Mech 2 Page 26

  Fryx forced the locked throat and lungs to relax. Bili’s body sucked in air in desperate, strangled gasps. Fryx released calming chemicals, soothing his new mount. Once the autonomic systems were functioning, he reached deeper still into the nervous system. He made his first attempts at large-muscle motor control.

  Bili lurched, hands twitching. One shoulder raised from the ground, then slumped down again. Fryx dug more deeply into the spinal cord. The boy spasmed and shook—bucking as many new mounts do when first taken by a rider. Fryx had control difficulties. It was always easier when inside the host, nestled up against the brain itself. His controlling tendrils had to extrude themselves to their limits to reach the required nerve-centers. If he hadn’t had so much experience with humans as hosts, he might have failed.

  But as an expert rider, Fryx soon had the boy up and on his knees. The first effort at real dexterity came when he picked up the helmet and lowered it over the boy’s head. A slight miscalculation here could actually damage Fryx, as he clung to the back of the boy’s neck and skull. Trying not to shiver and dislodge his own nerve-needles like an incompetent firstling, Fryx held the reins tightly.

  Bili’s hands lowered the helmet and clicked it into place. The helmet pressurized with a hiss. The faceplate was lowered as well.

  Fryx allowed himself his first self-congratulatory emotion. Now, at least, he was out of sight inside the spacer suit and safe from depressurization. Any moment, according to the speech he had overheard in his tank, the human ship would be invaded by the Imperium forces. Fryx knew he had very little time.

  The great ship shuddered. An impact. More strikes, dozens of them, shook the steel walls. Fryx’s tank crashed onto its side. Saline leaked slowly over the floor. Every droplet beaded up almost into a sphere due to surface-tension in the low-gravity.

  Fryx drove the boy onto his feet and out into the hallways. The legs swung mechanically at first, then more fluidly, as he got the hang of the nervous system.

  Panicked humans ran every direction. Klaxons sounded. Multi-hued lights flashed, dazzling the eye. The ship had been breached.

  The second step in Fryx’s plan was to mount a superior host. He had already chosen his new mount, and he knew exactly where it was. He walked down corridors into increasingly quiet, lonelier parts of the great ship.

  #

  The invasion pods slammed into the hull one after another. Only a few managed to penetrate deeply enough to break through the outer skin. Droad and the rest of the bridge crew watched with grim tension as their final few point-defense railguns tilted downward and chattered thousands of rounds into the invasion pods. Gunners worked the joysticks directly now, not trusting the ship’s AI to run fire control. Each time an invasion pod popped in a pulpy explosion the bridge crew made a roaring sound of triumph.

  Droad thanked whatever design team had put together the point-defense railguns. The systems were deceptively simple, and very functional. Mounted on swiveling ball-joints on top of squat, steel towers, the railguns had an incredible field of fire. They could shoot at practically any angle. There was very little cover from them whether the enemy were approaching from space or trotting over the surface of the vessel.

  The killbeasts appeared on the torn surface of the hull very fast, popping out of the pods and moving with alarming rapidity. Many carried shoulder-mounted rocket launchers. Sparks leapt up from the launchers, trailing spiraling vapor behind. The rocket trails expanded quickly in the vacuum to join the general haze of dust that now enshrouded the ship. Unerringly, these rockets slammed into the last of the point-defense towers, knocking them out.

  “They’re men!” shouted one of the pilots, his voice sounding relieved.

  Droad looked at the screens. He did not see men, he saw killbeasts, but he didn’t bother to correct the pilots. Let them feel secure for now. Killbeasts now boiled atop his ship. There must have been hundreds of them. They did indeed look human at first glance. They wore spacer suits and rebreathers. They were generally shaped like men, with two upper and lower appendages. But Droad had already picked out the variances. Men did not move like that. Their knees did not bend backward. Their feet were not blades of horn. Most obviously of all, men didn’t move so fast.

  The killbeasts gathered around the few invasion pods that had managed to punch deeply enough into the Zürich to allow entry.

  “How many breaches?” asked Droad.

