Grendel Unit 2: Ignition Sequence (7 page)

H
ill knocked Frank's hand away and gasped as he clutched his stomach, wobbling as he reached for the wall. "I-I slipped on something before I jumped. Some stupid bastard forgot to mop the damn deck."

Frank peeked over the edge of the ship to look down at the steep drop and thought
,
If you fell they'd have more than enough mopping to do.

Hill waved
him on and panted, "Go ahead, I'll catch up to you. Tell that idiot Buehl to get us out of here."

Frank picked up his bags and headed into the ship
, frowning at the narrow corridors and tight doorways. The engines were a low, steady rumble that vibrated up through his boots as he followed the main corridor toward the cockpit. He couldn't see anyone in the pilot's seat, but there was someone, or something, grunting on the floor below.

Frank listened for a second
at the animalistic noises and said, "If this is some kind of weird initiation ritual, I'm really not into that kind of thing. I mean, I'll watch, I guess, but I'm not going to jump in. Probably."

The grunting continued
, followed by the sound of a man counting rapidly in between breaths. Frank leaned forward and saw the pilot lying face down on the floor next to his chair, racing through a series of pushups. Sergeant Bob Buehl was wiry, but strong, built more like a long-distance runner than a bodybuilder, but he wore a too-tight t-shirt with the sleeves cut high in order to show off his thick biceps.

Frank watched the man crank out a dozen more pushups and said
, "Is this how you get the ship going again? I mean, it doesn't look like much, but I figured it at least had engines that didn't have to use our collective kinetic energy to get started."

Buehl
finished his last pushup and bounced off the floor, looking up and down at Frank's skinny, wiry frame, and said, "You work out?"

"
Sometimes. Normally only before I have to pose for that swimsuit calendar they always bug me about."

Buehl
grabbed a baseball cap off the center console and pulled it over his sweaty head. The center of the cap was emblazoned with a pair of sergeant's stripes.
An enlisted man flying a covert black ops unit ship?
Frank thought.
Unusual.
 

"
Well you better get workouts in when you can around here," Buehl said. "Our bodies weren't meant to be going in and out of orbit like this all the time. You'll get the space bends and your muscles will atrophy to nothing."

Lt.
Hill came up behind Frank and said, "Space bends is a myth, Bob. I told you that. It only affects a few alien species, but humans are safe."

Buehl glanced at Frank and muttered
, "If that's the case, maybe we ought to start carrying as many sludgesuckers around as we can find."

The word struck Frank like a bullet, but
Hill had him by the arm and was pulling on him before he could work up a response. "Don't mind Bob," Hill said. "He's a techno-wizard but he grew up on one of the backwater planets where people still marry their cousins and think aliens are subspecies. Come on, I'll show you sick bay and your quarters."

"
He sounds a little Sapienist to me," Frank said, looking back at the cockpit.

Hill waved
his hand dismissively, "He just talks tough. Don't worry about it. I mean, I'm a Unificationist as much as the next guy, but I don't necessarily want any sludgesuckers coming around my sisters if you know what I'm saying. Right?"

Hill had
stopped and was looking back at Frank, waiting for an answer. "Right," Frank finally said. It was the only thing he could think to say. 

Hill leaned
closer to Frank and whispered, "Actually, one of my cousins got involved with some slick-talking Ligtorp, the ones with the long, skinny arms and sloped-ears? He got her pregnant somehow. She's carrying this half-breed, slope-eared, long-armed demon baby right now. Can you believe that? My own gene pool fouled by this little Liglet bastard. It's a disgrace."

"
Sounds rough," Frank said. "I wonder why she didn't stop to think about your feelings before she went and did that."

"
It's not my feelings, per se, but the rest of the families. It's selfish, is what it is," Hill said.

Frank nodded
slowly, trying his best to play it cool. "Listen, not for nothing, but I always thought Grendel was at the tip of the spear in the fight against terrorists like the Sapienists who want to stop Unification."

"That's what we are
," Hill said.

"No offense
, but don't you find it a little strange to be out here putting your lives on the line for a cause you don't believe in?"

Hill
's eyes widened, "Who said I don't believe in it? Are you accusing me of harboring anti-Unification feelings, soldier?"

"No
, Lieutenant," Frank said quickly. He was going to have to do some quick thinking. "I was asking how you reconcile the work we are asked to do…given the reality of the situation."

"Oh
," Hill said, nodding. The ship lurched forward into motion, shifting Hill sideways enough that he instinctively stuck his hand against the wall to brace himself until he got his bearings. Frank was used to the movement and rocked back and forth to compensate, using what the old soldiers had called their 'sea legs.' Apparently, Hill had skipped that part of training, or he simply wasn't accustomed to space flight, because he kept his hand pressed against the wall as he made his way down the corridor. "The general doesn't expect us to go win the war single-handedly, Frank. We take on specialized assignments that involve enemies of the State."

