Mech 2 Page 27

  Aldo smiled at himself. It wasn’t like him to worry about what women thought of him—not after he’d made the conquest, anyway. But with Sarah it had been different. She was different.

  And so he found himself trotting quietly down blackened corridors in a dying battleship full of aliens. He thought to himself he must be mad.

  His first encounter with the enemy was at an intersection surrounded by automated ammunition storage facilities. Robots rolled around the floors, seeking spilled pellets. The battle had knocked things around down here pretty badly, and many rounds had fallen, ringing onto the deck plates. The specialized robots didn’t know, of course, that all the point-defense systems had been knocked out. They kept finding rounds, putting them into bins, checking the stocks and magazines and exchanging them for fresh ones, even though the existing rounds were unspent.

  Aldo shook his head, watching them. Such a frenzy of activity for no purpose. It was just like a machine to do that. They did make a nice level of cover noise, at least.

  The first killbeast almost got him. It stepped around a steel wall and aimed a kick at his neck. Aldo had no option but to parry in quinte. The move was so automatic, so ingrained, that despite the surprise of the attack and the blinding speed of it, he managed to lop off fully a third of the killbeast’s leg, which sailed harmlessly by his head.

  The riposte came just as fast, before the one-legged killbeast, now off-balance, could recover and bring his laser carbine into line. The thorax exploded with ichor. Still, it was not dead. With three deft slashes, Aldo removed its remaining limbs and left it thrashing, alive.

  He wanted it alive. Because he had seen the shadows. There was another one, moving on the far side of the same wall, in the munitions room with the very busy, very useless robots. These things used built-in radio for communications. Surely, this injured one would call to its comrades.

  Aldo eyed the walls. Two centimeters of steel, maybe three. He thumbed his sword into kinetic life. Purple waves of force ran the length of it. He thrust it, hard, through the steel wall. The shadow on the other side shivered, it began firing its carbine, firing over and over into the steel wall. Aldo kept his weapon sunk deeply into the wall, wiggling his end of it, hoping it would make whatever horrible wound the alien had suffered all the wider, all the worst.

  The steel almost shorted it, but his sword kept humming and crackling with energy. He could not believe, as the firing continued. Whatever was on the far side should die due to the jolting power of his blade alone.

  But the firing continued, until there was only a dry clicking that the shuffling robots quickly drown out with the pointless noises. Rattlers and laser carbines had large magazines, but they did run out eventually.

  Aldo withdrew his sword. Something heavy slumped down on the far side. He frowned as he scrutinized the tip. Was it his imagination, or had the tip been bent, just a fraction?

  Irritably, Aldo slashed the still living killbeast at his feet twice more, silencing it. He needed to attract no more enemies.

  He never did look into the munitions room to see what it was that he’d killed in there, through that wall. There was no need. If it had been a man, it would have died far faster. Since it wasn’t a man, he didn’t care what it was, only that it was dead.

  He proceeded with even greater caution as he approached cargo deck J. There, on the floor with the carnage of slain mechs no one had bothered to clean up, he found Bili’s small form.

  Aldo stalked in, and finally stood over the boy. He eyed every shadow carefully, but nothing moved. The boy, he quickly discovered, was alive. He was hot, according to his suit readout, with a fever several degrees above normal. His faceplate was open, too. Could he have been overheating in there?

  Then, in a bolt of thought, Aldo realized something. This was the spot where Rem-9 had been standing. This was the exact spot. But the mech wasn’t here. Aldo and the others had left him, calling in technicians to help. Had they come and taken the mech captain away to some lab for the care he needed? Looking at state of the rest of the place, he doubted it. There hadn’t been time in the middle of the battle.

  “Rem-9?” he called out, straightening. He kept his sword up.

  He heard something then. Not a crash, exactly, but a metallic squeal.

  Carefully, blade upraised, he crept forward to investigate. Had the mech somehow recovered after they refilled and sealed his braincase? Did he, perhaps, require aid? Was he mentally damaged? Aldo didn’t like the idea of a huge combat mech with brain damage running around down here. But if he could recover Rem-9 and take him back to the crew quarters, they would all be a lot safer in his presence.

