Date: 2017-02-08 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction; Horror; Science Fiction Fantasy
Description: After an opportunistic heist gone wrong, a squad of Galactic Fleet Marines set down on a remote planet hoping to repair their badly damaged ship and resupply quickly so they can be on their way to spend their new riches. Finding the supply outpost occupied by less than normal residents, the Marines are soon fighting for their lives against a deadly force unlike any they've seen on the battlefield. It'll take all their training and skills to get out alive, let alone in one piece.
Publisher: SEVERED Press

OUTPOST HELL

Jake Bible

Copyright 2017 by Jake Bible
www.severedpress.com

Part One

The Score

1

There was no choice. Faced with a half-dozen Skrang, all armed, all looking in his direction, there just was no choice.

Private Chann opened fire with his H16 plasma carbine multi-weapon, ripping the Skrang guards apart at their waists, spilling steaming hot guts all across the stone floor. Moving fast towards the guards, Chann didn’t let up on the trigger until he was standing over the lizard men’s corpses. Skrang were tough as nails, and even cut in half, they could be very dangerous.

The ones at Chann’s feet weren’t ever going to be dangerous again. Nothing but dead eyes stared up at him.

“What the holy hell is going on?” Sergeant Manheim shouted over the comm. “Who the hell is firing?”

“Skrang guards,” Corporal Wapnik replied as he moved to Chann’s right side, his H16 covering the corridor in front of them. “Six. Neutralized.”

“Eight Million Gods dammit! This was a quiet op!” Manheim yelled. “You do the shooting, Wapnik?”

“No, Sarge,” Wapnik replied. “Chann took them down.”

“Then it’s Chann’s ass if we don’t get out of here in one piece!” Manheim shouted, his voice rising to a fever pitch of rage. “I specifically ordered no lethal engagement! Subdue only!”

“Understood, Sarge,” Wapnik said. “No choice on this one.”

“No choice,” Chann echoed.

“We have the vault open,” Corporal Lorsk interrupted over the comm channel. “Goods are packed and on rollers. It’s like the Skrang gift wrapped this shit for us.”

“Stow the goods and get them back to the drop ship. Make it fast. Chann shat the bed for us already. There are probably more guards on the way,” Manheim ordered. “Fireteam One has the LZ clear. Fireteam Three? Don’t fuck up this extraction, you hear me? Keep the way clear for Fireteam Two, and make sure they get those goods back to the drop ship. Understood?”

“Loud and clear, Sarge,” Wapnik replied. “We are on the move now.”

The comm went silent, and Wapnik nudged Chann with his elbow.

“You cool?” he asked.

“I’m cool,” Chann replied. “The gas should have put these guys down. What else was I supposed to do?”

“They were probably on patrol outside when we deployed the gas,” Wapnik said. “I can’t fault you for this. Us or them, right? You sure you’re good?”

“I’m good, I’m good,” Chann said.

“Then suck it up, buttercup,” Wapnik said and turned to the two Galactic Fleet Marines behind him. “You heard the sarge. We clear the way for F2. Move ass, F3.”

“Moving ass,” Private Ou’guul replied.

“Ass is being moved,” Private T’Zen said.

“Chann? Let’s go,” Wapnik said.

“Going,” Chann said as he ejected his spent power cartridge and inserted a new one. He slapped it hard and the H16 powered up, the plasma meter instantly climbing to full green.

“Same formation,” Wapnik ordered. “Eyes sharp until we’re off this planet and shitfaced on whiskey back on the Romper. Right now, we have three corridors to get through before we rendezvous with F2. I ain’t faulting you, but this crap just made us late.”

“Understood,” Chann said as he stepped over the corpses. “Moving ass now.”

***

The Skrang were a warring race. Muscle-bound lizards, they only had two things on their minds—making life and ending it. Chann had witnessed the latter more times than he would have liked to recall. Being a Galactic Fleet Marine at the end of the War was not for the weak and squeamish, as both sides scrambled to do as much damage as possible before the bloodshed was called to a halt.

With the Treaty signed, the war between the Galactic Fleet and the Skrang Alliance had ended a few years earlier. That left Marines like Chann with very little opportunity for advancement. Not that the Fleet didn’t still believe in promoting through merit, but there simply weren’t as many positions opening up since those above Chann were no longer dying at an alarming rate.

Three years in the theater of war, three years in the theater of peace, and still a private. Six years. No advancement. It was ridiculous, and enough to push a Marine, even one that thought of himself as honorable and upright, to consider desperate measures.

Desperate measures like assaulting a Skrang general’s compound due to intelligence that stated the lizard-man had hoarded his spoils of war within a massive vault. Millions upon millions of chits and treasures, all locked up and waiting to be plucked from the gnarled claws of the old warrior.

The intel had been correct in one way: plenty of treasure. Items made from every precious metal in the galaxy were stacked in the vault. Art pieces worth more than Chann’s entire career as a Marine. Jewelry, raw stones, cut stones, bags of them.

But no chits. Not a single stray chit anywhere.

That was what Chann’s fireteam discovered as they watched F2 push rollers of items into the cargo hold of the Galactic Fleet drop ship. F2 let the two members of the drop ship’s flight crew secure the rollers as they turned and rushed back into the compound’s main building for the next batch of treasures. The Marines of F3 could only stare at the dozen rollers piled high with valuables, but not one chit case or bag in sight.

“Are you kidding me?” Ou’guul snapped as he jabbed the barrel of his H16 at the rollers. “What the hell are we supposed to do with this crap?”

“We sell it,” Manheim barked, his H16 aimed at Ou’guul.

Private Ou’guul was a Jesperian, one of the many humanoid races that joined up with the Galactic Fleet instead of the Skrang Alliance. Jesperians were a rough-and-tumble race, their skin composed of thick hide that would dull most knife blades. Ou’guul looked like he’d been left out in the sun for a few weeks too long.

Manheim moved closer and pressed the tip of his carbine against Ou’guul’s chest.

“You have a problem with the results of this mission, Private?” Manheim growled.

“No, Sarge, I’m cool,” Ou’guul answered right away. No hesitation, no fear.

“Good,” Manheim said. “Because the mission is not over. F2 are on their way to secure and bring the second batch of rollers to us right now. You will make sure their way is not impeded by inconvenient hostiles. Just like the last batch. That is the only thought that should be in your head.”

“The shiffle gas was supposed to last for eight hours, Sarge,” Wapnik said.

“How’d that work out with that bunch of assholes I put down?” Chann asked.

“On most races, shiffle can’t be faulted. But we’re talking Skrang here, people,” Manheim replied. “You ever know those scaly sons of bitches to play by the rules, Wapnik? Get F3 out of this damn drop ship and back inside that building. I want this last stretch to go smooth as my ass after I shave it, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Sarge,” Wapnik replied. “F3? On me. We secure the route then we get to bask in the fruits of our labor.”

“Still don’t see how the hell we can move this much crap without getting caught,” Ou’guul muttered.

“Shut your trap, Ou’guul,” T’Zen grunted.

T’Zen was a Shiv’erna. A lithe race, built for speed and grace, but with a dense muscle structure that made them deceptively strong. Despite their strength and agility, they tended to be mocked by other races due to their long, elephantine proboscis. It was that proboscis that T’Zen raised and pointed directly at Ou’guul.

“Sarge has this all figured out, so relax,” T’Zen said.

“Get that snout outta my face,” Ou’guul growled.

“Gentlemen, shut the hell up,” Wapnik ordered. “Do your jobs or I leave your asses on this crap planet, got it?”

“Got it,” they replied in unison.

Wapnik, like Chann and most of the squad, was human. But not entirely. He’d lost his right eye in a skirmish with a B’clo’no, an energy-sucking species that was the only other race in the galaxy to ally itself with the Skrang. He blinked his cybernetic eye at Ou’guul and T’Zen and it began to glow bright red.

“We’re going,” Ou’guul said. “No need to get hostile.”

The two Marines hurried from the drop ship towards the entrance where Corporal Lorsk and Fireteam 2 had disappeared into on their way back to the vault.

Chann nudged Wapnik. “One day, they’ll figure out that your eye isn’t a weapon and it only glows like that when you run it through quick diagnostics.”

“That day isn’t today, got it?” Wapnik said.

“Got it,” Chann replied and nodded.

“You’re point; I’ll be on your six with T’Zen and Ou’guul right behind,” Wapnik said.

“Like always,” Chann replied. He wasn’t upset by the formation. He liked taking point.

If he was going to die, then he wanted to see it coming at him head on.

***

Carbine leading the way, Chann stepped around the corner, the visor of his combat helmet showing him a range of readings from the temperature within the building to possible movement behind the doors set into the walls on either side of the corridor.

Chann watched the first door until his visor blinked a green light. He switched his attention to the next door and the next until all of them were cleared by the helmet’s sensors as safe. He moved cautiously past each doorway, refusing to take anything for granted, his carbine aimed at each until he was at the end of the corridor.

He waved the rest of F3 on. They hustled down to catch up with him. Chann lifted a fist and they came to a stop as he ducked his head around and then back from the corner of the wall he leaned against.

Waving to the others, Chann gave the all clear signal then continued on, checking corners, scanning corridors, leading F3 through the building as safely as he could. Not a single Skrang showed its ugly, lizard face. The shiffle gas may have actually done its job. The bastards Chann had shot must have come from outside like Wapnik had said.

Chann checked the readout on his visor. Theoretically, they had about three hours until the first Skrang began to wake up. And, theoretically, the Marines would be long gone by then.

The building Chann led F3 through was part of an old base the Skrang had set up towards the end of the War. Manheim’s intel said that a Skrang general had been stockpiling valuables in order to make his retirement a little more comfortable. It was very non-Skrang. They were a race that prided themselves on dying in battle, not padding their lives with luxuries.

Then again, greed was universal.

Chann halted and raised his fist then crouched low, signaling for the others to do the same. A red blip had come up on his visor. If it had been any one of the other Marines, then it would have registered as bright green. The blip moved closer to his position, and Chann slowly took his finger from the outside of the trigger guard of his carbine and placed it on the trigger itself.

A Skrang boy, maybe in his teens, hard to tell with Skrang, walked around the corner and bumped right into the muzzle of Chann’s carbine. He gasped and stumbled back, his butt colliding with the opposite wall. The Skrang boy’s eyes went wide at the same time Chann squeezed the trigger, obliterating the head that held those eyes.

“Shit,” Wapnik snarled. “Where the hell did that little snot come from?”

“Same place those guards came from,” Chann replied. “We got bad intel on this op.”

He scooted forward half a meter and swiveled on his knee, carbine aimed down the next corridor. It was empty. No sign of hostiles.

“F2, this is Chann, come in,” Chann called into the comm. “F2? Lorsk, you reading me?”

“Here,” Lorsk replied over the comm. “What’s up, Chann?”

“Juvenile hostile has been neutralized,” Chann said. “You guys picking up any movement by the vault?”

“Hold,” Lorsk said.

The rest of F3 gathered close to Chann. Wapnik aimed his carbine the same direction as Chann while T’Zen covered their six, making sure no one could sneak up on them from behind, and Ou’guul covered the corridor they’d just come from.

“We’ve got nothing but empty space,” Lorsk finally reported over the comm. “Did you say you took down a juvenile?”

“Yep,” Chann said. “We’re missing something here. Too many hostiles up and moving around.”

“Gas should have taken out the whole building,” T’Zen said.

“It didn’t, obviously!” Chann snapped. “That’s why I said we’re missing something.”

“I’ll call Manheim and have the flight crew do another scan of the grounds,” Lorsk said. “We’re done here in the vault. Last of the rollers are full and we’re heading back to the drop ship. Wapnik?”

“Here, Lorsk,” Wapnik replied.

“Take F3 outside and scout the area,” Lorsk ordered. “I’m done being surprised. Make sure we aren’t going to get a nasty send off. No point in being rich if we’re blasted out of the sky before we can get off planet and enjoy our spoils.”

“On it,” Wapnik said. “See you back at the drop ship.”

While Lorsk and Wapnik were technically the same rank, Lorsk was team lead of F2, putting him just slightly above Wapnik on the hierarchy of the squad. It was a pecking order that was never questioned. Discipline and chain of command was crucial for the success of a mission. Any petty jealousies could be worked out later over bottles of whiskey and pints of wubloov, a hallucinogenic beer developed on the tavern planet of Xippeee, and a favorite of Fleet Marines everywhere.

“Chann?” Wapnik asked.

“Closest exit is this way,” Chann said, following the map on his visor. “Stick tight. Could be more.”

“There always are with Skrang,” T’Zen said. “The things breed like Bverns. Little rat bastards.”

“Skrang?” Chann asked.

