Angry Ghosts (9 page)

“Compromised,” Maiella states.

“Weapons?”

“Locked and loaded.”

“Locked and loaded.”

Thompson clears his lungs and fills them again. “We have never seen these creatures before, and they have never seen us. We will have the advantages of initiative and surprise, but because we can’t jam their transmissions, we’ll have to move
very
fast. That means risks. Geek, can you determine where the control center of that ship is located?”

“I can make a good guess and put us right next to it,” she replies confidently.

“Good. Brick and I will assist you in locking down the ship computer systems. If we can’t lock them down, we may have to destroy them to keep radio silence.”

Maiella and Argo nod in understanding,
replying in unison, "Aye, sir."

The three stare into their screens at the behemoth ahead of them,
leading into an uneasy stillness.

"That's the biggest ship I've ever seen," Argo volunteers, and the same thought
occurs to all of them at once:
there could be thousands aboard a vessel that large.

“I’m not losing
either
of you today," Thomspon says abruptly.
"Is that clear?
”

Argo nods. “That was my understanding, sir.”

“I’m with you both,” Maiella adds. “Nothing touches us today.”

The craft’s engines fire again, and it decelerates starkly. With a
punishing jolt, the craft slams onto the target’s hull, and cutting lasers shriek to life.

“Clear restraints!” shouts Thompson above the noise, and all three debelt at once.

Thompson presses his rifle butt into his shoulder, gritting his teeth as adrenaline and stims surge through him. He rocks at the edge of his recliner, shoving conscious thoughts aside. Pleasure centers of his brain fire with the anticipation of violence, and his eyes narrow into the hard gaze of murder.

Maiella leans forward on her recliner and snatches her pistols from their cradles, flicking the safeties off with her thumbs. Rows of caseless ammunition clips stand like thick bristles on her armored thighs, ready to be slapped into an empty pistol with a simple wrist snap. Her eyes lock on to the exit hatch, and her boots scrape against the cold metal deck like a racehorse in a stall. She takes great
breaths of air, limbering up reflexively. Her lips curl away from her teeth in a sneer.

Argo hauls his weapon into his lap and drops his chin to his chest. His eyes narrow to slits and he stares through his eyebrows at the hatch before him, ready to charge like a bull. His respiration escalates, every breath carrying a growl. His cheeks flare with the rush of air past them, and his brow furrows with menace.

Humanity is left far behind. There is no thought at all, only training and instinct. What once were Argo, Maiella, and Thompson are now Brick, Geek, and Gun.

The whining of drills abates, and the hatch explodes open. Gun leaps into the smoke, followed closely by Brick and Geek. Glowing infrared images appear before them, folding and lurching as they are cut down by expert shots.

A mottled cluster of creatures runs behind a heavy door and seals it, but Brick levels his cannon and triggers. The door shatters in its middle, blasting inward, shredding all who had taken refuge behind it.

Geek sprints up the corridor through the billowing smoke
; her machine pistols echoing along the way—
brrrrrrak-ak, brrrak-kak
.

Gun runs up behind her and takes the lead, sniping every moving heat source he sees, his rifle loudly panging with every shot.

Brick keeps pace with them running backward, blasting anything behind them. With no time to clear every corridor, the trio bolts flat out for the control center, guided by Geek’s one-word directions. To their surprise, they do not see any other creatures about.

The race ends when Gun jogs to a halt before a large round blast door. Geek and Brick lope up behind,
shiny fluids splattered all over them. Brick steps past Gun, savagely punching the door three times, and it bends a bit, but does not yield.

“Find cover,” he instructs.

Geek and Gun scramble around a corner and lie prone. Brick pulls a block from his belt and slaps it on the blast door. With a cursory turn of a dial, he sets the timer and runs past Geek and Gun, diving to the deck just as the device detonates.

With a deep roar
the blast sweeps the team in flame and debris, shuddering the corridor violently. The three leap to their feet and run to the door, seeing a large split down its middle. Gun aims through the split while Brick grabs on to the glowing hot metal, peeling it apart with hands and feet. When too hot to keep his grip, he kicks and punches the split apart. Gun arcs through the gap, somersaulting to the floor and rolls on to his feet. The room is full of smoke and hot shrapnel, but Thompson’s sharp ears hear coughing coming from the far side of the room. With supreme agility, he sails over consoles and upset furniture to bring his weapon down on his prey.

“
No, don’t!
”

Gun stares dumbstruck, his head rocking back like someone just smashed him with an iron bar. Through the smoke, the simple outline of a hand with a thumb and four fingers is outstretched defensively in front of him. He can’t take his eyes off the familiar shape.

Geek storms up, leveling her pistols at the group. Gun knocks her aim off just in time, and her shots ricochet around the well-built room. When she sees what Gun is staring at, her arms flop to her sides. Her pistols clatter to the deck.

“We surrender!” the small voice sobs, “
just please don’t kill us!
”

A torrent of bewildering emotions seizes the two operators, and they don’t hear Brick’s hammering behind them anymore.
Thompson stares through his helmet visor, unmoving, unblinking.

Impossible…

He slides his facemask up to look on his victims clearly.

The small humans look up in wonderment at his appearance, blinking with
confusion and disbelief. Gun plants his rifle on its butt, and he sinks to one knee. The huddled group recoils at his approach.

Once Argo squeezes through the gap he hammered out, he sees Thompson and Maiella looking solemnly toward the floor, unmoving. He checks the corridor behind him to make sure no enemy is advancing on them and stands guard.