  It was when he crept up to the mouth of one of the vast, open cargo containers that the metallic sound was repeated. But it was different this time, more of a scrabbling sound. He peered inside, and saw a flash of silver as a single optic looked back at him.

  “Rem-9? Come out of there. What’s wrong with you? You are a Captain. You should be in this fight.”

  Rem-9 reached out a trembling gripper and tore another strip of metal from the walls. That’s what he had been doing. Aldo sucked in his breath. “I don’t need a mental mech. But if you want some help, come along with me.”

  Aldo walked away then, snapping off his sword. He felt the back of his neck tingle as he did it. Turning away from an enemy was a great way to engage them, but it also was a great way to get killed.

  Clanking, slow at first, then gaining speed, the mech followed him out of the container. Aldo headed over to Bili and picked him up. He slung the unconscious boy over his left shoulder, keeping his right arm free to swing his sword. He thought about asking Rem-9 to do it, but he didn’t want to trust the mech to carry the kid. He might accidently squeeze too hard with those grippers of his. He was acting very oddly, and had yet to say a word.

  Aldo headed out of the cargo bay. Rem-9 followed slowly, cautiously. With each corner they rounded, the big mech hung back, craning his head from side to side and swiveling his optics in every direction. Aldo squinted at him.

  “What’s gotten into you, big guy? I think that knock on the head has addled your wits. You’re acting like your own shadow is going to jump you.”

  Rem-9 stopped marching and his optics swung down, scanning the decking.

  Aldo blinked. Was the mech actually checking out his shadow? Great. He was mental. This was going to be a long trip back to the crew quarters.

  #

  Droad bounced, rather than ran through the darkening ship alone. The gravity was dimming, along with the power. Could they have taken the engine room? Without a continuous level of thrust, the ship would soon drift and they would be weightless. In such an environment, even though the crew was comprised of experienced spacers, he thought the aliens would have the advantage with their greater natural agility. He tried to put such matters out of his mind now, he had relinquished command to Beauchamp, it was his problem. Droad’s mind was on one thing: survival. He wanted to live through this day along with Sarah and Bili, if at all possible. He grudgingly added Aldo to the list, and Rem-9. They were all aboard this ship due to Droad’s influence. He felt responsible for all of their lives.

  When he reached the crew quarters, things were eerily quiet. A few bodies slid about on the deck plates, mostly humans. He saw a shrade and two killbeasts, however, among the corpses. He slowed down and peeked around a corner with his suit lamps turned off.

  A sizzling blade arced down from above. Droad had time to see it aim for his neck. In a quarter second, he had time to realize, his head would be off and drifting to the decking.

  But it didn’t happen. Instead, the sword turned at the last possible moment and chopped into the welded steel corner he had been peeking around. The sword sparked and hissed and burned its way ten centimeters deep into the steel.

  “Identify yourself when you sneak around here, crewman,” Aldo said. He grunted as he pulled his blade from the wall.

  “Good to see you too, Aldo,” D
road said.

  “Ah! Lucas Droad, is it? Good to see you alive, man.”

  Droad smiled inside his helmet. Aldo sounded honestly pleased. There was nothing like an apocalyptic war to bring men together.

  “How are Sarah and Bili?” Droad asked, but Aldo was distracted.

  “Would you get back here?” Aldo said, irritably to someone else. He turned to Droad. “Just a second, I have to go chase down Rem-9. He’ll be hiding in a closet by now.”

  “What?” asked Droad. He drifted after Aldo, following the rippling, ethereal light of his power sword, which seemed to be the only source of illumination in the dark corridor.

  “Come on, you’ll see.”

  They did indeed find Rem-9, but he wasn’t in a closet. He was simply too big to fit. Crouched down in a sitting position, almost a fetal ball, the mech was behind a hastily thrown up barricade of furniture.