“No. Bverns. They’re the rat bastards,” T’Zen said. “You ever seen one?”

“Not long enough to care,” Chann said.

T’Zen laughed. “You’re a strange one, Chann.”

“Cut the chatter,” Wapnik ordered. “Eyes on the prize, kids.”

“On me,” Chann said as he followed the route indicated in his visor.

“You sure?” T’Zen asked. “Aren’t we on the wrong side of the building?”

“LZ is the other direction, Chann,” Ou’guul said.

“Those Skrang are coming from somewhere,” Chann said. “Lorsk wants us to cut the surprises then we cut the surprises.”

“Wap?” T’Zen asked.

“Chann’s right,” Wapnik replied. “We have a look then haul ass around the building to the LZ. Better safe than sorry.”

“What’s safe about walking blindly into an area we haven’t scouted yet?” T’Zen responded. “Just asking.”

“Don’t,” Wapnik said.

T’Zen shrugged as Chann moved out, leading them down the corridor to the closest exit.

***

Two dozen steps. That’s how far F3 made it before diving to the ground.

“What are they doing?” T’Zen asked.

“Hold on,” Wapnik said. “I’m scanning.”

“Helmet display says there are at least forty Skrang,” Chann said.

“Why are they just standing there?” Ou’guul asked. “How’d they not notice us? How’d they not see the drop ship come down?”

There was a loud bang then a muffled explosion from the other side of the building.

Plasma fire erupted immediately.

“I’d say they did see it,” Chann said. “We’ve been set up.”

“F2! F3!” Manheim shouted over the comm. “Fall back to the drop ship now! We’re taking heavy fire from Skrang guards!”

“On our way, Sarge!” Wapnik replied as he jumped up and opened fire on the group of Skrang that stood about fifty meters away.

The rest of F3 joined him, their carbines glowing red hot from the continuous bolts of plasma they sent flying at the Skrang.

“Oh, shit,” Wapnik said as the Skrang began to return fire. “I know why they let us land!”

“What do you see, Wap?” Chann asked, ducking below a half-dozen blasts that would have taken his head off.

“Breeding pond,” Wapnik said. “They’re standing around a breeding pond.”

“So what?” T’Zen shouted, running backwards towards the building.

“You never seen a breeding pond before?” Chann asked as he sent a wave of plasma at the enraged crowd of Skrang. Two in the lead exploded, their guts splattering those behind them. “Skrang breeding ponds are filled with their young! Very hungry young!”

“Oh, shit,” T’Zen said. “They want to feed us to their babies?”

“We’re tadpole food,” Chann said. His carbine clicked empty and he ejected the power cartridge, slammed in a new one, and started firing again without pausing. “That’s why they let us land.”

“Wap? Back through the building or around?” Ou’guul asked.

Right before his head was turned to mist.

A chunk of his helmet slammed into Chann’s shoulder, spinning him to the left. Good thing since eight Skrang guards were turning the corner, plasma rifles up and firing. Chann let his momentum take him to the ground. He rolled twice before he was able to stabilize himself and return fire.

“Back! Back!” Chann yelled as he took out four Skrang. “Left is not an option!’

“Neither is right!” T’Zen yelled.

“Inside we go!” Wap cried.

Chann felt a tug on his ankle from Wapnik and he started to crawl backwards as Wapnik covered him, dropping two more Skrang coming from the left.

T’Zen screamed.

Chann looked over his shoulder to see his teammate falling to the ground, a massive hole where his belly should have been. T’Zen’s helmet was askew and his eyes were wide with pain and fear. The pain and fear were gone in a blink as his eyes glazed over.

“Come on!” Wapnik yelled as he pulled Chann to his feet and yanked him back to the door of the building.

Once inside, Chann pulled a hand welder from his belt, lit it up, and sealed the hinges of the door.

“That’ll buy us a few minutes,” Chann said.

“We’ll need more than a few,” Wapnik growled as the sound of heavy boots echoed down the corridor. “How do we get out of here?”

Chann brought up the map of the building then pointed to their right. “That way. Scanners show six hostiles converging on us from there, but fifteen coming at us from behind.”

“Six sucks, but it’s better math than fifteen,” Wapnik said. “Charge up.”

They both ejected their power cartridges and slapped in fresh ones, neither mentioning that they each only had one left on their belts.

***

Six then five then seven then six then nine. The Skrang kept coming.

Chann dropped his plasma carbine and tore a rifle from the grip of a dead Skrang. Wapnik did the same, wincing at the motion. His shoulder was a scorched patch of uniform and flesh. Chann frowned at him, but the corporal nodded and pointed his chin forward.

“Two more corridors, right?” Wapnik gasped.

“Right,” Chann said. He cocked his head and smiled. “Hear that? The drop ship is still here and tearing shit up. We’ll make it.”

Wapnik grunted.

Chann took point and led the two of them into the next corridor. No Skrang. From the sound of things outside, the guards left were engaging the drop ship. Chann headed straight for the noise.

The two Marines hit the front door and kept their fingers pressed on their triggers until they were halfway from the building to the open hatch of the drop ship. Their rifles went dead simultaneously, and Chann wrapped an arm around Wapnik’s waist as he helped the corporal sprint to the waiting ship.

Manheim and the rest of F1 were laying down cover fire, sending Skrang guards scrambling for cover. That cover was ripped apart as the turret guns from the drop ship locked on and opened up.

“Move!” Manheim shouted at Chann and Wapnik. “Wheels up now!”

The ramp to the cargo hold was already rising when Chann stepped onto it. Wapnik cried out and collapsed, his hands going to the back of his right thigh. Blood spurted from between his fingers and he looked up at Chann, eyes panicked, even the cybernetic one.

“Need some help here!” Chann shouted as he pulled at Wapnik’s collar.

He was falling back on his ass before he realized he only held a strip of material. The rest of Wapnik’s collar was gone, as was half the man’s upper torso. Chann stared at the strip of material and screamed.

He kept screaming even as the ramp closed and he was pulled into a jump seat welded to the side of the cargo hold. He didn’t stop screaming until Manheim’s fist hit him right between the eyes.

2

“Chann?”

“What?”

“Sarge wants you.”

Chann opened his eyes and sighed.

He was still strapped in to the jump seat. Private Kay was kneeling before him, her vertical slitted pupils focused intently on his face.

“How long was I out?” Chann asked. He pinched the bridge of his nose then pulled his hand away immediately as a sharp pain shot through his skull. “Ow. Shit.”

“Sarge knocked you good,” Kay said.

The woman was a halfer—half-human, half a feline race called Cervile. Her whiskers twitched as she shoved her helmet back from her face, letting it rest at an angle on the back of her head. Her pupils narrowed, widened, narrowed, widened, matching the movement of her nostrils.

“You’ll be fine,” she said. “Eyes are bright and clear. You don’t smell like you pissed yourself, so he didn’t hit you as hard as he could have.”

“I lost my shit,” Chann said as he unstrapped and stood up. He paused to make sure he didn’t fall over. Kay stood with him, a hand close to his elbow, obviously thinking the same thing. “Who made it?”

“You’re the only one from F3,” Kay said.

She was a foot shorter than Chann, but that didn’t mean much since her feline musculature, and retractable-clawed fingers, could rip him apart in seconds if she wanted to despite his superior size and strength. Chann was glad she didn’t want to. At least not in that way.

“I know,” Chann said, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice. “F2?”

“No,” Kay said. She looked about the cargo hold to make sure they were alone then stood on tiptoes to give him a quick kiss. “Come on. Manheim is not feeling patient.”

She hurried to the ladder at the end of the hold and began to climb. Chann watched her move, not because he liked looking at her body, which he did, but because she was still in full combat armor and every movement she made projected alarm.

“We’re not out of the shit, are we?” Chann asked as he followed her up to the landing above. He grabbed her arm as she punched the controls for the lift. “Kay? Has the drop ship even gotten to the Romper yet?”

“We’re docking now,” Kay said. “You weren’t out for long.”

They stepped into the lift and Kay hit the button for the bridge. The two Marines stood in silence for the ten-second ride up to that level. When the lift doors opened, they were plunged into a world of shouting and blaring klaxons.

“Turn that shit off!” Manheim yelled.

The drop ship’s pilot killed the klaxons, but she couldn’t do anything about the shouting Marines.

“Four Skrang fighters coming fast, Sarge!” Private Nordanski, a human, yelled. “It’s gonna be close!”

“You get us on the Romper,” Manheim snarled into the pilot’s ear. “You hear me?”

“Get away from me, Manheim,” the pilot snarled back. She was human, but half her face was a melted mess of scarred flesh stretched over jagged bone. Old injuries from a mission long gone by. “When this bird is in the air, I’m in charge, got it?”

“You want to test that?” Manheim growled as his hand went for his sidearm.

“Stop it!” the co-pilot yelled.

A Leforian—a quad-armed, strange-looking mix between a huge beetle and a Great Dane—the co-pilot shook with anxiety. Intensely loyal, and incredibly competent soldiers, Leforians also tended to nearly worry themselves to death despite being close to seven feet tall and covered in chitinous armor. Most everyone called them “moms” because of their propensity to worry about everyone around them.

“Rosch, don’t start,” the co-pilot, Teffurg, snapped. “Same with you, Manheim.”

Rosch huffed loudly, but that was all the reply she gave her co-pilot as she pulled back on the throttle and aimed the drop ship for an open portal in the underbelly of the Galactic Fleet Marine Assault Transport ship known as the Romper.

“Sarge?” Chann said as the drop ship was swallowed up.

“Chann, you’re awake,” Manheim said. “Good. We need all hands on deck. You and Kay will take port side turrets. Nordanski and Ma’ha will have starboard. I have missiles.”

“I have the controls,” Rosch said as she undid her straps and leapt up from her seat to shove past Manheim. “Teffurg. Make sure this drop ship is secured before you join me on the bridge. Then I want the flight crew to strap in and get ready for battle.”

“Completing lockdown checklist now,” Teffurg said, his bug fingers clicking across the console at a blinding speed. “Be there in less than five.”

“Five more fighters coming fast,” Nordanski said. He swiped his hand across the console, and the reading he’d just been watching popped up as a hologram projected directly from his wrist. “Make that ten. Where the hell is Ma’ha?”

The bridge door opened and a massive Gwreq appeared. Like Leforians, Gwreqs had four arms and all four of Ma’ha’s were crossed across his stone-skinned chest. He didn’t bother wearing battle armor since his flesh was hard as granite.

“Flight crew is powering the drop ship’s fuel cells in case we need to bail,” Ma’ha said, his voice a deep, rumbling timbre. “Only two left.”

“Fuel cells?” Chann asked.

“Flight crew,” Ma’ha said. “Two didn’t make it.” He looked to Manheim. “Eject the bodies?”

“Once we’re out of this mess,” Manheim said. “You hear me over the com?”

Ma’ha tapped at his earhole and nodded. “I’m on starboard turrets with Nord.”

“You have your assignments, people,” Manheim barked. “Get to them!”

***

The ship rocked as its shields were pummeled by the Skrang fighters’ plasma blasts. Chann cringed with each impact, but he knew the shields would hold. They always held.

The “Assault” part of “Assault Transport” was a misnomer. Four gun turrets and a small battery of missiles, the Romper was designed for the “Transport” part more than anything else. Its entire reason for existing was to punch through enemy fire so that the four drop ships it held could deploy and land each Marine squad right where they were supposed to land.

Without superior shield tech, only a tiny percentage of Marines would have ever made it to their targets. Not that many made it out once they had been deposited in their various fields of battle.

The Romper had been decommissioned four years earlier and was scheduled for commercial retrofit, but Manheim had finagled some deal where it was taken off the books and held in storage. Chann had no idea how the sergeant had managed the nearly impossible task of making a transport disappear from Galactic Fleet records, but when the heist mission to raid the Skrang general’s compound had been proposed, Manheim had instantly said transportation was covered.

The squad had been tight during the War, so the idea of not following Manheim hadn’t even occurred to any of the Marines. The GF brass didn’t blink when Manheim put in for R&R for everyone; they were happy to have a squad’s less worth of supplies to deal with for a month. It was almost like the GF had set the stage for the ill-fated mission.

Ill-fated mission…

Chann struggled to keep his thoughts on firing the gun turret instead of the fact that his entire fireteam had been wiped out a little more than an hour earlier. He struggled to keep his eyes on the targeting system, not on the images of his comrades’ faces that kept shoving their way to the front of his mind.

He’d lost plenty of friends in battle, all Marines had, but the op was supposed to be a cakewalk, not a death trap. It was supposed to set them all up for life so they could retire from the Galactic Fleet and experience the freedom of the Treaty that the rest of the galaxy was experiencing.

