Chaos Quarter (31 page)

He’d rescued Lucius and his child, giving the Europan a chance to spend a few precious months with his son. He’d gotten Chakrika away from selling her body, albeit against her will. She and Lucius had been given the chance to fall for each other, even form a rag-tag family.

For a few months at least
. He wondered if it mattered. Was Lucius better off dying here than he would have been dying months ago on Igbo? Would Chakrika have been better off living out her days as a glorified whore? Had he given them both a taste of something better—only to yank it away from them?

That thought turned his mind to Second. He’d given her a taste of freedom. She hadn’t even had time to make heads or tails of what it meant to have a will of her own. Now she’d either be blown to bits, or even worse, recaptured and returned to what she had been.

A slave.

Worse than a slave. Slaves at least knew they were being oppressed. Slaves could dream of freedom. Slaves could escape. She’d been incapable of any of that.

Resolve flushed through him. He didn’t regret setting her free, even if only for a short while. Had he done nothing, she never would have existed at all. Not really. He couldn’t let her return to that. Even if her physical mind survived and was transferred into another body, it would be a murder. The minute they reattached her to some tumor-like-control-cortex-
thing,
the soul beside him would cease to exist.

“Second,” he spoke, “If they board us, they will bring you back.”

He couldn’t see her stiffen in her suit, but could imagine she felt like vomiting again. The thought of it made bile rise in
his
throat.

“I-I…no!” she managed.

He could imagine how it would happen. Once again, it was all basic military tactics. If an enemy blew out their atmosphere to prevent boarding, you latched onto the ship and pumped atmosphere in. A ship the size of that War-beast could fill
Long Haul
with oxygen, or any other gas they could produce, in a matter of minutes. Or they could just suit up whatever genetic freaks they used for soldiers and send them over to fight in vacuo, if they even needed suits.

“No,” Rex finally agreed. “They won’t get your mind again, or mine. Computer?”

“
Yes
,” came the reply.

“Put me through to the medical bay.”

The line crackled for a second, then cleared.

“Lucius? Chaki?”

“Yes,” Chaki replied.

“Second and I are stepping out for a walk,” he spoke, “You guys armed?”

“Yes,” Lucius replied. “I have my assault rifle, and I requisitioned several of your pistols for Chakrika.”

“Good. If they board, fight as long as you can, but don’t let yourselves be taken alive,” Rex spoke.

There was a long silence, with whispers going between Lucius and Chakrika, too low for Rex to hear.

“Understood,” Lucius spoke.

“Chaki, you still there?” Rex asked.

“Yes,” she replied.

“I should never have hired you for sex
,
” Rex admitted. “But I’m still glad you’re on my ship.”

He cut the line as she started to respond. He motioned Second to get up.

“Computer, turn off gravity to every chamber but the medical bay.”

He really felt the bile rise in his throat as the gravity cut out. He began to float. Trained in zero-G during basic, he grasped the doorjamb and pulled himself into the corridor. Second, completely unprepared, flailed helplessly. Rex grabbed her arm, gently pulling her through. He motioned her to wait and disappeared into his room. He reemerged with an armload of rifle magazines. He split them up, stuffing four each into the outer pockets of their suits. Once done they moved to the observation blister.

Rex went first, following the rungs up the cylindrical space. He popped the hatch open and pulled himself up onto the dorsal hull, what would’ve been the “top” of the hull to anybody inside. Outside he carefully positioned his feet on the metal surface and tapped a panel on the wrist console. Electromagnets under his feet came to life, anchoring him to
Long Haul
.

Second followed, slowly. Once her torso emerged from the hatch, Rex grabbed her suit, slowly maneuvering her mass to a standing position. He tapped the panel on her suit. The magnets in her suit came to life, securing her against the ship.

Second whispered in awe as she took in the black vastness around her. Rex, being much more jaded, merely stared toward the distant sun. It was small, maybe a quarter the size it should be. It hung in the blackness: distant, yellow, and cold. Bright spots glittered around it. He wondered which were distant stars and which were the planets they’d come so close to reaching.

He turned away, shifting his gun in his hands. Looking away from the sun, into the glittering void, he lowered the gun again. They still had hours before something materialized out of the emptiness, hours to stand and mull the inevitable.

