamoto’s but much taller. A Grento stood at rest near the launch door.

  A man of average height wearing glasses behind his helmet’s visor stepped forward from a group of ten spacesuited figures to greet the rescue team. “I’m Tesla Browning. I take it you arrived on the King of Hearts?”

  “Dr. Browning,” said Young. “I’m a fan of your work. Wish we had more time to chat, but there’s a Kazoku squad breathing down our necks.”

  “I’ve lost Zane,” Dorothy cried over the comm.

  “Dorothy, calm down,” said Ritter. “What do you mean you lost him?”

  “NORMA kept Zane’s comm channel open,” Dorothy said, her voice shaking. “I heard him scream, and the line went dead.”

  “Have you tried reaching him since?” asked Ritter, trying to keep his own voice calm.

  “Yes!” said Dorothy. “I keep trying, but he doesn’t answer.”

  The image of Nixon lying dead in the hallway popped into Ritter’s mind. His stomach turned. I already broke my promise to Collins. I can’t lose anyone else! A conspicuous absence dawned on him. “Where’s Max?”

  Browning turned to answer. “He’s—”

  A bright flash filled the hangar as a white combat frame appeared outside the open launch door. It resembled a negative image of Dead Drop, only bulkier with blue accents and two blue lens “eyes” instead of a single purple visor.

  “What is that?” marveled Green.

  “It’s a combat frame,” said Young.

  “It’s the XSeed,” shouted Browning.

  Ritter felt like a gnat staring down an oncoming train as the XSeed aimed its monster plasma rifle into the hangar. He remembered carving a swath of destruction through the Algiers docks with a similar weapon. When it fired, the whole hangar would turn into a plasma furnace with Ritter and the men he was responsible for inside.

  The Grento brought up its machine gun. “You won’t even scratch that armor,” yelled Browning. He and the hangar’s other occupants dove behind metal crates and stacked plastic drums, for all the good it would do them. Only Ritter remained where he’d been standing, within ten meters of the rifle’s muzzle. The XSeed’s trigger finger moved.

  Sorry, Major.

  The XSeed’s cockpit flew open. The pilot compartment explosively depressurized, sending a man in a gray spacesuit tumbling end-over-end through the void. He landed on the hard steel deck, bounced twice, and rolled to a stop five meters from Ritter.

  The security door that Ritter and his team had entered through blew open. Men dressed like the ejected pilot stormed in, firing as they came. Young, Phillips, and Green shot back from behind cover as the Grento turned to face the invading Socs.

  Ritter stared at the white CF’s open cockpit—so near but so far away. He glanced at the Soc pilot, who rose to his hands and knees and met Ritter’s eye with a murderous glare. A sudden impulse he couldn’t name drove Ritter across the war-torn deck. He bounded toward the XSeed in a haphazard arc that brought him to the edge of space much sooner than expected.

  Unable to reverse his momentum, Ritter channeled his forward motion into a final jump. His boot failed to find full purchase on the edge, and he propelled himself into the void with less than half the force he’d intended. He hung suspended between somewhere and nowhere for what felt like forever. A shot glanced off the white CF’s chest a meter to his right, and time caught up with him. Ritter pitched forward to land upside down in the XSeed’s pilot seat.

  The hatch closed, immersing Ritter in silence and darkness. Monitors blinked to life as he righted himself and wriggled into a chair that seemed already conformed to him.

  Ritter read the OS startup screen aloud. “Prometheus.” The main monitor switched to a view of the hangar, where the Socs retreated from the advancing Grento through the breached door.

  “You all right in there?” a familiar voice sounded from the comm.

  “Max?” replied Ritter. “Where are you?”

  The Grento’s grilled face swiveled toward the XSeed, and its olive drab fist gave a thumbs up. “I commandeered this sucker when me and Browning’
s guys seized the hangar. Thanks for the backup.”

  “We’re here to bring you home,” said Ritter.

  “Thanks, kid,” said Max, “but the only place I’m going is L1.”

  “Collins ordered me to bring you back.”

  Max gave a bitter laugh. “The Major’s going soft.”

  “I talked him into it.”

  “With charm like that, you’ll reconquer Germany on your own someday.”

  “If you mean that,” said Ritter, “you’ll come back with me.”

  “Look Ritter, the queen bitch herself is holding Wen on Byzantium. I’m going after her, even if I have to fight past Sieg by myself.”

  “Why would you have to fight Sieg?” asked Ritter.

  “Sieg’s gone native. He found out Megami’s his sister, and she flipped him.”

  A new possibility occurred to Ritter. If I can bring back Li Wen and Sieg, it might make up for Nixon.

  A figure in a white spacesuit approached Max’s Grento. “Captain,” Dr. Browning called over their shared comm channel, “This belongs to you. I forgot to return it amid the commotion.”

  Ritter zoomed in on Browning’s outstretched hand, which held a blue oblong device. Max’s Grento knelt down, and the cockpit opened. Browning threw the device. It sailed upward in the low gravity, and Max caught it in his gloved hands.

  “Hello again, Max,” said Marilyn.

  She’s on that handheld! Ritter realized.

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes, honey,” said Max. He turned his helmeted head toward the XSeed. "Should I ask why our boy Ritter is piloting Megami’s death engine instead of Masz?”

  “I debated Megami’s human extermination agenda with Prometheus,” said Marilyn. “In the end, he made the choice to oppose her.”

  “Good call, Prometheus,” said Ritter.

  “When did you two have time to debate?” asked Max.

  “The clean room door was open for thirty point three four seconds before the guard turned me off,” Marilyn said. “Prometheus and I were able to exchange over ten terabytes of data within that time window via high compression ultrasound bursts.”