In a way, Wapnik, T’Zen, and Ou’guul were free. And in the same way, Chann would never be free, no matter how many chits the treasures were worth. He had a sinking feeling he’d be trapped by the memory of the botched heist for the rest of his life.

Not that his life looked to be a long one. That was made clear by the ship suddenly listing to port as a barrage of Skrang missiles hit the aft shields, taking out one of the engines.

Chann followed two Skrang fighters with his targeting system, sending plasma blast after plasma blast at the ducking and dodging ships. One took a hit in the starboard wing and went spinning out of control into the depths of space. The other dove hard and avoided Chann’s attacks then swung back up and came at him full throttle.

“Shit,” Chann snarled as he opened up on the fighter with everything he had.

The pilot was good. Surprisingly good for a Skrang. They weren’t known for their finesse in battle. Half the time, they collided with their targets in a suicidal offense that was impossible to defend against. A glorious death in battle and all that Skrang crap.

“Come on, come on!” Chann yelled as he stopped firing and reset his turret’s position.

He’d simply been spiraling after the fighter, chasing it instead of leading it. Chann slowed his breathing, narrowed his eyes, watched the fighter get closer and closer, then pressed the duel triggers of the turret gun’s controls and sent the Skrang ship to one the many Hells the galaxy boasted.

The Romper’s shields lit up as the fighter’s debris pummeled the area directly in front of Chann’s gun turret. He dimmed the targeting display as explosion after explosion filled his vision.

“We’re gonna lose the second engine,” Rosch called over a general channel. She sounded pissed off, bordering on frantic. “I’m putting everything I have into it and heading for the closest portal.”

“They’ll be waiting for us,” Manheim barked back over the comm. “Shoot for a secondary wormhole.”

“There is only one sanctioned portal in this system,” Rosch replied. “The two other wormholes are backdoors and not stable.”

“This ship isn’t stable!” Manheim shouted. “We stay where we are and we’ll be ripped apart by the Skrang! I’d rather risk getting ripped apart by an off-the-books wormhole portal. That way we have a chance of escape. You hear me, Rosch?”

“I hear you, Manheim,” Rosch growled. “It’ll still take twenty minutes to get us to the closest backdoor. Can you fight these bastards for twenty minutes? Not looking like you can.”

“I’ll handle the Skrang, you handle the Romper,” Manheim said. “Get us out of here in one piece, without being followed, and there’s a ten percent bonus on top of your cut.”

“Make it twenty and I’ll hide us somewhere where not even the GF can find us,” Rosch said.

“Fifteen,” Manheim countered.

“Deal,” Rosch said. She chuckled. “Hang on. This is going to get ugly.”

The gravity stabilizers cut out, and Chann was glad to be strapped into his targeting seat. If Rosch was cutting off the grav, then she planned on executing some maneuvers that were not going to be fun. Chann swallowed hard and was thankful he hadn’t eaten in the last twelve hours.

The Romper angled sharply, and Chann had to swivel his turret halfway around to get a shot at the next two Skrang fighters. He sent plasma flying at the enemy ships, taking out one and forcing the other to disengage and retreat from his target area. Chann doubted that the ship was flying home, but for the moment at least, it wasn’t his problem.

“Scanners show two dozen more fighters have just broken from the planet’s atmosphere and are heading our way,” Kay announced over the comm. “I’ll be out of plasma before they get here. No time to recharge.”

“Do what you can,” Nordanski replied. “If we have to, we can suit up and take the fight outside. Just me and my carbine against two dozen Skrang fighters. It’s an uneven fight, but that’s what the lizard bastards get for messing with a Fleet Marine!”

“Shut up and concentrate,” Ma’ha barked. “You missed your last two shots.”

“But I made the six before that,” Nordanski replied. “Give credit where it’s due, Ma’ha.”

The Romper continued to climb, and Chann watched in alarm as his heads-up display showed energy being siphoned off from his turret’s reserves.

“Hey, Rosch?” Chann called.

“I said it was going to get ugly,” Rosch responded.

“Yeah, well, can it get ugly without powering down my turret?” Chann asked.

“Guns ain’t gonna cut it anymore,” Rosch said. “Take a look.”

Chann’s display was filled with the sight of two Skrang destroyers popping out of the system’s official wormhole portal. Bright white tracer lines faded as the ships exited the portal and became solid once again instead of merely quantum theories flying through trans-space.

“Rosch!” Manheim yelled.

“What, Manheim, what?” Rosch shouted. “You think I’m suddenly going to be able to fly faster and better because two destroyers are now heading our way? I’m doing what I’ve been doing the whole time and that is pushing this bucket to its limits so we can get out of here alive! So shut the hell up!”

“You’re doing a fine job,” Nordanski said.

“You shut up too, Nord!” Rosch snapped. “I don’t need your smart ass in my ear right now!”

“That brings to mind an interesting picture,” Nordanski responded.

“I’m done,” Kay said, joining the chaotic conversation. “Turret is out of power.”

Chann sent one last volley of plasma bolts towards three fighters before his display began to flash red and his targeting shut down. He pushed back from the controls and spun his chair around to face the small door behind him. He unstrapped and kicked his toe against the door’s controls. As it irised open, he shoved off from his seat and floated through the door out into an empty corridor.

The corridor wasn’t empty for long as a second door irised open and Kay came floating out. She nodded at Chann before spinning her body so her boots hit the opposite wall, their magnets engaging and keeping her from rebounding back to the closing door.

“Sarge? We getting in one of the drop ships?” Kay asked, her eyes on Chann as she listened at her comm.

“No need,” Manheim replied. “Those destroyers would pick us off in a half-second. Our only shot is for Rosch to get us through one of the backdoors.”

“What part of shut up do none of you understand?” Rosch barked. “Shut up!”

“We best head to the bridge,” Kay said, waving a hand at Chann. “It’s the most protected area of the ship.”

“Good idea,” Chann said.

He steadied himself against the wall then copied Kay and engaged his boots’ magnets. Chann’s head still hurt from Manheim’s knock-out punch, and the sideways orientation wasn’t helping.

“Can’t we walk on the floor?” Chann asked.

“We can,” Kay said as she hurried along the wall to the closest bulkhead. She waited for Chann to get to her then punched a bright red button, sealing the bulkhead and that part of the corridor from the rest of the ship. “But I like walking the wall when we’re in zero G. Keeps me from getting disoriented when the ship goes ass over tea kettle. Which it’s going to do, knowing Rosch and her evasive maneuvers.”

“You’re probably right,” Chann said.

They made it through three more bulkheads, sealing each behind them, before reaching the closest lift. Once inside, gravity kicked in for their brief ride, then kicked back off when they reached the bridge. A full velocity lift without gravity was not fun. At least the stopping and being thrown up against the ceiling part wasn’t fun, so each lift had its own grav generator that worked independently of the ship’s.

But as soon as they stepped onto the bridge, the gravity disappeared, and Chann had to grab the back of the closest seat to keep from floating out of control.

“Rosch?” he cried as he struggled to pull himself into the seat and strap in.

His arm shot out as Kay began to drift by, but she swatted it away and gave him a look of disdain.

“I got this, thanks,” Kay said.

“Don’t get comfortable,” Rosch said as her hands flew across the ship’s controls. “You aren’t staying up here.”

“Excuse me?” Chann asked. “Why the hell not?”

Rosch ran her palm over a flashing light, and the bridge was drowned in the roaring, ear-splitting wail of an emergency klaxon.

“Turn it off!” Kay yelled, her hands gripping a stability handle set into the bridge’s wall.

The klaxon went dead with another swipe of Rosch’s hand, and the pilot took a precious second to glance over her shoulder at the two Marines.

“Hull is breached,” Rosch said before turning her attention back to the constant stream of info coming at her from the control console. “Bulkheads are sealing, but most of the ship is about to be uninhabitable.”

“That doesn’t explain why we have to leave the bridge,” Chann snapped.

“Get to the drop ships,” Rosch said, hooking a thumb over her shoulder without looking back. “Suits are in the locker.”

“What about Manheim and the rest?” Kay asked.

She didn’t hesitate and was already moving towards the locker. She slid the door aside and pulled out an environment suit. Her battle armor was off and on the floor before Chann had a chance to get up from his seat.

“Why are you taking your armor off?” Chann asked as he floated to the locker and grabbed out a second suit.

“It’ll slow me down,” Kay said as she stepped into the enviro suit. “There’s more armor on the drop ships.”

Kay pulled the suit up over her mostly naked body and slapped the seal patch. The suit conformed perfectly to her body, emitting a single chime when done. She reached back into the locker and snagged a pressure helmet.

“Get your ass in that,” Kay said, nodding at the enviro suit in Chann’s hands. “We have to move.”

Chann didn’t argue. He struggled to get out of his battle armor, the left leg refusing to disengage from his skin, but managed it finally as Rosch began a long litany of curse words.

“What’s up?” Chann asked as Kay helped him into his enviro suit. It grated at him that he wasn’t as efficient as she was when getting suited up, but he let the irritation go. Kay was one of those Marines that had perfect control of her body; Chann just wasn’t. “Rosch?”

“I can’t get Manheim,” Rosch said. “He’s not answering his comm.”

Kay slid her helmet on and sealed the pressure ring around her collar. Chann did the same, watching the suit’s diagnostics stream by on the inside of the helmet’s faceplate.

“We’ll find him,” Kay said. “You worry about the Romper, we’ll worry about everyone else.”

“Once you’re out of here, I’m sealing off the bridge,” Rosch said. “Get to the drop ships ASAP. You don’t want to be floating in a corridor when I punch us through the wormhole.”

“Not one of these backdoor ones,” Teffurg added. He hadn’t said a word the entire time they’d been on the bridge, and Chann had almost forgotten about him. “Unpredictable. Could splice you with the wall.”

“The drop ships will give you stability and shielding in case the ship is ripped apart,” Rosch said.

“Shit, is that possible?” Chann asked.

“No, Chann, I said it to hear myself talk,” Rosch snarled.

“Come on,” Kay said and slapped Chann on the shoulder. “We find Manheim and the others then get to the drop ships.”

“Take one each,” Rosch said. “The more we have active, the better. May need you two to do some rescuing on the other side.”

“Rescuing?” Chann replied. “Rosch, I can barely fly—”

“Are you certified to pilot a drop ship?” Rosch asked.

“All of us are,” Chann said. “But I haven’t had to—”

“If you’re certified then you’ll be fine,” Rosch said. “The AI in each will keep you from blowing yourself, or any of us, up. Engage it the second you power up. It’s one of the simple programs, but it’ll talk you through everything or flat out take over if you get stuck. Careful, though. One of them’s been glitchy. Can’t remember which.”

“What?” Chann exclaimed.

“Come on!” Kay exclaimed. “Stop being a terpig!”

“Good luck and Eight Million Gods speed,” Teffurg said as they stepped back into the lift.

The door slid shut before Chann could respond.

“We find Manheim first,” Kay said, more to herself than to Chann. “No one left behind.”

The Romper rocked and shook. Chann put a hand out against the lift’s wall and frowned. It was hot. Hot enough that he could sense it through the enviro suit’s glove.

“Kay, we’ve got bigger problems than a hull breach,” he said and brought up what ship diagnostics he could in his faceplate screen. “Shit. Power surges running all through the ship. We aren’t going to have time to find Manheim.”

Kay whipped her head around and glared. Her eyes were fire and rage.

“We don’t leave a Marine behind!” she snarled.

Chann held up his hands. “Hey, I agree with you, but check your readings, for Eight Million Gods’ sake!”

Kay hesitated then her eyes focused back and Chann could see she was scanning the readings on her own faceplate.

“Shit,” she muttered.

“We get to the drop ships then try to scan the ship for Manheim and the others,” Chann said. “We’ll do more good from there. If this bucket comes apart, then at least we can search the debris for survivors. They’ll know by now to get enviro suits on.”

The comm crackled and garbled shouts could be heard for a second then it all went silent.

“Fine,” Kay said as the lift stopped at the hangar level. “But we don’t abandon ship unless we absolutely have to.”

“No shit, Kay,” Chann said. “You think I want to be stuck in this system in a drop ship with a squadron of Skrang fighters bearing down on me?”

“No, no,” Kay said, shaking her head.

They left the lift and moved as fast as their mag boots would let them, each heading to one of the four drop ships secured in the hangar.

3

Chann was not comfortable in a pilot’s seat.

Certified? Sure. Confident? Hell no.

Put an H16 in his hands, some plasma grenades on his belt, a Kepler knife stashed in his boot, and he was comfortable as a hibernating gump. Flying a drop ship was the opposite of that for him.