  “Six found so far, sir,” reported the Marine Commander Zeist.

  “We must seal the breaches, Commander. Use charges. Detach ship modules if you have to, anything non-vital can go. I want these aliens off my ship.”

  “Yes sir!” shouted the Marine Commander. “Request permission to join the defense teams, sir!”

  Droad looked at him. He carried a laser carbine and a power sword, the kind Aldo used, hung at his belt. He looked eager and capable.

  “Commander,” Droad said, “take these two mechs with you.”

  “Yes sir! Thank you sir, but what about bridge defense, sir?”

  “We’ve done all we can. The bridge is non-essential now. The main batteries will continue to fire in sequence to knock out every incoming asteroid. As long as the reactors and the batteries themselves remain in our control, they will keep firing.”

  “What if the aliens blow up the main batteries?”

  “They may,” said Droad, shrugging, “but I suspect they want this ship intact. If they take control of those guns, they will not need anything else. I’m placing you in command of the ship’s internal defense effort, Commander Zeist.”

  “Thank you sir,” said the Marine Commander. He stood at attention, waiting to be dismissed.

  “One more thing, Commander,” said Droad, stepping closer to the man. “If your initial push fails, don’t underestimate them. Assume the worst at every single step. Assume disaster will befall you. Don’t put everything you have into any one fight. There are only so many of them. Possibly, we can win this battle through attrition.”

  Zeist looked confused, then grim. “Yes sir. Anything else, sir?”

  Droad looked around at the silent bridge-crew. “No. Godspeed, Commander.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Droad watched Zeist run out into the passages, doubting he would ever see the man again.

  #

  Zuna witnessed the initial breach near the aft cargo section. A large section of the ceiling poked down, stretching the metal to a blue-white. Soon, a grinding noise began, and something spun heavily. The ceiling of the passage tore apart, three centimeter-thick steel twisting away from the invasion pod’s nosecone in shavings. When it broke open, a gush of sifting rock came down. Her external sensors could feel the cold of space. A light cloud of fog flowed from the region and frost grew rapidly on the walls as the moisture was leached from the air and frozen on the walls.

  Zuna watched by leaning out into the corridor from a side passage. She thought about running, but this was too interesting. Next, the ceiling popped, like a canister of self-cooking soup. A half-dozen man-shaped beings in spacer suits dropped into the corridor, snapping off laser bolts in every direction. Zuna pulled her head back just in time.

  She heard the approach of the killbeasts as they bounded down the corridor toward her. They had spotted her. She should have run, she admonished herself. Now it was too late. If she left now they would run her down and shoot her in the back.

  She lifted her red axe with her gripper whining slightly. This kill would not be from behind. A pity.

  But a wild crackling, sizzling series of sounds broke out from the corridor. She listened, but didn’t hear the invaders come closer.

  Zuna trembled with indecision. If they had turned away from her, it was a golden opportunity.

  She finally poked her head out again. Why had the humans not rebuilt her with her sensory organs in more sensible locations? She could have used a gripper with an embedded camera right then.

  There they were, toeing a group of dead humans. Only
two of the killbeasts remained standing. They looked at one another as if conversing. Perhaps they talked with suit transmissions she couldn’t hear.

  Zuna could not contain her exuberance. Here were two easy targets. She waited until they turned away from her and then sprang out behind the last two killbeasts. She managed to take one by surprise, smashing her fine-bladed fire axe down through its carapace. Split in two like a standing piece of cordwood, the alien fell apart in a spray of ichor. The second killbeast turned, raised its weapon and fired. Zuna took the shot in her weapon arm, which lost hold of her fire axe.

  She snapped out with her left gripper, and seized what appeared to be the killbeast’s neck. She squeezed until it popped off. Headless or not, however, the killbeast kept fighting. It lost its laser carbine as it fell, but sprang back up, kicking with horned blades. The blades gouged her metal casing, but did no serious damage.

  Zuna was alarmed by the creature’s vitality. She snatched up her axe again and chopped it to flopping bits. When she was done, her axe was a stump and the blade had broken.