"Terrorists
, you mean," Frank said.

Hill shrugged
and said, "Yeah. Mostly."

Before Frank could ask what that meant
, the intercom buzzed with the pilot's voice, saying, "Lieutenant, we're on course for Iscariot-Four. We should arrive within the hour."

"Excellent
, Bob. We'll be up after I show the F.N.G. around."

F.N.G.?
Frank thought, looking at the way Hill wobbled as he walked. Instead, he said, "What's on Iscariot-Four?"

"The
jackhole hotshot," Hill said. "He smooth-talked the General into letting him run some ridiculous surveillance operation in a bar down there. I say it's all some big excuse to spend Unification money on booze and women. Since we're in the area I figured I'd pay him a little visit and prove once and for all that Victor Cojo is nothing but a glorified mercenary."

"Cojo?"
Frank said, thinking about the Unification investigator he'd met all those years ago.

"Yeah
," Hill said, looking back at Frank. "Why? Do you know him?"

Frank studied the nervous look in
Hill's eyes and said, "Nope. His name sounds like something I read in the archives awhile back. Some horror book about a mad dog, I think."

"Mad dog,"
Hill sniffed. "That sounds about right."

The engines groaned as they downshifted from interstellar drive to
an approach speed for the Iscariot system. The ship lurched back and forth and Frank's stomach flopped sideways, making him have to take a deep breath to keep himself from getting queasy. Space travel was going to take some getting used to. He shook his head and was about to make a comment to Hill, when he saw the other man's face had turned a sickening shade of green. "Are you all right, Lieutenant?" Frank said.

"I'm fine,"
Hill snapped, pressing his back against the wall to keep himself steady. He pressed his hand against his forehead and took it away to look at the sheen of sweat covering his palm. "I just ate something that disagreed with me this morning and this damned idiot of a sergeant doesn't know how to fly the damn ship properly!" he shouted down the corridor. 

Frank nodded sympathetically and said, "He'll get better at it
, I'm sure."

"He'd better, or I'll be finding us a new pilot, that's for certain,"
Hill muttered. "Anyway, when we get to Iscariot-Four, just follow my lead. It's a hostile planet to humans, and you aren't used to hardcore undercover operations yet. Stay with me, do everything I do, and you'll be fine. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," Frank said.

Hill quickened his pace, trying to get down the corridor as fast as he could. "Show yourself around the rest of the ship. I'm going to lie down for a bit until we get there. But make sure you're ready to go when this ship lands, because I'm not waiting around for any F.N.G.'s, you got that?"

"I got that," Frank said. He watched the lieutenant clutch his stomach and vanish into his bunk and sighed, "Oh, this is going to be just a ton of fun, I can tell."

6.
Body Count's in the House

Their ship descended through a layer of smog so intense it covered the ship's windows in yellow, misty grime. Frank leaned forward against the observation port to peer down at the surface, seeing nothing but dimly glowing streetlights. Buehl was bickering with the ship's console, telling it, "I know the altimeter says we're approaching landing distance, but I can't see a damn thing!"

The proximity warning alarm sounded, beeping rapidly as the ship
continued dropping. The rapid descent made Frank's ears pop so violently, he had to clench his eyes shut and wait for the pain to pass. He grabbed a dangling storage strap from the wall and held it with both hands, tightening his grip as the warning alert became one long, panicked computer cry. They collided with the ground so hard that every light on the ship flickered as Frank was lifted two feet off the floor and swung sideways into the wall. Once the ship had settled, he was still swinging from the security strap, too terrified to move. 

"Sorry!" Buehl called out. "Sorry about that.
That was my fault. The damn system wouldn't calibrate for all the pollution. Is everybody all right?"

Frank
let himself down and stood up shakily. From further down the corridor, he could hear Lieutenant Hill vomiting and had to smile.

I might be
an F.N.G. but at least I'm not a puker.

He bent down to look at Iscariot-Four, seeing nothing but a smoky,
fog-ridden city block. There were large geysers of steam pouring from the tops of tall smokestacks that ran up from the sidewalk. Steam hissed out of rusted metals grates in the gutters, and high above the wet surface of the street, a four-lane aerial highway with hovercars and bikes and trucks racing past one another at neck-breaking speeds.

In the dense, gray mist, Frank saw
that he wasn't the only one watching. There were dozens of glittering eyes staring back at the ship, and at him. The fog shifted and he saw creatures and aliens and oddly-shaped figures of every kind. He looked for any humans, either on the street or in the cars above, but saw none.