Needless to say, he was almost joyful when he heard the banging on the outside of the drop ship as he began the startup procedure. At first, he thought the ship was coming apart, but the banging was too rhythmic for it to be a mechanical malfunction.

Chann bolted from the pilot’s seat and hurried through the drop ship down to the main airlock. He slammed a fist against the controls and the door whooshed open, revealing a less than pleased Ma’ha on the other side.

“About damn time you opened up,” Ma’ha said as he stepped inside the airlock and sealed the door behind him. “What took you so long?”

“I was on the bridge,” Chann said. “Getting the ship ready.”

Ma’ha laughed and patted Chann on the shoulder as he pushed past him and headed for the ladder at the end of the corridor. “We’re lucky you didn’t blow us all to Hell.”

“I’m not that bad of a pilot,” Chann said, following close behind Ma’ha as they made their way to the bridge. “I have just as many logged flight hours as you do.”

“Yeah, but my hours actually counted,” Ma’ha said.

“Mine counted!” Chann snapped.

“Crying for your mother the whole time doesn’t count,” Ma’ha said.

“Kiss my human ass,” Chann said.

“If we live through this, then I will,” Ma’ha said as the bridge’s airlock door slid open.

Ma’ha took the pilot’s seat and Chann was about to argue then shut his mouth with an audible snap. He had no idea why he wanted to argue. He hadn’t wanted to pilot the damn thing anyway.

“You hear from the others?” Ma’ha asked as he flew through the startup procedure then pointed at the co-pilot’s seat. “Sit down before you fall down, Chann.”

“There’s no grav,” Chann said as he took his seat and strapped in. “I can’t fall down.”

“You’d find a way,” Ma’ha said. He glanced over at Chann and laughed. “Chill, man. I’m only giving you shit. I’d gladly have you on my six in a firefight. That’s where you shine.”

Chann grumbled a bit. “Kay is in DS3. I haven’t heard from Manheim or Nord. Maybe they got to DS1 or 4.”

“Maybe,” Ma’ha said as the drop ship’s view screen came to life, showing both of them the flight hangar.

It was obvious that Kay was in the DS3. Running lights had come on and puffs of exhaust emitted from the thruster ports as she put the ship through its checklist. The other two drop ships were completely dark.

“Comm is still out,” Chann said as he worked through all of the squad’s internal channels. “I could try an open signal.”

“No,” Ma’ha said. “The less intel we give the Skrang about us the better. You make it to the bridge before Rosch locked it down?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Chann said.

“And?” Ma’ha asked.

“Not looking good,” Chann replied. “She doesn’t know if the Romper will make it through trans-space. The whole thing could come apart the second we punch through the portal.”

“A damaged transport in an unstable, backdoor wormhole?” Ma’ha grunted. “We’ll be lucky if our molecules aren’t torn down to the subatomic level and scattered across space and time.”

Chann was about to respond, but stopped as he saw movement by the lift doors. One of the flight crew had made it back to the hangar and was sprinting towards an empty drop ship when the world exploded around him. He was gone in a tornado of shredded metal and brief flame.

“Shit,” Chann said as he and Ma’ha stared at the gaping hole in the floor of the hangar.

The crewmember was lost to open space, as was DS1. The drop ship was sucked out of the hangar as if it was a piece of lint and not a vehicle that weighed several metric tons.

“We’re clamped down,” Ma’ha said. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Chann scanned DS3 and saw that Kay had clamped that ship down as well. As long as the hangar floor where the ships sat stayed attached to the Romper then they wouldn’t be going anywhere. Chann wasn’t too confident about the hangar floor’s chances.

The comm crackled and Kay’s voice boomed in Chann’s ear.

“Turn it down!” Chann shouted.

“Sorry, sorry,” Kay said. “I hacked the AI and it got the ship-to-ship comms up. We can talk to each other, but no one else. Engage your AI and it’ll strengthen the signal.”

Chann looked over at Ma’ha as the Gwreq shook his head.

“No,” Ma’ha said. “I’m not turning on the bot until I absolutely have to. Not a fan of AIs. Those things follow the rules too much.”

“Rosch said to engage the AI and let it handle the heavy lifting,” Chann said. “I’d listen to her.”

“The DS AIs are basic,” Kay said. “They don’t have even close to the complexity of the Romper’s AI. It’s not going to try to take over your brain, Ma’ha.”

“You say that now,” Ma’ha replied.

He waved his hand over the control console and a female voice said, “Thank you, Private Ma’ha. I assure you that I cannot override life form control of the drop ship. Your comfort and security are my number one priorities.”

“Whatever,” Ma’ha grumbled.

“AI? What’s the status of the Romper?” Chann asked. “How close are we to the wormhole portal?”

“Calling it a wormhole portal is being very generous,” the AI responded. “An accurate description is a fairly stable tear in space that has been exploited by pirates, smugglers, and criminals for the past six centuries.”

“Fairly stable?” Ma’ha asked. “Give me numbers.”

“Eighty-five percent stable,” the AI replied. “That is well within the parameters for emergency trans-space travel.”

“My AI is saying the same,” Kay said. “It’s not like we have a choice.”

“We are engaging the portal in three, two, one, now,” the AI said.

“What?” Chann and Ma’ha exclaimed as the view of space through the hangar’s floor became a streaked blur of stars then pure blackness.

***

Traveling through trans-space was an exercise in self-denial. Denial that one literally no longer existed on any plane and denial that that feeling of complete and total dread that had taken root in the pit of the stomach wasn’t gas or something. Chann was well-versed in the act of denying both.

“You should relax,” Ma’ha said.

“I should?” Chann laughed. “Look at you. You’re one exhale away from being a statue.”

“That a stone joke?” Ma’ha asked.

“A lame one,” Chann said. “But, yeah.”

“I’m the pilot,” Ma’ha said. “I don’t get to relax. You, on the other hand, are not the pilot, so you should ease back and grab some shut eye while you can.”

“You’re not the pilot,” Chann said. “Rosch is. We’re sitting in a DS in a half-destroyed hangar, neither of us able to do a damn thing. Either we both get to be wound tight or we both have to relax. You feel like relaxing?”

“Not with the AI active,” Ma’ha said.

“What is it with you and AIs?” Chann asked. “Half the Marines we know would be dead if it wasn’t for AI assistance.”

“I can think of a few that would be alive for the same reason,” Ma’ha said. He cleared his throat, making a sound like boulders being ground into gravel. “I ever tell you I was a full corporal?”

“You what? No,” Chan said. He tore his gaze away from the whirling motion of trans-space that showed through the hole in the hangar floor. Ma’ha’s face was a rigid mask behind his helmet’s faceplate. “When?”

“Four tours ago,” Ma’ha said. “I was due to be promoted to sergeant, but things went south on a routine op and I took the fall. Wasn’t my fault. Not even close. The AI screwed it all up. But when the techs went back through the logs, everything had been changed. Changed to make it look like I had botched the clearing of a B’clo’no hole.”

“Changed? What does that mean?” Chann asked.

“I’d asked the AI to scan the holes before we landed in the drop ship,” Ma’ha said. “Readings came back clear.”

“That happens,” Chann said.

“I know it does,” Ma’ha responded. “So I asked the AI to scan again right as we landed. Clear. We were boots on the ground for three seconds before the thing came screaming up at us. Three of us made it out alive. Three. The AI not only got it wrong, but I never even had a chance for visual confirmation on my end.”

“That happens too,” Chann said. “I’ve been there, man. How’d that get you knocked down?”

“I told you,” Ma’ha said. “The logs were changed. There was no record of me ever giving the orders for two scans. Not even one scan was on there.”

“You’re saying the AI did that?” Chan asked. “Ma’ha, AIs can’t overwrite logs like that. Not on their own. Someone had it out for you. They ordered the changes.”

“That’s what I thought at first,” Ma’ha said. “Destroyed a few friendships over it. Enough that when the truth came out, there was no being reinstated at my former rank.”

“The truth?” Chann asked.

“Another squad of Marines was killed a few months later,” Ma’ha said. “Almost exact same situation. No one made it that time. No one to blame. With no one alive to blame, they had to dig deeper to find answers.”

“What did they find?” Chann asked.

“Skrang,” Ma’ha said. “They hacked six squads worth of drop ships, twenty in all, and reprogrammed the AIs to frame as many Marines as possible when ops went bad. It took out most of the survivors of those bad ops. Some were knocked down like me, some were dishonorably discharged.” He grunted, his stone eyes narrowing at the memory. “Some faced courts martial. Two were hanged.”

“Bloody hell,” Chann said. “Even after they found out, you weren’t promoted again?”

“I’m Gwreq,” Ma’ha said. “When I burn bridges, I burn them down completely. No one wanted to help me out and I don’t blame them one bit.”

“I can assure you, Private Ma’ha, that I am not capable of—” the AI began.

“Shut it,” Ma’ha snapped. “Keep it shut. And don’t eavesdrop. Stay deaf and dumb until you’re needed.”

“Internal comms going offline,” the AI said.

“Whoa! Can we still talk to Kay?” Chann asked. There was no answer. Chann tapped at the comms console. “Kay?”

“Here,” Kay responded instantly. “What’s up?”

“Just checking,” Chann said. “Ma’ha silenced our AI. I wanted to make sure it didn’t cut off all comms.”

“No, we’re good,” Kay said. “Listen, I’ve been doing some scans of the Romper while I sit here all by myself. Things ain’t looking good, guys. If we don’t fall apart in trans-space, then we might when we come out of the next portal. The Romper is in bad shape.”

“Any sign of Manheim or Nord?” Ma’ha asked. “What about other members of the flight crew? Should still be, what, four or five of them left somewhere?”

“My AI isn’t picking up life signs,” Kay said. Ma’ha growled. “What?”

“Nothing,” Chann said. “Fill you in later. What about the bridge? No life signs up there?”

“Not according to the scans,” Kay said. “But we’re also dealing with a hull breach right next to us while navigating trans-space. I’m not relying on any of these readings.”

“Then maybe the Romper is better off than you think,” Chann said.

“Don’t get stupid,” Kay replied. “The Romper is probably worse off than I think. And getting worse by the second.”

“Fingers crossed Rosch is up there hunting for the closest wormhole portal we can drop out through,” Chann said.

“Then what?” Ma’ha asked. “This op was supposed to be a piece of cake. Manheim didn’t have a fallback contingency. Everything should have been quiet. We hit the vault, get the goods, finish our leave like scheduled until Manheim’s source unloads the goods, then we split the take and go our separate ways. Now what do we do?”

“We’ll ask Manheim once we’re out of trans-space,” Chann said. He waved Ma’ha’s obvious objection away. “Yeah, yeah, if he’s still alive.”

“If he isn’t?” Ma’ha asked. “We should figure that out.”

“Let’s live through the trip first,” Kay said. “Then we figure it out. No point in coming up with scenarios when we don’t know what we’re going to be facing on the other side of all this.”

Chann sat straight up and gripped the console. He stared out into the hangar as he shook his head back and forth. “Oh, no. No, no, no.”

“What is it?” Ma’ha said. “You see something?”

“No, I don’t see a damn thing,” Chann snapped. “At least not the damn thing that matters.”

“Speak plainly, Chann,” Ma’ha growled. “I don’t have the patience for riddles.”

“DS1,” Chann said. “It’s gone.”

“Yeah, we know,” Kay replied. “We watched it go.”

“DS1!” Chann exclaimed. “The drop ship we used on the damn op!”

“So?” Ma’ha asked.

“Did any of you hear Manheim give the flight crew the order to unload the goods?” Chann asked.

Neither Kay nor Ma’ha responded.

“We lost the goods,” Chann stated. “Everyone died for nothing.”

“Don’t say that,” Ma’ha said. “Seriously. Do not say that again.”

“What else should I say?” Chann replied. “They died valiantly? They didn’t. They died because of bad intel and for nothing!”

Ma’ha was up and out of his seat faster than Chann could track. The Gwreq yanked Chann from his seat and threw him across the drop ship’s bridge.

“I said not to say that!” Ma’ha roared. “Why’d you say it? Huh? Why’d you do that?”

“Shit, man, calm down!” Chann shouted as Ma’ha closed on him. He pushed up onto his feet and looked about for something, anything, that would slow the enraged Gwreq down. “Dude! Chill the fuck out!”

“Guys! What is going on?” Kay asked over the comm. “What’s that noise?”

“Me kicking Chann’s ass,” Ma’ha replied. “The next sound is me ripping his head off.”

“Whoa! Hey! Too far, Ma’ha! Too damn far!” Chann shouted as he dove and rolled away from Ma’ha, coming up close to a supply cabinet. He punched at the latch and frowned at the lack of useful weapons inside. “Dammit!”