Hours
, he groused to himself;
hurry up and wait.

He laughed bitterly to himself.

* * *

Blair did not like fear. It ate at his thoughts, making him question every decision. His emotions screamed at him to run, to turn, and to get the hell out of here.

His mind walled them off, disgraced at the weakness. He was a
Master
, the closest thing to human perfection this galaxy had. The Commonwealth may have been more powerful than most primitives, but they were still
primitives.
Their minds were small and slow, their bodies frail, and their machines inferior abominations! They barely lived eighty years, whereas he had been alive for nearly two hundred.

And yet, in all his years, he couldn’t recall this much fear ever having come over him. Were he a primitive, his emotions would have consumed him, reducing him to a panicky mess. The thought revolted him.

He focused on the memory of Flynn touching him, moving inside him. A relaxing warmth ran through him as his endorphins mimicked the experience, at much reduced intensity. The man may not have been a great warrior, but he was a dutiful subordinate and a gifted lover. Blair wondered if He had chosen Flynn for this mission because he detected compatibility between them and sought to strengthen it with an adventure. The Perfect Mind was known for achieving multiple goals at once. If this was the case, Blair did not fault Him for it.

“Blair, the Seers have detected mechanical devices,” Flynn spoke.

“Ships?” Blair demanded.

“Too small. Surveillance of some sort?” Flynn spoke.

“They know we’re here,” Blair grumbled. “We will have to be quick in our actions. Are the Warriors ready?”

“They have been ready since before we jumped,” Flynn replied firmly. “Should we risk boarding? If time is—”

“Have the Seers spotted any incoming vessels?”

“No, but they are overwhelmed. These primitives have many mechanical structures throughout the system, hundreds of them on asteroids and moons. Others in orbit. The Seers cannot see everything.”

Blair looked toward the distant sun, the Seers transmitting the view through the tendrils to his eyes. He thought for a long moment.

“We will risk it,” Blair spoke decisively.

“As you wish,” Flynn replied. “We shall arrive at the vessel in twenty-four minutes.”

* * *

It appeared first as a shadow, blocking out the stars behind it. As it came closer, the light from the distant sun illuminated it. The hideous bulk of the ship came into view, its odd whale-with-crab-claws hull looming over them. Mere miles stood between them.

He had walked with Second to the stern of the dorsal hull, over the cargo bay, to get out of the arc of his dorsal turret. As the ship settled over him, that turret let loose. The rear turret joined in. Twin streaks of light flashed through space as round after round streaked toward the ship.

The thirty millimeter rounds tore into the damaged hull of the bioship. Orange-red fluid leaked from the small wounds, freezing as it entered vacuum. But the ship kept coming, turning to face them.

Rex lifted his gun and opened fire. Second copied his motion. Fifty caliber rounds peppered the ship. They did little more than scratch the carapace, but he kept firing. Useless and futile as it was, it beat sitting inside and waiting for some monster to cut your brain from your lifeless body.

The bioship's defensive rail-guns let loose, hurtling small projectiles at
Long Haul
. It confirmed Rex’s fears. Had they wanted them destroyed, a single shot from their main guns, two at most, would have reduced his ship to jagged shards. They wanted them alive. The small projectiles rained down, cratering the forward hull, zeroing in on the dorsal turret. The weapon continued its assault, burning through what was left of the ship’s ammo.

Rex emptied his clip and then turned. Two projectiles smashed into the forward dorsal armor, but didn’t breach the hull. The third slammed into the turret, smashing it in a shattering blow. Twisted metal floated away from the ruined gun, drifting off into space.

He turned back. Second had loaded a new clip and kept firing. He slammed in another magazine and fired. His bullets streaked into space, hitting next to a large tendril that flexed dramatically, whipping around the ship. He fixated on it, an idea forming in his mind.

Before he could act on it, a projectile smashed into the ship not ten feet in front of them. Damaged from previous attacks, the round ripped right through the battered hull and into his ruined cargo bay. The smashed remains of the pick-up floated out of the hole made by the shot, rotating slowly as if drifting away. More projectiles trailed down the dorsal hull, moving for the still-functional rear turret.