Hill came banging down the corridor, wiping his mouth and scowling at Buehl. He was buckling a service pistol around his waist as he said, "Thanks for almost killing us, you imbecile."

"I'm sorry about that, El-tee. I'm still getting used to flying this thing."

"Well you better get used to it, or you'll be reassigned to the service corps," Hill snapped. He nodded his head for Frank to follow and said,
"Are you ready? That jackhole Cojo is out there and the sooner we find him boozed up in some bar, the sooner we can get the hell off this dump."

"Wait a second," Buehl
said, jumping out of his seat. "We haven't discussed what kind of gear you're taking for this mission."

Hill patted
the pistol holstered on his hip and said, "I've got all the gear I need. Frank doesn't need a gun if he has me."

Frank looked sideways at
Hill at that remark, then decided he was better off not commenting. He tapped the black medical bag strapped across his chest and said, "I've got my bag. What else did you think we needed?"

Buehl's
mouth fell open, "What else did I…you
seriously
don't want a gun?"

"
I said he doesn't need one," Hill said.

Frank shrugged
and looked back at Buehl, "This is just a surveillance op and we're trying to blend in. It wouldn't exactly make sense for me to go around wearing one."

"That's why neither of you should
go around wearing one
," Buehl said, looking directly at the gun on Hill's hip. "I've got guns you can conceal in your armpit. Guns you can hide in your hat. Guns you can hide inside other guns that are hidden inside other, bigger, scarier guns. Listen, I have got a lot of guns, okay?"

"I honestly don't think I'll need one," Frank said.

"And even if he did think so, I already said he won't be taking one," Hill said.

"Fine. Whatever," Buehl said, looking like Frank had just rejected him from playing on his schoolyard kickball team. "How about
comms?"

Hill waved
his phone at Buehl and said, "I can track Cojo on this and call you when we're ready to get picked up. Done and done."

"I meant between you two
," Buehl said. "You're going to need covert communications with each other if you get separated. How am I going to reach Frank if you go down, Lieutenant?"

Hill chuckled
and said, "If I go
down?
You've been spending too much time with the jackhole, sergeant. Come on, Frank."

Frank watched the lieutenant exit through the side hatch into the murky mist of Iscariot-
Four, and he looked back at Buehl and said, "Two clueless human Unification officers on a planet filled with hostile aliens. What could possibly go wrong, Bob?"

Buehl grimaced as he looked out at the city
. Lieutenant Hill was already busily holding his phone up in the air, trying to get a bead on Cojo's signal. He glanced down and smiled at Frank's hand, held out toward him with the palm upturned.

"Give me something small that I can conceal," Frank said.
"And make it quick before Lieutenant Lostlunch sees."

"Yes, sir," Buehl said
, before taking off running for the equipment locker.

Hill looked
back at Frank as he came hobbling up behind him. He frowned at the way Frank was walking, favoring his left side and wincing with every step, and he smirked. "I thought they trained you trainees for physical maneuvers. What's the matter? Can't keep up with a real field agent, academy boy?"

They were a block and a half from the ship
and Frank had found the lieutenant pressed to the corner of a building, trying to stay out of sight. "I'm fine, sir," Frank said. "I just have a cramp from all that traveling. Buehl said it might be space bends."

"Not you too,"
Hill moaned. "Shake it off and let's go. I've got Cojo's signal and I want to get the hell off this sludgesucking planet."

A tall, cloaked alien being floated past the alleyway
, its long, black fingers bent into sharp talons, moving like a wraith between the crowds of different species that covered the sidewalk. Soon, the figure vanished in the mist and Frank tapped Hill and said, "Let's go."

The street was a long stretch of bars and shops and bussing terminals, with a hundred different ships filling the skies above with thick streams of smoke and landing lights. Frank wondered how Buehl could have forgotten to recommend a breathing apparatus in his equipment prep.

From the corner of his eyes, Frank saw a female alien emerge from one of the doorways and block Hill's passage. She was humanoid, but with glittering pink skin and bright blue lips. She wore nothing but a thin strip of fabric across her generous bosom and a thin, see-through skirt around her hips. She pressed her hand against Hill's chest and said, "What were you two doing in that alley, honey? Why don't you take me back there and I'll show you some real fun?"

Hill angrily
slapped her hand away and said, "Keep your filthy hands off me, sludgesucker."

The word echoed like a gunshot against the storefronts, and every head on the street turned to look at them.
Hill ignored it and pushed his way past to keep walking, looking at nothing but the beeping tracker on his phone.

"Sorry," Frank said softly. "He's got kind of
an embarrassing medical condition." He held up his thumb and index finger in the universal signal for
"Tiny."