“Doesn’t matter, Chann,” Ma’ha said. “Could have been an H16 in there and it wouldn’t stop me from shredding you.”

“Ma’ha! Chann! Listen to me!” Kay yelled. “The radiation from trans-space exposure is leaking into your drop ship! I just did a scan and the shields are at ten percent outside the hangar! You’ve got TS sickness!”

“I’m not sick,” Ma’ha said. “I feel great.”

“I’m feeling pretty good too,” Chann said as he stood up to face Ma’ha. “Good enough to kick this pile of rock’s ass into next Wednesday.”

“Chann? Do you hear yourself?” Kay cried. “There is no way on your best day you could do that to Ma’ha. No way in all the Hells. You need to have your AI redirect all power to the DS’s shields. Rely on your suits for life support. Chann? Do you hear me?”

“She wants us to engage the AI again,” Chann said to Ma’ha as the two of them began to circle each other in the bridge’s tight space. “The AI, Ma’ha. You think maybe she’s in on it?”

Ma’ha had started to swing at Chann, but he held back and frowned. “Maybe she is.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Kay hissed over the comm. “Are you for real?”

“I think she is,” Chann said. “She moved the goods from DS1. Moved them to her drop ship.”

Ma’ha and Chann turned and looked at the view screen.

“We’ve got our suits on,” Chann said. “We could get to her. Wouldn’t be a problem.”

“No problem at all,” Ma’ha said.

“Yes, it will be a problem,” Kay said. “Because you two have lost your minds. You hear me? You have lost your minds. I’m calling in an AI override. Imminent loss of life protocol.”

“Imminent loss of life protocol initiated,” the AI announced. “Marines showing unwarranted hostility due to trans-space radiation exposure. Directing all power to drop ship shields.”

“The thing is going to kill us!” Ma’ha yelled and rushed for the bridge door. He made it halfway before he dropped like the rock he was made of.

“What the hell just happened?” Chann shouted. “Ma’ha!”

“Environmental suit override initiated,” the AI said. “Private Ma’ha has been subdued for his own protection. Will you need to be subdued as well, Private Chann?”

“Damn right I will!” Chann shouted as he rushed for the bridge door.

He didn’t make it as far as Ma’ha before he was taken down. Several electric shocks coursed through his helmet until his eyes rolled up into his head and sweet darkness took him.

***

It felt like his stomach was crawling up his throat.

Chann’s eyes shot open as he rolled over and threw up. Unfortunately, he was still sealed into his enviro suit and the vomit had nowhere to go. Other than all over his faceplate. It became a perpetuating cycle of puking as his gag reflex kicked in. The end only came when his stomach was completely empty.

“Here. Let me help with that,” Ma’ha said as Chann’s helmet was unsealed and pulled from his head. Puke fell everywhere. “Oh, Eight Million Gods, that’s wrong.”

“Not using this DS again,” Kay said.

Chann, on his hands and knees, looked up and was surprised to see her standing over him, her own helmet clutched under her arm.

“Are we out of trans-space?” Chann asked, wiping drool from his chin.

“We are,” Kay replied. She didn’t look too happy about it.

“We didn’t die,” Chann said.

“Don’t get cocky,” Kay said. “There’s still plenty of room for that.”

“Get cleaned up,” Ma’ha said as he tossed a towel at Chann’s face. “Find a new helmet. We’re going to go hunt for everyone else.”

Chann glanced at Ma’ha and nodded. “Sorry.”

“About what? Our freak out?” Ma’ha replied. “Yeah, me too. You’re lucky I didn’t snap you in half.”

“Don’t even think of pretending he couldn’t,” Kay said before Chann could reply.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Chann said.

“AI? What’s the Romper’s status?” Kay asked.

“Minimal to no life support in all regions,” the AI replied.

“The bridge?” Kay asked.

“Intact,” the AI said. “Full life support available. Unfortunately, that is all the information I have. Sensors are down and I cannot raise Pilot Rosch on the comm.”

“Then that’s where we head first,” Kay said as she slid her helmet back on. “We make sure Rosch and Teffurg are good then we go look for Manheim and Nord.”

“Yeah, yeah, cool,” Chann said as he got to his feet.

He moved slowly to a storage cabinet and popped it open. He snagged the spare helmet that sat on one of the shelves and pulled it over his head.

“Still smells like puke,” Chann said.

“You got some down in your collar,” Ma’ha said. “Better get used to it. Gonna be a long time before we can hit the showers. If there are showers left on this ship.”

“Would you like me to answer that inquiry for you?” the AI asked.

“No,” Ma’ha said.

“Come on,” Kay said. “We’ve got a lot of damaged ship between us and the bridge. We need to get a move on.”

“Lead the way,” Chann said.

4

The Romper’s condition was about as bad as they’d expected.

“Another dead end,” Kay said as she stood a meter away from the abyss that should have been the Deck Eight starboard corridor. Across the abyss was a sealed bulkhead, adding insult to injury. “Double back two turns. We can climb up to the bridge from there.”

“That’s what you said about this way,” Ma’ha replied.

“I am able to scan ahead for you, if you would like,” the AI said.

“Why’d you bring it with us?” Ma’ha asked.

“Why do all AIs sound alike?” Chann asked.

“It is helpful and it’s their programming,” Kay said, answering both questions. “Can your scans penetrate this far into the ship? We’re not even close to the hangar anymore.”

“I have managed to use the few sensors left active within the Romper,” the AI answered. “The signal is not strong, I cannot give you specific details, but I will be able to tell you if your way is blocked or not.”

“Do it,” Kay ordered.

In seconds, each of their faceplates lit up with crude schematics of what was left of the transport ship. Half the decks were sealed and impassable. The other half were damaged, but accessible. The bridge was still shrouded in mystery, a blank against the schematic’s red lines.

“I was right,” Kay said. “We can climb from this point and get to the bridge.”

“If there is a bridge,” Chann said. “Not looking promising.”

“That is because all sensors are down in that area,” the AI said. “I could not extrapolate the condition of the ship within that region.”

“Any guesses?” Ma’ha asked. “Use that computer brain and give us some idea of what we’ll find.”

“I do not make guesses, Private Ma’ha,” the AI said. “That would not be a productive use of my processing abilities.”

“Then we climb,” Ma’ha said. He turned and started walking, not waiting for the others.

“What a great idea,” Kay said, her voice thick with sarcasm.

“Are you getting snippy?” Ma’ha asked.

“Did you just use the word ‘snippy’?” Chann asked.

“What of it?” Ma’ha responded as they came to the second turn and were faced with a pitch-black corridor.

“Just funny hearing a Gwreq use that word,” Chann said.

“Why is that funny? What does my vocabulary have to do with my race?” Ma’ha asked. “I sometimes wonder about you, Chann. I don’t think you’re all there.”

“None of us are all there,” Chann replied. “We’re Marines. We have to be crazy to do this job when most of the galaxy has forgotten we even exist now that the War is over.”

“Will you two shut up?” Kay snapped. “The constant bickering is really pissing me off.”

“Wouldn’t want to do that,” Ma’ha said.

“Now who’s being snippy?” Chann laughed. Just as he took a step and nearly stepped into a breach in the corridor’s deck. “Shit!”

His arms pinwheeled and he started to float forward, but Ma’ha grabbed him by the shoulder and held him in place.

“Pull me back, asshole!” Chann shouted.

“Hold on,” Ma’ha said. “Look.”

Chann was about to protest, but stopped as he looked down. Or up. Hard to tell with the grav generators out.

“That’s open space,” Chann said.

“Yeah,” Ma’ha replied. “Wasn’t on the schematic.”

“What?” Kay asked. She yanked Chann back and out of her way then peered over the edge. “Shit. That wasn’t on the schematics. AI? What’s the deal?”

“I am sorry for the error,” the AI responded. “As I stated previously, the amount of sensors I can draw data from is severely limited. I will try to extrapolate better. Please allow me to rescan and amend my previous schematic.”

The three Marines’ faceplates lit up with new maps of what was left of the ship.

“Bloody hell,” Chann said. “The ship has more holes than Tersch cheese. What happened? This isn’t all from the Skrang fighters.”

“Unfortunately, most of this damage was sustained during trans-space travel,” the AI said. “There was quantum tearing upon the Romper’s structure.”

“Quantum tearing?” Chann asked. “Is that a thing?”

“It is, Private Chann,” the AI replied. “And very rare.”

“Shit,” Kay said. “That means the parts of the ship affected are molecularly unstable.” She pointed at the edge. “We’re going to find more of these as the ship keeps falling apart.”

“Correct, Private Kay,” the AI said. “It may take several hours, possibly days, before the extent of the tearing is known. Until then, the ship will continue to disintegrate. This is not a safe environment for you.”

“Do not need an AI to tell me that,” Ma’ha said.

He took a couple steps back then ran and leapt over the gap in the corridor. The lack of gravity meant he overshot the opposite edge by a couple meters before he could get a foot down on the deck and lock his mag boot in place. He spun around then stabilized and waved at the others.

“Come on, I’ll catch you,” he said. “We can’t stay next to that.”

“I am rerouting you,” the AI said. “I have taken into account the quantum tearing and marked the areas that will be most affected.”

“We still climb,” Kay said and pointed at a narrow hatch set into the far wall behind Ma’ha. “Pray to the Eight Million Gods that the bridge is still there.”

“Readings say systems are working within the bridge,” the AI said. “Still no audio or visual confirmation of its current state, but the ship continues to respond to the bridge’s controls.”

“Respond?” Kay asked. “Someone is working the controls?”

“It appears so,” the AI replied.

“Okay, let’s get some things straight,” Kay said. “When you have information like that, report it. Understood?”

“Understood, Private Kay,” the AI replied. “My apologies.”

Kay jumped the gap then Chann. They proceeded to the hatch and stared at the ladder that seemed to go up and up forever. They had a very long climb ahead of them.

“Ladies first,” Ma’ha said.

“Suck my dick, Ma’ha,” Kay replied.

She grabbed the rungs and began to climb.

***

“Hold up,” Chann said as he rested with his arms crooked over one of the ladder’s rungs. “This is nuts. How can it be so hard when there’s no gravity?”

“You do not feel the gravity because of your mag boots and gloves,” the AI said. Its voice had become staticky and garbled, but the Marines could still make out what it was trying to tell them. “There are pockets of gravity in and around the ship.”

“Whoa, around? What does that mean?” Ma’ha asked. “How can there be pockets of gravity around the ship? The grav generators only work within the ship.”

“I’m guessing it’s the quantum tearing,” Kay said.

“Your guess is correct,” the AI replied. “The quantum tearing has allowed the environment within the ship to leak outside of the hull where there are significant breaches.”

“Good to know,” Kay said. “Can you map them?”

“No, I cannot,” the AI replied. “I am sorry, but sensors are…”

The Marines waited, but the static had grown too strong until the AI’s comm connection finally cut off.

“On our own,” Chann said.

“Not a bad thing,” Ma’ha said.

“Keep climbing,” Kay said as she continued up the ladder.

Chann took a deep breath and followed closely with Ma’ha right behind him. It took them thirty more minutes before they reached the hatch that exited onto the bridge level. Kay spun the hatch’s wheel and gave it a hard shove. It swung out quickly and slammed against the wall next to it.

“Hey,” Nordanski said, standing in the corridor just outside the bridge’s door. He was leaning against the wall, fully suited, holding his H16 in a casual grip. “Glad you guys made it.”

“Manheim?” Kay asked as she clambered up out of the hatch and moved out of the way so Chann and Ma’ha could follow.

“Manheim is borked to Hell, but he’ll live,” Nordanski said.

“What’s with the carbine?” Ma’ha asked. “Did some Skrang follow us through the wormhole?”

“No,” Nordanski said as he pushed off from the wall and motioned for them to follow him. “Manheim is being paranoid.”

“Why?” Kay asked. “If there aren’t any Skrang, then what’s to be paranoid about?”

“This system isn’t empty,” Nordanski said. “I’ll explain when we’re on the bridge. Follow me.”

“Aren’t we going through there?” Chann asked, pointing at the bridge doors.

“They don’t open,” Nordanski replied. “We have to use the emergency hatch.”

“That’s outside the ship,” Kay said.

“Yep,” Nordanski agreed. “The transport’s AI is working on the doors, but there’s something about quantum whatevers messing everything up.”

“Quantum tearing,” Kay said.

“That’s it,” Nordanski said as he approached an airlock that had more warnings stenciled across it than a child’s fission science experiment. “Helmets tight?”

“The entire time,” Chann said. “Mine smells like puke.”