The rear gun continued its futile attack, its fire pounding one of the ship’s crab-like forward arms. Explosions rippled across the arm as the shells ripped into it, tearing a thirty-foot gouge out of the enemy’s hull.

Then the bioship's projectiles slammed home, a trio of them pounding the rear turret, one after another. They blasted through the turret and its mount, carving a gaping hole in the hull. A half-dozen crates of grain floated lazily from the ship, their contents spilling into space.

Unless the bioship moved beneath or in front of his ship,
Long Haul
’s defenses were now reduced to two idiots with assault rifles and a death wish.

He loaded a third clip into the weapon and then fiddled with the dial on his wrist.

“Second?” he spoke.

She ceased her assault.

“Yes?” she replied, looking at him. He could see her face through the glass. It was defiant, the muscles taught across her strong cheek-bones. He let his mind slip for a moment, allowing himself to notice how truly beautiful she was.

“I am sorry,” he replied. “I couldn’t get you somewhere safe.”

“I do not understand,” she replied.

“I know,” he said with a smile. “If they find you out here, just unlatch your helmet.”

“What? I—”

He cut the line. Crouching low, he cut the power to his boots. The magnets turned off. Pushing off, he leapt for the closing vessel. He heard himself laughing as he shot through space. The bioship was too close now to miss.

A line of gunfire silently struck the vessel, Second blasting away. Rounds continued flying right back toward his ship. A hundred yards from the bioship, he turned the magnets back on.

The magnets picked up the War-beast’s metal-plated exoskeleton, rotating Rex in space. He hit hard, his knees barely able to absorb the impact. He nearly lost the gun, but somehow managed to keep it free and away from the bioship's shell.

He stood up, getting his bearings. He was on the underside, ten feet from a sphincter-like portal. It opened, a flash of light emerging as a rail-gun inside flung a projectile at his ship.

He dialed down the strength of his magnets and leapt for it. As he drew near, he turned the magnets back up, bringing him down two feet from the orifice.

It flexed, opening to fire. Before the projectile could be flung, Rex jammed his gun into the orifice and squeezed his trigger. Bullets ripped into the rail-gun’s interior, shredding the weapon’s containment. It erupted in a flash, sending Rex reeling back, nearly losing his gun again. A jet of flame exploded from the orifice. It died as it reached space, blackening the weapon.

Rex laughed like a mad-man and bounced away.

* * *

“Ventral defensive gun three has been destroyed,” Flynn spoke, his voice worried.

“What?!” Blair demanded. “We destroyed their rear weapons!”

He shifted the image in his eyes, bringing up a picture of the weapon in question. It sat, blackened and useless.

“There is only one stream of small-arms fire coming from their ship now,” Flynn noted.

“What the hell—”

The War-beast groaned in pain. The Seers shifted the image in Blair’s eyes, bringing him a view of one of the defensive tentacles. There, standing next to it in some sort of artificial suit, was a primitive with a gun. The man pumped round after round into the base of the tentacle, tearing it from its fleshy route.

“Foolish,” Blair seethed. “Brave, but foolish.”

He squeezed protruding villi, sending another tendril sweeping toward the intruder.

* * *

Rex exhausted his third clip on the tentacle, nearly severing it. The organ swung wildly on its last threads, orange-red blood leaking into space.

He leapt back, using his magnets to resettle a few feet from the wounded tentacle. Another tentacle slammed down, striking where he had just been. The force of the blow ripped the damaged tentacle free of its base. It drifted into space, writhing as its dying nerves sent their last, instinctive signals.

Rex loaded his last magazine and bounded for the attacking tentacle. He came down next to a large gash in the hull, blasted open during the bioship’s battle with the Europans. The tentacle swung toward him.

He pressed flat against the War-beast’s shell, the tentacle sweeping inches above his back. He leapt up awkwardly in his suit, ready to move again, but stopped dead. Something had caught his eye.

Inside the War-beast, beneath a translucent film that resembled a spider-web, stood giant monsters. They looked like overly muscular sasquatches, covered in a chitin-like carapace just beneath the skin. Thick, gray hair covered their bodies. They stared at him with yellow eyes, their mouths open and bellowing, but unheard. Clawed hands waved at him in futile arcs.