  What were these things? she thought as she dug a fresh fire axe out of her bag. She had only thirteen axes left. She doubted it would be enough. Her most significant emotion, besides surprise, was indignation. These monsters were killing everyone aboard the ship. How was she to enjoy any more satisfying murders if all the humans were slaughtered by aliens? Victims were disappearing faster than her supply of axes.

  Troubled, she clanked off in the direction of more combat sounds. As she went, she determined she should strike sooner next time and help the humans win. That way, she would win their confidence and could save them for her own pleasures later.

  Zuna cast aside the laser carbines, having no use for them. Raising her new axe in her off-gripper, she set her internal nanos to work repairing the damage to her primary gripper. Maybe, if she was left alone long enough, she could get it operating again.

  Behind her, she could hear more killbeasts dropping down. They were coming in real numbers now. She clanked along with greater speed, rounding a corner and heading toward the reactors. Laser bolts snapped and burnt black scorch marks on the walls behind her.

  #

  Droad had the sensory people patch live vid from Marine Commander Zeist’s helmet into the dome screens.

  The camera lurched. They could see the enemy had been at work as they got closer. Bodies of crew members lay strewn over the decking, many in pieces. One mechanic dragged himself aimlessly about by the arms. Only half his body remained, the lower half having been removed somehow. His spacer suit had kept him alive, pumping in drugs, sealing the horrible wound with nano-cloth and preventing further blood loss. Still, it was a miracle he had survived at all. Mad with pain and confusion, he climbed the handholds on the walls and ceiling and clung there, unresponsive to the troops who tried to help him. He would not let go of the ceiling.

  Marine Commander Zeist ordered his troops to continue forward, calling a corpsman for the wounded mechanic. He ordered his mechs to take the point and they charged forward, heartening the other men, who sped up in their wake.

  Droad sat in the command chair and leaned on his elbow. He pressed his fist into his cheek. He did nothing to interfere with the Marine Commander’s leadership. The man clearly knew what he was doing.

  Rounding a bend, they came to a darker section of the ship. The lights had been shot out. Suit lamps went on all along the column. Droad tensed in his chair. They should make contact with the aliens trying to take the reactor section now.

  Even as the thought passed his mind, all hell broke loose on the vid feed. Droad leaned forward. The rest of the bridge crew craned their necks as well.

  First, there was a blinding flash. Then several more. Fire erupted, seemingly in every direction. Screeches and screams began, often quickly cut short.

  The camera view was bowled over, knocked down. For a second, seeing the chaotic corridor from a fallen side view, Droad believed Marine Commander Zeist had already been taken out. But then he got to his feet.

  An ensign tugged at Droad’s sleeve.

  “What is it woman?” Droad demanded.

  “Sir, there’s an awful racket coming from the closet down the corridor. Could the aliens be here?”

  Droad stared at her for a second. “Oh,” he said. “That’s just Commodore Beauchamp. Let him out, will you?”

  Droad turned away from the ensign and forgot about her. The shocked young woman hurried to obey him.

  The camera swept the scene. The ceiling, walls, and even the flooring had been ruptured and curled back by tactical charges.

  “They’re coming out of the walls, sir!” shouted an unseen grunt.

  Marine Commander Zeist shouted for his troops to circle up in the middle of the room. As the bridge crew watched, an alarming variety of enemies filled the machine shop. Killbeasts, in and out of vacc suits, poured out of the walls. Snake-like shrades dropped from the ceiling and boiled out of the floor, looping themselves around men’s legs, chests and necks. The room was full of struggling forms. Aliens kicked and fired point-blank. The marines, initially surprised, lost a third of their force in less than a minute. Once they formed a circle in the room, however, they fought back to good effect. The two combat mechs ran back to the column and joined into the fray, turning the tide.

  “DROAD!” roared a voice behind him.

  Droad winced, but did not bother to turn around. He touched the master volume control for the vid screen. He turned it up.