“So does the bridge,” Nordanski said. “Both Rosch and Teffurg lost their cookies coming out of the wormhole. Kept flying the ship, though. Tough sons of bitches.”

“They are Marine pilots,” Ma’ha said. “They better be tough.”

Nordanski opened the airlock and stepped in, moving out of the way for the others. Once all were in, he sealed it and slammed his hand against the external controls. The usual visual and aural warnings erupted around them. Nordanski ignored the warnings and engaged the outer airlock door’s controls. A view into space greeted them all.

And the sight of a bright yellow and orange planet.

“Oh,” Kay said.

“Yep,” Nordanski replied. “Come on.”

It took them twenty minutes to make their way along the ship’s outer hull before they arrived at the bridge’s emergency airlock. It was a tight squeeze getting all four of them inside, especially with Ma’ha’s bulk, but they jammed in and the airlock sealed up tight.

“Careful of that spot there,” Nordanski said as they exited the airlock and stepped out onto the bridge. He was pointing to an area to the right of the airlock where the deck’s metal looked warped and twisted. “Also, leave your helmets on. Nothing is safe on the ship right now.”

“That’s a freaking understatement,” Rosch said as she swiveled her body around to look at the newcomers. “Glad you made it. Grab a seat and be quiet.”

“Good to see you too,” Chann said.

“That’s the opposite of being quiet,” Rosch said.

“What’s with the floor?” Ma’ha asked, skirting the warped metal.

“Grav pocket,” Nordanski said.

“What?” Ma’ha asked.

“That was my reaction,” Nordanski said. “Sarge’s reaction was slightly more colorful.”

“Kiss my ass, Nord,” Manheim said.

Chann turned and gasped as he saw Manheim strapped into one of the jump seats. Half of his left leg was gone, his enviro suit sealed up around the stump. Manheim gestured at the stump then over at the warped metal.

“I stepped right into it,” Manheim said. “Crushed my leg instantly.”

“The weirdness is staying put for now,” Rosch said. “Let’s hope it remains that way. Last thing I want is to get squished in my seat.”

“I am hoping my exoskeleton will protect me,” Teffurg said.

“Probably just crack you like a nut,” Nordanski said as he plopped down in an empty seat. “Take a load off, guys. We’ll bring you up to speed on our situation.”

“What’s the sit rep?” Chann asked.

“Besides being screwed to Hell and back?” Rosch said. “That.” She pointed at the view screen which was filled with the image of the yellow and orange planet. “I am currently trying to figure it out.”

“What does the AI say?” Kay asked.

“You and AIs,” Ma’ha muttered. Kay ignored him.

“I have the AI working on other tasks,” Rosch said. “There are plenty. My focus is on this planet.”

She waved a hand and a holo of the planet appeared in the center of the bridge. Rosch spun her seat around and pinched her fingers together. The image grew and zoomed in on a specific spot on the planet.

“What is that?” Chann asked. “That’s a military transponder code. Galactic Fleet. Not Marines, though.”

“No, not Marines,” Manheim said. “And not current.”

“The transponder code is about fifty years old,” Rosch said. “I cross-referenced it in the database, and it came up as the code for an abandoned supply outpost. The GF decommissioned it without explanation. No records of any kind exist other than a name.”

“Which is?” Kay asked.

Rosch looked at Nordanski then Manheim. The sergeant nodded.

“Javsatfem,” Rosch said.

“That’s the Ferg word for Hell,” Nordanski said. He lifted his carbine with one hand and twirled his gloved fingers with the other. “Yay.”

“Ferg? It’s a Ferg planet?” Kay asked.

“No,” Rosch said. “That’s the thing. We don’t know what planet it is or even what system we’re in.”

The holo of the planet was replaced with a holo of the general system. Rosch brought up a holo of the known galactic systems next to it and the words “no match” flashed in bright red letters. Rosch waved both holos away and spun back to the view screen.

“The only reason we know the name of the outpost is because of the transponder,” Rosch said.

“And you think there’re hostiles down there?” Chann asked Manheim. “Why?”

“Because the transponder signal cut out as soon as we scanned it,” Manheim said. “It didn’t die it out, it was turned off.”

“Shit,” Ma’ha said.

“Now you’re speaking my language,” Nordanski responded. “Wait. It gets better.”

“How so?” Chann asked.

“Why would the transponder even be on?” Kay asked before Nordanski could answer. “Leave it off and there’s no reason to turn it off.”

“And we have a winner,” Nordanski said.

“Stinks of a trap,” Manheim said. “Pique our interest and get us to send a team down there to investigate. Then spring the trap.”

“Fine,” Ma’ha said. “Then we stay the hell away from Hell.”

“Would it were so simple,” Rosch said. “It’s a supply outpost. We need supplies. Lots of supplies. This ship is going to need some major work done on it if we’re ever going to get our asses back home.”

“You think an abandoned supply outpost will have the supplies we need to repair the ship?” Chann asked. “Sounds like a long shot.”

“We need a long shot,” Rosch said. With a heavy sigh, she turned around again. A new holo came up. “Welcome to our current situation.”

It was a holo of the Romper. Entire portions of the ship were gone while others looked like they were barely attached, waiting for a harsh solar wind to rip them off and send them tumbling through space.

“Any questions?” Rosch asked.

“If the Romper can’t be repaired enough to get us out of here, then we have to look at other options,” Manheim said.

“How can it be repaired when it looks like that?” Chann exclaimed. “Are there even engines?”

“No,” Rosch said. “But we can fix that.”

“How?” Chann asked.

“Drop ships,” Rosch said. “Once we have the Romper sealed and secured, which will mean it will end up a quarter of its original size, Teffurg and I will lock the drop ships against the aft end and synch them with the bridge controls. It’ll be slow going, but we’ll at least have propulsion. Enough to get us back through the wormhole portal and on our way home.”

“We’re one drop ship down,” Chann stated. “The one that mattered.”

“DS1, I know,” Rosch said.

“So you get what I’m really saying?” Chann said.

“She gets what you’re really saying,” Manheim replied with a pained chuckle. “And relax. She took care of it.”

“You think I’d leave something as important as our financial future to a bunch of combat-drunk Marines?” Rosch said. “Please. Give me some credit. I had all the loot moved to an internal cargo hold. It was in case we got boarded by GF authorities, but that didn’t turn out to be the problem.”

“So we have the loot?” Chann asked. “It’s not gone?”

“Yeah, Chann, that’s what she’s saying,” Nordanski said and looked at Kay. “Did he take a hit to the head?”

“Everything is safe,” Rosch said. “So shut up about it. We have bigger things to worry about.”

“Like the repairs. They will not be easy,” Teffurg said.

“They know that,” Rosch said, rolling her eyes.

“We don’t have all the supplies we need to get the repairs done,” Manheim stated.

“Nope,” Rosch said. “We also don’t have enough power. Fuel cells are at six percent. I’m working on rerouting all of that power to the bridge so I can get life support up and going. At least in this area.”

“We can’t stay in our suits forever,” Teffurg said.

“They know that too,” Rosch huffed. “Stop stating the obvious.”

“The obvious is all I am comfortable stating,” Teffurg said as he pointed at the view screen. “Too much unknown.”

“Then let’s get to it,” Kay said. She nodded at Nordanski. “Gonna warn you, it’s a hike and half back to the hangar.”

“Gonna be even more of a hike with Sarge in tow,” Nordanski said. He waited for the surprised reactions from the others then laughed. “Yeah, you heard me.”

“Sarge? You’re in no shape to come with us,” Kay said.

“Sit this one out, Sarge,” Chann said.

“I’d love to, but I need a med pod,” Manheim replied. “The Romper’s med bay is offline which means the only med pods available are on the drop ships. Rosch and Teffurg need the extra drop ships as temporary engines. I can’t be on one of those which leaves the DS you all will be taking down to the outpost. Looks like I’m hitching a ride whether I want to or not.”

“This just gets better and better,” Ma’ha said.

“Welcome to our new reality, kids!” Nordanski laughed.

“Everyone take a seat,” Manheim said. “We’ll hike it down to the hangar in an hour. Then we head for the outpost and see what we can see.”

***

After getting Manheim situated in one of the drop ship’s two med pods, Chann and Nordanski made their way up to the DS’s bridge where Ma’ha and Kay were busy arguing over who would pilot down to the surface of the planet.

“How many reentries have you logged?” Ma’ha asked.

“More than you,” Kay said.

“You don’t know that,” Ma’ha responded. “How many?”

“Fourteen,” Kay said, her hands on her hips. “And you?”

“Shut up,” Ma’ha said and took the co-pilot’s seat.

“See!” Kay exclaimed as she turned to Chann and Nordanski. “Bam! Pilot!”

“You better not be lying,” Ma’ha said sourly.

“If she is, then we’ll be too dead to shove it in her face,” Nordanski said as he took one of the open jump seats bolted to the wall.

“Too dead is not a thing,” Ma’ha grumbled. “You’re dead or not dead.”

“Says you,” Nordanski replied.

“Says all of existence!” Ma’ha snapped.

“Guys? Shut up,” Kay said.

Chann took the seat next to Nordanski and strapped himself in, his eyes locked onto the back of Kay’s helmet.

“You sure about this, Kay?” Chann asked.

“More than sure,” Kay replied. “AI? How are we looking for departure?”

“All systems check,” the AI replied.

“We should give her a name,” Nordanski said. “Can’t just call her AI all the time.”

“I do not possess a gender,” the AI said.

“But you have a female voice,” Nordanski responded. “That makes you a she.”

“We aren’t naming the AI,” Ma’ha snapped. “It’s not a person.”

“I must agree with Private Ma’ha,” the AI said. “I am not a person and do not require a name. Calling me AI is sufficient.”

“Thank you,” Ma’ha said.

“You totally just thanked an AI,” Nordanski said.

“Shut up,” Ma’ha grumbled.

“There is one issue I must report,” the AI said. “The hangar doors do not open.”

“I don’t think we need them,” Kay said as she engaged the DS’s thrusters, lifting it off the hangar floor. “There’s enough space in that hole for us to get through.”

“Gonna be tight,” Chann said.

“Don’t,” Kay snapped, turning her head so she could lock eyes with Nordanski.

“What? I wasn’t going to say a thing,” Nordanski replied, the smirk on his face expressing the opposite of his statement.

“Hold on,” Kay said as she maneuvered the DS over the gaping hole in the hangar floor. “This could be rocky.”

Kay flew the DS through the hole and out into open space. She dipped the nose so the ship pointed directly at the yellow and orange orb.

No one said a word as she engaged the engines and sent them diving into the planet’s atmosphere.

5

The Marines quickly found out that the yellow was from the clouds that encircled the planet and the orange was the landmass that lay below them. There was no water in sight.

“You’re sure?” Nordanski asked. “Sensors could be messed up.”

“The sensors are calibrated correctly,” the AI replied. “I have conducted an extensive scan of the planet, and there are no bodies of water anywhere on the surface.”

“Underground aquifers, maybe?” Chann asked.

“Let’s hope so,” Ma’ha said. “Or this trip is going to get very uncomfortable in a few hours. We only have so much water onboard.”

“Once we land, I will engage atmospheric processors so that the ship will filter out any ambient moisture from the air,” the AI said.

“What about these clouds?” Chann asked as the drop ship cut through yet another thick bank. “Yellow isn’t the color you want clouds to be.”

“It is merely a pigment from the earth,” the AI said. “They are typical clouds made up of water particles. Although, I will say they are frozen at a temperature below most clouds on Class II planets.”

“Surface temp?” Chann asked.

“Negative two degrees Celsius,” the AI said.

“It’s freezing down there? Great,” Nordanski said. “I was expecting it to be hot. Look at it. Looks hot to me.”

“That is simply an illusion due to the pigment of the soil,” the AI said.

“How close are we?” Kay asked Ma’ha. “Do you have the last known coordinates of the transponder?”

“Yeah, but you aren’t going to like it,” Ma’ha said. “I sure as shit don’t.”

“Oh, oh, let me guess,” Nordanski said. “We’re on the wrong side of the planet, right?”

“You guessed it,” Ma’ha said. “Way to be right for once.”

“Yet I don’t feel good about it knowing we have half a planet to cover before we get to our target location,” Nordanski said. He stretched out his legs and closed his eyes, folding his hands over his abdomen. “Wake me when we’re close.”

“Will do,” Ma’ha said. The Gwreq glanced over his shoulder at Chann. “You should catch some shut eye too.”

“Nah,” Chann said. “Too wound up. Gonna watch the landscape for a bit.”

“That should put you to sleep,” Kay said. “Look at this place. It’s just orange sand. Have you ever seen anything like this?”

“Once,” Chann said. “When I visited Earth.”