  “Rem-9?” called Droad, snapping on his helmet lamps. As he approached, a gripper shot out. Droad danced back. Yes, Rem-9 was hiding behind a pile of furniture. And by the looks of it, he didn’t want anyone to come near.

  “He’s been traumatized, or something,” said Aldo disgustedly. “The civilian contractors are deeper inside the crew section, barricading themselves in. That’s where Sarah and Bili are. I volunteered us to hold this entrance into the area. Not too many aliens have shown up, they are assaulting the reactors and the weapons section primarily. I thought Rem-9 would help me hold this passage, but he’s been worse that useless.”

  “I see,” said Droad, puzzling over Rem-9’s condition. Could the aliens have cooked up some kind of virus that would turn even a combat mech into an abject coward? It was a disturbing idea.

  “Rem-9—Captain,” Droad said officially. “I command you to come out of there.”

  The pile of furniture wobbled slightly, but there was no other response.

  “He doesn’t talk much, either,” Aldo said. He explained Rem-9’s injuries, and the axe-blow to the braincase.

  Droad nodded. “Perhaps he will fight when the time comes, in self-defense if nothing else. He needs a full lab of techs, and we just don’t have it. Pity.”

  Aldo sniffed and went back to stealthily patrolling the hallways for passing aliens.

  “I’m going to go check on Sarah and Bili, if you don’t mind, Aldo.”

  “Understandable.”

  Droad left them and headed into the central zone of the crew quarters. He indeed met many armed men there and barricades. He identified himself and was allowed to pass. Soon, he found Sarah, who was fussing over Bili. Droad smiled, pleased to find them both still breathing.

  Sarah embraced him when he came in. One hard hug, then she let him go, before he could even wrap his arms around her. He let his hands drift back down to his sides.

  Bili had gotten up off the bed in the meantime.

  “Lay back down,” said Sarah.

  “I’m fine, Mom,” complained Bili. “Give me a pistol or something. Fryx is gone.”

  “Fryx?” asked Droad.

  She explained that the Tulk had taken Bili over temporarily and driven him down to the cargo bays.

  “Wasn’t that where the mechs were slaughtered?” Droad asked. “Strange.”

  Bili was up and out the door by now. They followed him. He had a pistol in his hand, and neither adult objected. He’d earned the right to a weapon, the same as every other human aboard the dying Zürich.

  #

  Zuna found another group of humans deep in the ship, near the reactors. She hailed them. Cautiously, they allowed her to approach. Realizing she was a friendly mech, they allowed her to join their company.

  “We’ve lost all our combat mechs, but we’ve killed a lot of aliens,” said the battle-scarred Marine Commander Zeist. “They come from that portal over there, in rushes. We’re gearing up now for a final push inside. It’s good to see some reinforcements, Zuna. I can see by the gore on that axe of yours, you’ve been busy.”

  “What’s down there?” asked Zuna curiously, pointing a gripper at the portal.

  “It’s the contractor’s quarters. We had hundreds of them aboard. I’m not sure what happened to them.”

  “Hundreds?” said Zuna. She tried not to let a hungry tone enter her voice.

  The Marine Commander looked at her strangely for a moment. “Yes... Zuna, maybe you’d like to fight up front? You have a close combat weapon.”

  “Oh no,” said Zuna. “I hope you’ll understand—I’m not trained for combat. I’m really a civilian mech. How about I just—cover your back?”

  “Okay,” said Zeist. “Take the rear guard.”

  Zuna’s grippers clicked like castanets. She squeezed them shut, fighting to control them. It was difficult to contain herself, however, as she was very happy indeed.

  “I’ve got your back,” she said.

  Twenty-Eight

  Droad took stock of things ship-wide, holding a hushed conversation with Commodore Beauchamp. The main laser batteries had stopped firing, and power had been lost over most of the vessel. Life support was still operating, but reports indicated in some areas the oxygen levels were dropping. The areas where the initial invasion pods had entered were all sealed off now, behind heavy bulkheads. But the enemy had a foothold aboard, and the carnage had been extreme.