  On the screen, a new squad of killbeasts appeared in the twisted holes torn out of the walls. These had rocket launchers.

  “No!” shouted Droad, hammering a fist down upon the arm of his command chair. Moments later, one mech was down, two rockets having slammed into his chassis. The other fired and charged the rocket team. A savage fight ensued, but the mech quickly overcame them, tearing the killbeasts to thrashing piles of limbs.

  “What the hell is this?” asked Commodore Beauchamp. “What are these things?”

  “The man-like ones are called killbeasts. The snakes with suction-cups are called shrades.”

  “Where are they?”

  “They are trying to reach the reactors, no doubt to shut off all our power. I would secure your faceplate, Commodore.”

  “Where are you going, Droad? I’m having you arrested.”

  “Gaston Beauchamp,” said Droad, not without sympathy in his voice. “We are all about to die. I suggest you wait to see if we survive the next hour, then arrest me.”

  Commodore Beauchamp gaped up at the vid screens in horror. “These are your aliens, aren’t they?”

  “Indeed they are, sir. I relinquish command to you, Commodore.”

  “What do I do, Droad?” asked the Commodore, aghast.

  “Fight your ship, sir. Isn’t that what you always wanted to do?”

  “Right,” said the Commodore, regaining his composure. He began shouting orders, demanding reports.

  Droad slipped away, and down the hallway toward the crew quarters. Things looked very bad to him. He couldn’t do much more here, but maybe, just maybe, he could see Sarah and Bili one more time.

  Twenty-Seven

  When Sarah returned with weapons and food she found Fryx’s tank empty and Bili gone—and she freaked.

  “That little slimy bastard!”

  She grabbed the bedding and tore it apart, looking everywhere. Bili was not under the bed or in the closet. Neither was the Tulk.

  Aldo watched her from the safety of the doorway, eyebrows raised high. He was surprised by her intensity, even though he reminded himself he should have been used to it by now.

  Sarah unloaded her pistol into the empty fish tank. Glass spit and the pump gurgled its last.

  “The tank might have just fallen over,” said Aldo, “we are in the middle of a violent battle. Maybe Bili just went out to get more water for it.”

  “No. It was Fryx. I should have killed him back on the Gladius. I thought about it,
you know. I had dreams like this. I was an idiot!”

  Aldo kept his face neutral. He checked the hallway frequently. They had been trying the boy’s com link, but there was nothing. Even the transponder had been turned off. The computer didn’t show him as being on the ship. Either he had removed his spacer suit or he’d turned off the com system.

  Sarah came close to him. “We have to find him. Now.”

  Aldo nodded. “I’ll do it,” he said.

  She searched his face. “No, I’m coming.”

  “What if Bili comes back?”

  “I’ll leave him a note.”

  “Will he see it?”

  “I don’t know, dammit.”

  “Have you ever lost anyone? I have, in the middle of fifty snowcapped mountain peaks. One person stays put, the rest search. Often times, the one sitting still is the lucky one, even if there are fifty searchers.”

  Sarah did a lot of hard breathing. She finally nodded, and kissed him goodbye. He tasted tears.

  Aldo pushed away from her gently and stepped out into the endless, echoing corridors. Everything was going dark now. There were power lines down, and cuts in the lighting strips. He pulled out his sword and kept his thumb over the kill switch. The moment he saw anything, he told himself, he would touch it and thrust. The dial was preset for maximum killing power.

  Along the way he retraced their steps toward the cargo bay area. The Tulk, if he had control of Bili, would be most likely to have retreated toward an area of the ship he had seen. It was a hunch, but it was all he had to go on.

  He let the idea play out in his mind that the boy had been taken by the aliens. Sarah had said they did that sometimes, taking humans to feed upon them. But he didn’t think that was the case. If it was, the boy was gone anyway. The third, happiest possibility was that the boy had just spilled the tank and gone to find some more liquid to fill it. In that case, the boy would turn up and Aldo knew Sarah would call him back. Maybe, if he lived, he would be a hero in her eyes. Aldo was not accustomed to be looked upon as a hero.