“
Odd for them to just sit there
,
” he says to himself, and he risks a closer look. Peering through the haze, he sees Geek and Gun beside a large console, but little else. He leans in to hear more.

“I... I am Major Gun Thompson. I...” Thompson looks around, not knowing how to continue. The charge inside him is evaporated; his singularity of purpose is confused, unable to be reconciled with what he sees. He looks over at Maiella for reassurance
and sees the wetness spattered all over her. He drops his head with the sickening realization he has done something unspeakable and unforgivable. Self-loathing drapes him like a wet blanket.

“I will accept full responsibility for your harm,” he utters.

Maiella sways on her feet and leans into the console beside her with her hip. Her eyes glaze over, and she disappears to some distant place. The huddle of people scoots away in fear while Thompson looks on, mortified. He can feel how terrified these people are of him, and it shames him to his essence. Not knowing what else to do, he resumes his downward stare.

When the huddle scoots past the console’s edge, Argo’s eyes bulge with disbelief. Realizing that he, too, is a player in the atrocity, Argo looks down at his mailed arms. Drying blood is sprayed all over him. He wipes his hands over himself, vainly trying to clean it away.

The huddled group spends long minutes contemplating their attackers—these monsters of speed, agility, and ferocity that look so strangely familiar. They study their build, size, features, equipment, and dreary countenance.

Thompson and Maiella remain perfectly still, permitting the long uninterrupted looks. The small humans see the soldiers are not moving, nor does it seem they are like
ly to move anytime soon. Whispers begin in the huddle, shushed by the more terrified. Forcing himself through his own confusion and fear, one of the small humans stops cringing, and rises up to his knees. The aged, weathered man straightens his back, looking directly at Thompson who remains statuesque in his downward gaze. The others shake their heads and murmur, all begging him not to bring attention to himself; but he reassures them with a silent wave of his hand.

A question has formed in this man’s settling mind. He thinks he knows the answer, but despite the visible commonalities they seem to share, there is much that is unfamiliar in this awful greeting.

Thompson hears the murmur and raises his eyes to see the man who was moments ago begging for his comrades’ lives. The fear is receding as the man studies him intently.

“Are you human?” the older man asks.

Thompson nods gravely in reply, “Yes.”

“
Then, what the hell are you doing?
”

Thompson answers heavily, “We have standing orders to capture any vessel we encounter and return with it and its contents.”

The man squints skeptically, squaring his broad shoulders and getting his feet beneath him. “Why did you stop?”

Thompson hesitates, taking a moment to look him in the eye. The question is like an icy stiletto in his heart.
How could I not stop?
The idea he could go on…sickening, absurd,
abominable
.

“Because the only meaning our lives have is in the protection and support of human life. We have failed in our most urgent duty.”

The man cocks his bald head in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“Completely.” Thompson cannot maintain the eye contact, resuming his downward gaze. “I must insist we return at once.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” the man counters, scrunching his thick gray eyebrows together. Rising to his feet, he says, “You said your name is Major Thompson? I am Captain Braemar Keller of the colony ship
Europa
, and these are my senior officers.”

Thompson rises quickly to his feet and salutes respectfully. “It is good we encountered you, Captain Keller.”

“Do any of you require medical attention?” Argo asks.

A dozen eyes turn to see the gargantuan soldier who somehow approached without them noticing.

Keller looks over his officers, gently reassuring those on the verge of panic. “No, we’re fine...” He trails off once he sees the glistening spatters on the Brick’s armor, his expression changing to dread. “But my crew...”

Thompson whirls to face his large comrade. “Argo, retrace our steps. Check for survivors and administer aid. I will join you shortly.”

Argo straightens his slumping posture and snaps a salute before spinning on his heel.

Turning back to Keller, Thompson asks, “Who handles navigation?”

A hand goes up behind Keller, and a middle-aged woman in uniform gets to her feet. “I’m the navigator.”

“Maiella,” Thompson commands briskly, “work together with this woman to plot our course home. I am going to assist Argo. Call me when calculations are complete.”

Maiella straightens up as well, saluting sharply. Thompson grabs his rifle, slinging it over his shoulder, and marches off through the twisted blast doors. Maiella collects her pistols, tucks them into the clips on her back, and seats herself at the navigation terminal.

As Keller looks on warily, his First Officer whispers with Spanish accent, “What’s going on here, Captain? This
feels
like a hijack, but... I thought
we
were the only survivors.”

Keller nods subtly. “I know what you mean. They loo
k regimented and specialized...maybe remnants of some military outpost. I could only guess what made them so
big
though...”

“What are we going to do?” the officer asks.

“We’re going to survive, Ortega, as always. These three could probably kill all of us if they wanted, so they get their way for now.”

Another man in the huddle, much younger than the others, climbs anxiously to his feet. “Captain, request permission to find my wife and make sure she’s okay.”

“Not yet, Gregor. Sit tight until we know what’s happening.”

Gregor steps to his chair, looking like a tightly wound spring, and chews his lower lip with anxiety.

“Maybe they intend to enslave us?” suggests Ortega as he squints at the armored Geek.

Keller looks long and hard at Maiella working alongside his navigator. The slender soldier has removed her bulky helmet and goggles, and she is listening patiently to the navigator. The armored woman is completely docile, her body language warm and familiar. Something about her suggests gentility—she doesn’t con
descend or threaten at all. It's an image that doesn’t jibe with their introduction, and Keller struggles to reconcile the vastly different scenes. He opens his mouth to answer, then shuts it, second-guessing himself.