  “We’ve suffered a few attacks on the bridge,” said Beauchamp, “but we survived them. We lost perhaps half our bridge crew. The attacks, fortunately, are becoming weaker and less frequent.”

  “What do we still hold and what have we lost?” asked Droad. Around him, a cluster of wide-eyed crewmen listened. The ships communications systems were out, but some carried com links that still operated.

  “We hold the bridge, you are holding in the crew quarters. The gun turrets are still in our control, but we’ve lost reactor power so they can’t fire.”

  “What about the rocks heading for the planet? Did we get them all?”

  “Ninety percent.”

  Droad was silent. That wasn’t good enough. But they had done their best.

  Beauchamp continued reporting, as if he sensed Droad’s mood. “Marine Commander Zeist has a force still moving down in the lower decks. He’s trying to make contact with the enemy strongholds and take them out.”

  “That’s good, this is the time to hit them back. They will grow exponentially in strength if you let them, Commodore.”

  “How the hell will they do that?”

  “They use our bodies as raw materials. Every kill they make can be turned into more aliens, given a day or two.”

  It was Beauchamp’s turn to fall silent for a moment. “Disgusting beasts,” he said at last. “I want them off my ship.”

  “What are overall casualties like?”

  “Very high. I’d say we’ve lost eighty percent of onboard personnel. Maybe more. But we’ve killed most of them, too.”

  “What they will do now is hide and fall quiet. We will naturally want to lick our wounds and build defenses, taking the lull in fighting as a good sign. In truth, they will be rapidly building up their army again to wipe us out.”

  “What do we do, Droad?”

  “We have to carry the attack to them. Do or die.”

  “All right. Find an officer—whoever is still breathing—and send everyone you can down to the reactors. We have to have power, or our life support will fail in a day or two.”

  “I’ll lead that force personally,” Droad said.

  “Whatever,” snapped Beauchamp. “If you can spare anyone else, please send them to help Zeist. He’s up against some kind of alien strongpoint.”

  “Will do, sir,” said Droad, breaking off the contact.

  Droad quickly began marshalling up the scared crewmen behind their flimsy barricades. Most had only pistols and few had any combat experience. They were about to get a crash course, he thought grimly.

  Aldo came up to him. “Droad?”

  “Yes, Aldo?”

  “There’s something strange goi
ng on over here, I think you should be in on this.”

  Droad followed Aldo, trusting his judgment. The man always seemed to know what he was doing. Aldo led him to a room where he found Rem-9, once again, hiding behind a huge pile of crates. They were in the ship’s pantry.

  “Now he’s hiding behind our foodstuffs?” snorted Droad.

  Then he caught sight of who knelt in front of the mech, talking to him. It was Bili. Frowning, Droad quietly walked up to listen.

  “Look,” said Bili. “I know you’re scared. We all are. But we have to fight together. We have to do things we don’t want to do sometimes, things that don’t always help ourselves. Otherwise we all die.”

  Droad put his hands on his hips. Was the kid giving Rem-9 a morality speech? A pep talk?

  Rem-9 squirmed, tugging crates of foodstuffs to cover himself more completely.

  “Good work, Bili. I’m disgusted by Rem-9’s lack of bravery. But I think he’s suffered some damage to his mind.”

  Bili glanced over at him. “He’s not Rem-9,” he said.

  Droad frowned. He opened his mouth to ask just what the hell the boy was saying, then he had it. He strode to stand in front of the mech.

  “Fryx?” he demanded. “Are you in there? I demand you come out this instant.”

  One optic swung over to watch him warily.

  “Activate some speech centers, dammit. Talk to me, you Tulk coward, or I’ll make sure the aliens get your for their lab experiments.”

  Both optics rotated in his direction. For a moment, Droad wondered if he had pushed things too far. Rem-9 could no doubt kill him very quickly, whether or not the mech was driven by a Tulk rider. Before he could take a step backward, however, Aldo appeared behind Droad. His sword was out, as usual. If Fryx tried something, Droad suspected he would lose a gripper.