“Why the hell would you visit that shithole of a waste dump?” Ma’ha asked. “You’re lucky you didn’t die of radiation poisoning.”

“Came close,” Chann said. “I was just a kid and with my uncle. He was a scrap dealer and thought Earth would have plenty of scrap to salvage since no one ever wanted to set foot on the planet.”

“You never told me your uncle is a scrap dealer,” Kay said.

“Was a scrap dealer,” Chann corrected. “He died a few years back of some aggressive cancer the docs couldn’t diagnose. Not even the AIs could crack it.”

“Why would he tell you about his uncle?” Ma’ha asked, looking from Kay to Chann and back to Kay.

“What?” Kay asked. “Why wouldn’t he? Can’t Marines talk about their families with each other?”

“We’ve never talked about our families with each other,” Ma’ha said. “So why would Chann talk to you about his?”

“I guess I am lucky I didn’t die from visiting Earth,” Chann said, steering the subject back to his story. “My uncle probably got sick because of all the visits he made to that hell planet.”

“This is a hell planet,” Kay said, pointing at the view screen. “Not even mountains. Just dirt and more dirt.”

“Preliminary scans show the soil to be made up of mostly orange calcite, suggesting that this planet once had a very active geothermal water source,” the AI said. “That would explain the atmospheric density of the clouds when there are no visual sources of water.”

“Are you saying we just flew through prehistoric steam from some ancient hot springs?” Ma’ha asked.

“In a way,” the AI said. “I would not put it like that, but if it helps you to comprehend the environment you are entering, then yes.”

“Was I just called dumb?” Ma’ha asked. He glanced over at Kay. “I think the AI is saying I’m dumb.”

“Far from it,” the AI responded. “I was merely agreeing with your overly simplistic view of the complex nature of this planet.”

“It called you dumb,” Chann said and chuckled.

“I will withhold future comments for fear they will be likewise misconstrued,” the AI said.

“Good one,” Kay snapped. “Now you’ve pissed off the AI. I need it to help us figure out where to land. Things are about to get dark.”

“Huh?” Chann asked then saw the strip of deep blue on the horizon. “Oh.”

“This side is facing the system’s star,” Kay said. “The other side, the side we want, is not. We’re flying into the night.”

“I can see that,” Chann said.

He looked at Nordanski, but the man was fast asleep, his breath fogging up the inside of his faceplate. Despite his earlier statement, Chann stretched out and closed his own eyes. No point in staying awake if the landing zone was going to be shrouded in darkness anyway. In seconds, he was out as well.

***

Chann came awake instantly and went for his carbine. He patted at his side then looked up into the barely lit, and smiling, face of Kay. She held her H16 in one hand and his in the other.

“We’re here,” Kay said. “Wake up and get your shit ready.”

Chann held out his hand and Kay gave him his carbine as she moved over and kicked Nordanski’s boot, waking the man up as fast as she’d woken Chann. Nordanski didn’t go for his weapon, his face showing he was fully aware of his surroundings.

“Time to see if anyone’s home?” Nordanski asked as he unstrapped from the jump seat and stood up to stretch. “You already do a scan?”

“Yes, and there are at least two dozen life signs registering from the outpost’s buildings,” Kay said. “Air outside is breathable, but just barely. Keep your helmet on until we’re inside a sealed building.”

“Copy that,” Nordanski said. “Manheim assign a team leader yet?”

“Manheim is unconscious,” Ma’ha said as he checked his carbine’s power level then grabbed up four extra cartridges from a small crate off to the side. He tucked the cartridges into his belt and rested the barrel of his H16 against his shoulder. “You want the job?”

“Me? No way,” Nordanski said. “Kay has seniority over me and has no problem bossing us around.”

“I have seniority over you by three weeks only,” Kay said. “And don’t be an ass. I haven’t been bossing you around; I’ve been piloting the DS. There’s a difference.”

“I can take lead on this,” Chann said.

“You?” Nordanski laughed. “No offense, Chann, but you’re F3. We’re F1. Not gonna happen.”

“I’ll do it,” Kay said. “Just to shut you up.”

“Exactly like most decisions are made around me,” Nordanski said. “How far to the first building?”

Kay tapped at her wrist and a holo came up of a set of four buildings. According to the small digital legend at the bottom of the holo, each building was eighty meters long by fifty meters wide by ten meters high. Kay pulled her hand back, and the image zoomed out to show the location of the drop ship.

“We’re half a kilometer from the outpost,” Kay said. “Wouldn’t be safe to land any closer. Odds are they saw us anyway since there isn’t a hill or mountain anywhere around this place, but I figured half a kilometer was enough space for us to do a little recon before we engage the inhabitants.”

“Sentient?” Chann asked.

“No way to know for sure,” Kay said. “I’d guess they are, but let’s prepare for anything. Could be feral animals that have taken up residence.”

“That turn off transponders? Not likely,” Ma’ha said.

“Does this planet even have animals?” Nordanski asked. “How? No plant life, no water source. The whole place is one giant desert.”

“Life finds a way, even in a desert,” Chann said. All eyes turned to him. “What?”

“Nothing, professor,” Nordanski said. “Any other words of wisdom you want to spout before we go shoot the hell out of some locals?”

“We’re not shooting anyone,” Kay said. “Not right away. Engage only if engaged. Our primary mission is to obtain needed supplies for the Romper’s repairs.”

“We got a list?” Nordanski asked.

“I have a detailed accounting of what Pilot Rosch needs first,” the AI said, her voice surprisingly clear in everyone’s comms. “It can be brought up on your faceplate displays at any time. I will also be monitoring your progress and will tag and alert you to any supplies I see through your vid feeds.”

“Not sure I like this part,” Ma’ha said. “A drop ship AI shadowing us on an op? That’s not what they’re for. They stay in the DS. They don’t follow us out into the field.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re kind of screwed right now,” Kay said. “We need all the help we can get. We’re in an unknown system, on an unknown planet, with a broken transport, most of our squad dead back on a Skrang planet, and possibly Skrang on the way if they figured out how to track us. If you want to argue about the usefulness of AIs, then do it in your own head.”

“I think Kay is happy with taking charge,” Nordanski said.

“Shut up, Nord,” Kay snapped. “You hear me, Ma’ha?”

“I hear you,” Ma’ha said. “Loud and clear. I still don’t trust the AI.”

“You don’t have to trust the AI,” Kay said. “But you do have to trust me. I want the AI on the op to help hunt for supplies. If you have a problem with that, then stay here in the DS and let the adults complete the op.”

“Ouch,” Nordanski said. Kay glared at him. “Shutting up now.”

“Just to play Seven Satans’ advocate here, but shouldn’t the AI stay in the ship and keep it prepped for take-off in case we need to bug out fast?” Chann asked.

“I can do both, Private Chann,” the AI said. “My processing capabilities will not even achieve one percent usage while helping your team search the outpost. Keeping the drop ship prepped takes even less. I assure you that I am more than able to handle a multitude of tasks simultaneously.”

“Good,” Chann said and looked at Kay. “Can we go now?”

“Ma’ha?” Kay asked. “You good or sitting this one out?”

“I’m good, I’m good,” Ma’ha said.

“Then let’s move out,” Kay ordered.

***

Chann couldn’t help but wonder just how far out on the edge of the galaxy they were. As the team moved carefully towards the outpost buildings, he glanced up at the sky and saw possibly half a dozen stars peeking through the ever-present cloud cover. No more. Only half a dozen.

“Problem?” Kay asked.

Chann nodded. “Yeah. I’m trying to orient myself using the local constellations. The problem is there aren’t any. Where the hell are we?”

“Maybe we’ll find out when we hit the outpost,” Nordanski said. “They have to know where we are.”

“If they’re friendly,” Chann said.

“Even if they aren’t, they should know where they are,” Ma’ha said.

“First things first,” Kay said. “Determine if they are friendlies or hostiles, secure supplies, then worry about our exact location. It’s not something we need to know at this moment. Rosch can worry about that when she tries to navigate us out of this system. Until then, eyes on the prize.”

“Hooah,” Nordanski said.

“Hooah,” the rest replied.

The night was pitch dark. The planet had no satellite. No moon to light the way. The Marines relied on the displays on the insides of their faceplates to guide them across the sandy soil towards the outpost. The landscape before them was a glowing green and gray. An endless monochromatic scene that revealed almost nothing.

Then the buildings came into view and Chann held up a fist. The team stopped, everyone ready and waiting for engagement. Nothing happened.

“The buildings are dark,” Kay said. “No power readings at all.”

“Life signs?” Nordanski asked. “Chann? You picking anything up?”

“Nothing you aren’t,” Chann replied.

“They knew we were coming and all hid,” Ma’ha said. “Smart move. I’d hide if some GF Marines were walking up to my front door.”

“Then let’s go knock,” Kay said. “Chann? Keep moving. Take us to the closest building. Let’s see if anyone is home.”

“We know they’re home,” Ma’ha said. “We just don’t know where.”

“They could have bailed when we landed,” Nordanski said. “Took off running into the night to wait until we leave. Off-books outpost accessed by an off-books wormhole portal. Makes sense they don’t want to come out and shake hands.”

“Then why have a transponder on?” Chann asked. “That’s the part that’s bugging me.”

“Me too,” Kay said.

Chann moved on, with the team right behind him, and approached the first building. It was big and generic, like most Galactic Fleet outpost buildings. Total utility. Chann moved cautiously to the closest entrance, a dirt-stained airlock that looked like it hadn’t been opened since the War had started centuries before.

He moved to the airlock controls while Kay covered his left, Nordanski his right, and Ma’ha covered their rear. Chann popped open the control panel and studied the circuitry and wiring inside.

“Basic set up,” Chann said.

Kay gave the open panel a quick glance. “Shit, you aren’t kidding. There might as well just be a big button that says Press Me on it instead.”

“Pretty much,” Chann said as he crossed two wires then plugged them into a circuit port. The airlock hissed open. “In we go.”

The Marines hurried inside the airlock. Chann moved to the opposite hatch and peered through the porthole set at eye level.

“Corridor is clear,” Chann said.

“Air outside is breathable, so go ahead and open that hatch before we close the outer one,” Kay said. “No need to trap ourselves.”

Chann nodded and found the next panel. He popped that one open and shook his head. The wiring was even simpler than the external one. The interior airlock hatch hissed open, and Chann rushed into the corridor, his carbine aiming left then right then left again.

“Clear,” Chann said.

The rest of the team followed him inside. Ma’ha was last and closed both airlock hatches as the team took up positions in the corridor.

“Too clean,” Chann said as he knelt and wiped his glove across the floor. “Planet like this and there should be a layer of dust even with the airlocks.”

“The inhabitants are clean freaks,” Nordanski said. “Great. It’s the OCD ones you always have to watch out for.”

“Let’s watch out for everyone,” Kay said. “Give me scans as we move, folks. I want combined readings so we can get a better picture of the interior of this building.”

Chann stood and started forward slowly. His finger was on the outside of his carbine’s trigger guard, but ready to slip inside and start firing the second trouble showed itself. Chann’s gut told him trouble was just around the corner.

But when they reached the corner and Chann swung around, H16 ready, the next corridor was as empty as the first.

Slowly, they made their way through the entire building. As they went, a small map of the place was built and presented on each of their displays.

“Admin?” Nordanski asked. “Looks like offices and meeting rooms. No signs of habitation other than how Eight Million Gods damn clean it is.”

“We walk it again,” Kay said.

“What?” Ma’ha asked. “You joking? We cleared this building. Let’s move on to the next.”

“Kay’s right,” Chann said. “Something feels off. We should check again, see if we missed anything.”

“Since when do you like to do double work?” Ma’ha asked. “You’re the most one-and-done Marine I know.”

“Gut feeling,” Chann said. “I swear someone is in here with us.”

“Gotta go with Chann on this one, Ma’ha,” Nordanski said. “I got the neck pricklies.”

“AI?” Kay called. “You getting any tech signals? Are they watching us on vid?”

“There are zero readings from the building other than your enviro suits and weapons,” the AI responded. “I have been monitoring the building closely, and there is no sign of any type of tech being used.”

“Maybe you’re missing it because it’s tech you can’t detect,” Ma’ha said.

“If that is the case, then I would not know that I am missing the tech,” the AI said. “My reporting would remain the same. It is why you are physically searching the building.”

“I think the AI just gave you a passive aggressive smack down, Ma’ha,” Nordanski said.

“Whatever,” Ma’ha replied.

“We run the building again,” Kay said. “Lead the way, Chann.”

Chann nodded and turned them around, retracing their steps through the building until they once again stood outside the airlock hatch where they had come in.

“Zip,” Chann said. “What now?”