The alien snarled
viciously at Frank, baring her blue teeth and soulless black eyes, and then she turned away and raced off into the smog. He stood there for a moment, wondering what exactly would have happened in that alleyway if they'd gone with her. There were plenty of predatory animals in the universe that used an attractive display to lure their victims in, and then shredded them to pieces with their claws and fangs.

Or was she just a desperate soul willing to sell herself to survive? Does she just look different than me, and that's what scares me?
he thought.

They're aliens,
Frank, he could hear his father telling him.
They're not like us. You're living in a fantasy world if you think they'll do anything but tear you open, eat you like meat, and slurp the marrow out of your bones. That's why we have to control them, before they overrun us.

Sludge.

Suckers.

Hill was
nearly at the end of the block already, and Frank was glad to have to hurry to catch up to him and vacate the area as quickly as possible. For all of humanity's unquestionable universal dominance, as individuals they were still vulnerable to all kinds of feral alien species. Frank felt like a shipwrecked sailor on ancient Earth, wandering into the dense jungle, surrounded by a thousand feral animals. Humans might have all the advanced technology back home, but this was their territory and that made all the difference.

He passed a dozen different kind of aliens, and all of them seemed to be eyeing him hungrily. Frank knew of at least a dozen planets in the surrounding solar systems where
humans were considered good eating, and Frank was willing to bet more than a few of the aliens walking past him on the street had heard the same thing and were interested in him like some kind of strange, new delicacy.

If Lieutenant
Hill really thinks that Unification insignia on his shirt is going to stop a hungry Vallvitka from yanking off his head and slurping his sludge, he's stupider than he looks,
Frank thought.

Frank was limping again as he tried to hurry along, but he didn't mind. The extra security of what was stuffed down the front of his shorts was worth it
, even if it made it hard to crouch and walk.

He caught a glimpse of
Hill from across the street, just before the lieutenant disappeared behind the closed door of one of the storefronts. Several street-level transports flew past Frank so fast that his shirt rippled, but there were no signals to stop traffic and let him cross. He waited for a break in traffic before he jumped down off the curb and ran for it.

The street was filled with an inch of muck,
a poisonous mixture of synthoil sputtering out of the engine blocks of the older transports to the hydrosene fuel splattered in bursts of speed from the souped-up turbines of modified racers. Frank splashed through it until he was safely on the opposite side and looked down in disgust at his soaked boots and pants. The storefront's door opened again as two aliens staggered out, obviously intoxicated, and teeth-rattling bass drums spilled out onto the street through the open door. Frank grabbed it before it could close and went in, stopping at the doorway to give his eyes time to adjust to the darkness.

A dozen alien bodies slithered against one another on the dance floor, the green and blue hues of their skin lit by the swirling
, colored smoke curling up and around their legs and arms and tails and tentacles. Frank excused himself as he made his way past a group of large, ominous looking creatures, and headed around the dance floor, trying to find his lieutenant. The air was thick with colored effects smoke and smoke from all manner of pipes and hookahs and tiny rolled up cigarettes that everyone inside the bar was smoking. Frank blinked rapidly and wiped his eyes to try and see as he made his way toward the bar.

Amidst the winged insectoids and cybernetics, he saw
Hill, sitting at the bar, scowling at the writhing figures on the dance floor. Frank worked his way through the crowd until he was close enough to Hill to call out, "Thanks for waiting for me."

"It was a test,"
Hill muttered. "I wanted to see how long it would take you to catch up. Consider me not impressed."

Frank ignored the comment as he looked around the club, seeing nothing but aliens. "Did you find him yet?"

"No," Hill said. "My tracker went on the blink when I came in here, though. This place probably scrambles our signals. Typical."

Frank looked at the bartender, a short, squat alien called a Buddha. They called themselves something else, obviously, but their resemblance to the ancient holy figure was remarkable, except that they were little more than five feet tall and had no discernable ears.
If anything, they looked like regular humans who'd been compressed into smaller, fatter, figures. The Buddha caught Frank's glance and came around to them, saying, "Are you two drinking or just taking up space?"

Hill spun
around in his seat, one eyebrow raised. "Excuse me?" He leaned forward to press his chest against the bar where the Buddha could see it what was on his shirt. 

The bartender looked down at the Unification insignia and his expression changed to happy recognition. "
First rounds on the house for our distinguished guests," he said, giving them a fast smile.

Hill grunted
as he looked back at Frank, but Frank was too busy looking past him at the bartender as he poured two beers from the tap. "That's exactly why Unification will ultimately win, Frank. Civilization is an inevitable outcome," Hill said, looking out at the dance floor behind them. "Even in places as filthy as this, every single living thing in the universe craves order." He tapped the insignia on his chest and said, "That's what this stands for. That's why I wear it. I represent that order. That's why I wear it, to show these cretins that no matter what they do, we're never far away."