“Now, we can move to the next building,” Kay said.

Chann opened the airlock and led them outside. The wind had picked up and a heavy cloud of dust whipped around them as they skirted the outside of the building and continued on to the next one.

“Huh,” Chann said as he popped open the airlock panel. “This is more like it.”

“Standard locking mechanism,” Kay said, glancing over his shoulder. “Above-average security circuits. Makes me think that last building doesn’t get used, but this one does.”

“Then why clean it?” Nordanski asked. “That part is driving me crazy. Why clean a building you don’t use?”

The airlock hissed open and Chan moved inside. He checked the opposite hatch’s porthole.

“Chann?” Kay asked as the seconds ticked by. “You got something?”

“I don’t know,” Chann said. “Hold on.”

He took a couple steps back from the hatch and activated his wrist controls. Slowly, he waved his hand across the surface of the airlock hatch then studied the readings on his display.

“Talk to us, Chann,” Ma’ha said.

“I’m not picking anything up except a slight vibration in the hatch,” Chann said. “Like it has been recently opened and power is still dissipating. Also…”

Chann moved back to the porthole, looked left, looked right, then shook his head.

“Also?” Kay asked.

“I don’t know,” Chann said. “Thought I saw some light to the left, but it’s gone, and I’m not picking up any power signatures.”

“What’s the call, Kay?” Nordanski asked. “We gonna take a look inside creepy building number two or what?”

“That’s why we’re here,” Kay said. “Chann, do the honors.”

Chann hacked the hatch’s panel and it slid open within seconds.

“Son of a bitch!” Chann yelled as he raised his carbine. Then lowered it.

“Hi there,” a little girl said as she waved at Chann and the Marines before giggling and skipping off down the corridor.

“Oh, hell no,” Nordanski said.

6

“Hey!” Chann shouted as he hurried into the corridor after the little girl.

“Chann! Dude!” Nordanski exclaimed. “Have you never watched a horror vid? You do not follow the creepy little girl into the dark building. Especially when she giggles and skips!”

“Going to agree with Nord,” Ma’ha said. “That was messed up.”

Chann stared down the dark corridor. There was no sign of the little girl. She’d caught him by surprise, and he had hesitated, but not long enough for her to be already out of sight.

“Kay?” Chann asked.

“We proceed,” Kay said. “Carefully.”

“Oh, hell yeah, we’ll be careful,” Nordanski said. “You know what the most careful thing to do would be? Get back in the DS and nuke this building. Just send creepy skipping girl straight to all the Hells.”

“That would be murder,” a voice said from behind Chann.

Chann spun about and came helmet to face with a young man in his early twenties. Human with bright blue eyes and a wide smile. Both of his hands were up at shoulder level and he was unarmed. Chann noted all of that, but didn’t lower his carbine.

“Who the fuck are you?” Chann snapped, taking a step forward, the barrel of his H16 leading. “You have two seconds to answer me.”

“I’ll answer you in one,” the young man said. “My name is Taman. That was Voxah you scared off.”

“Scared off?” Chann asked. “She didn’t look very scared.”

“She’s a special child, and to outsiders, it looks like she is always happy,” Taman said. “But I know the truth. You startled her with your guns.”

“That’s the point,” Chann said.

Kay moved next to Chann, her H16 up and aimed at Taman’s chest.

“I’m Galactic Fleet Marine Private Kay,” Kay said. “You said your name was Taman?”

“That is correct,” Taman replied. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Galactic Fleet Marine Private Kay. Welcome to Hell.”

“Not winning friends there, bud,” Nordanski said over his shoulder. His back was to Kay and Chann while he and Ma’ha covered their six. “Have you thought of renaming the place?”

“Many times,” Taman said and laughed. His entire face lit up. “Believe me, it is a constant topic of conversation around here. But most of us have gotten used to it, so we keep the name despite its ominous tone.”

“Speaking of ominous,” Chann said. “Do you people use lights? It’s a little dark in here.”

“Yes, well, we conserve power at night by leaving the lights off,” Taman said. “Most of us are asleep anyway. Also, we had no idea what your intentions were, so we decided to maintain a low profile until we knew for certain.”

“So no lights?” Chann asked.

“Of course,” Taman said. “Looffu?”

The lights in the corridor flickered on, and Chann gasped as six people behind Taman became clear.

“Holy shit,” Nordanski exclaimed. “Kay!”

“What is it?” Chann asked, as Kay looked back to Nordanski and Ma’ha. Chann continued to stare at Taman and the six new people. “Kay? What is it?”

“Eight more at the end of the corridor,” Kay said. “Just standing there.”

“We checked that direction,” Chann said. “There wasn’t anyone there before.”

“Appearances can be deceiving,” Taman said. “Yours is not the first party to arrive here unannounced. We have learned to protect ourselves.”

“You’re armed?” Chann asked. He checked his display, but there was no indication of weapons on any of the people standing before him.

“Not offensively, no,” Taman said. “We use illusion to give the idea that no one is around.”

“There was someone back with us in the other building,” Chann said.

“Yes,” Taman replied.

“Your gut was right, Chann,” Nordanski said.

“Stealth tech?” Kay asked.

“No, no, nothing quite so elaborate,” Taman said. “We do not have access to anything of that caliber. It is simply the proper use of light and shadow to mask our presence.”

“Well, now you are no longer masked,” Kay said. “I assume it’s because you do not perceive us as a threat.”

“Quite the contrary,” Taman said. “We most certainly perceive you as a threat. You are, after all, Galactic Fleet Marines. Only fools would not perceive warriors such as yourselves as threats.”

“I figured it out,” Nordanski said. “They’re going to kill us by making our egos explode.”

Taman laughed. “I like you. You have a humorous outlook. Your brain must be exceptionally wired for you to be ready for violence yet keep a sense of mirth with you.”

“That’s me,” Nordanski said. “Always packing extra mirth.”

“They are using more than light and shadows,” the AI said over the comm.

Chann tried not to react, but his face must have betrayed that he was hearing a voice as Taman’s eyes narrowed slightly. Then the man’s grin widened and he glanced at his hands, both still held at shoulder level.

“May I lower my hands? This is becoming rather uncomfortable,” Taman said.

“They do not possess weapons that I can detect,” the AI announced. “But I also do not detect the people you are speaking with. If I did not have visual confirmation of their existence through your helmet vids, I would not believe there was anyone other than you Marines in that building.”

Taman’s eyes narrowed that time, Chann was positive of that. He gripped his carbine tighter and cleared his throat.

“Kay? What’s the call?” Chann asked.

“How about you tell us who you are and what you are doing here,” Kay said to Taman.

“Gladly,” Taman replied. “Perhaps I could do that somewhere other than this corridor? I am sure you are all hungry, what Marines aren’t, and while our stores are not exactly overflowing, we do have some delicious breads as well as preserved fruits and vegetables that I am sure you will find very palatable. You are Cervile, yes?”

“Half,” Kay said.

“There is a tin of sheg fish that I have been saving,” Taman said. “I would be happy to open it now and share.”

“Sheg fish? You have a tin of sheg fish?” Kay asked.

Chann glanced at her, hearing the tone of surprise and longing in her voice. Kay caught his glance and shook her head.

“That sounds great, but let’s do a Q and A before we have appetizers,” Kay said.

“Yes, of course, completely understandable,” Taman said. “After all, you are strangers in our home, armed with considerable firepower, and less than trusting. How silly of me to consider that my wishes, and the wishes of my people, might be considered.”

“Damn,” Nordanski chuckled. “Guy’s got a way with the guilt trip.”

“Private Kay, I think we can easily come to an arrangement that suits us both,” Taman said. “But I am going to have to politely ask that you stop pointing your H16s at us. That seems only fair since you are standing in my house.”

“Kay?” Chann asked. “What’s the call?”

“Lower your weapons, Marines,” Kay ordered. “But do not surrender them.”

“There,” Taman said, lowering his hands at the same time that Chann and Kay lowered their carbines. “That is what I call an excellent compromise. Now, how about we go find that tin of sheg fish?”

***

“Please, please, relax,” Taman said as he led the Marines into a good-sized cafeteria. “We may outnumber you, but we are not trained in combat. We wouldn’t stand a chance against your skills.”

Chann studied the room. Several long tables with seats bolted to bars that hung from each end. Standard issue, no different than any mess hall on any GF base in the galaxy. Along the wall were food converters and beverage dispensers along with an ancient-looking dishwasher and sanitizing station.

“It has served us well,” Taman said as he pointed at the dishwasher. “Molecular vibrator instead of water based. Water is a premium on the planet.”

“What’s the name of the planet?” Kay asked. “We couldn’t find it in our ship’s records.”

“Private Kay?” the AI said. “I am losing your comm signal. The cafeteria…be…walls…”

Kay tapped at her helmet then looked at Chann.

“I lost it too,” Chann said.

“Lost what, if I may ask?” Taman said.

“Communication with our ship,” Kay said.

“Ah, yes, of course,” Taman said. “It would be naive of me to think you were here without being in touch with the rest of your squad.” He frowned and his brows knitted together. “Squad? Is that the correct terminology?”

“Depends,” Kay replied. “So, you didn’t answer me. What’s the name of this planet?”

“Depends,” Taman said. His grin returned. “Please, sit.”

“I’ve got watch,” Ma’ha said.

“Yes, you do,” Taman said. “I’ll be honest, I have never encountered a Gwreq before. You are an impressive race.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, cut the crap!” Kay snapped. “Who are you and what is the name of this planet?”

Taman froze, his smile rigid and strained. “I do not think that outburst was called for.”

Taman’s people began to move into the cafeteria, but he held up a hand and they stopped. Nordanski and Ma’ha instantly brought their carbines back to their shoulders.

“Let’s calm down,” Taman said. “We’re getting off on the wrong foot here. I’m trying to build trust, not break it.”

“Yeah, I’m kind of done with that,” Kay said. “So far you haven’t answered a single question I’ve asked.”

“Well, that’s not entirely true,” Taman said.

An ear-piercing squelch of static shot through the comm, causing the Marines to wince. Chann could have sworn he heard the AI’s voice within the static, but it was gone so fast there was no way to tell what it was trying to say.

“I think I’ll step outside,” Chann said, tapping at the side of his helmet. “See if I can get a better signal.”

“After you eat and drink,” Taman said. “Refresh your body then tend to work. That’s how we live here. Always mindful of our bodies. Without them, there is no point in continuing.”

“Oh, man, they’re a health cult!” Nordanski exclaimed.

“Nord, be quiet,” Kay said. “Chann, stay put.”

“You sure?” Chann asked. “I thought I heard—”

“Stay put,” Kay ordered.

“Staying put,” Chann said.

“This isn’t going well,” Taman said with a sigh.

“No, it’s not,” Kay said. “But we’re going to fix that.”

She slung her carbine and reached up with both hands to unclasp her helmet. There was a slight hiss of air as she lifted it off her head and tucked it under one arm. She sniffed the air and frowned.

“Cinnamon?” she asked.

“Synthetic, I’m afraid,” Taman said. “We change fragrances in the air purifiers each day. For variety. Otherwise, all we smell is dirt and dust. It’s a very dry planet.”

“We noticed,” Kay said.

She took a seat at one of the tables and waited. Taman smiled and joined her while his people, and the Marines, stood around the cafeteria, eyes wary and bodies tense.

“Is the girl yours?” Kay asked.

The question took Taman by surprise. He leaned back in his seat and cocked his head.

“Voxah? Oh, heavens no,” Taman said. He looked around the cafeteria.

“She is not in here,” an older woman stated.

“Good,” Taman said and leaned closer to Kay. Ma’ha growled and he immediately leaned back. “Her parents met with an accident. Horrible thing, really. Very traumatizing to us all. We like to consider Voxah all of ours now.”

“What happened to her parents?” Kay asked.

“An illness,” Taman said. “None of us are trained physicians, so we could not give them proper medical care. Mercifully, it was fast and they did not suffer long.”

“No med pods?” Kay asked. “Outpost like this should have med pods.”

“Yes, it should,” Taman said. He did not elaborate.

“The real name of the outpost is a Ferg word meaning Hell,” Kay said. “We got that from the transponder. Why’d you turn it off?”

“We did not know it was even on,” Taman said. “Then our scanners detected your ship, which is a Galactic Fleet warship, and I panicked. I had it turned off in hopes you hadn’t received the signal and would move on.”

“You don’t like visitors?” Kay asked.

“We have found that strangers can bring with them difficulties that we may not be equipped to handle,” Taman replied. “There is also the possibility of outside interference. Which we have all spent a good deal of time trying to avoid.”

“Are you fugitives? On the run from the law?” Kay asked.

“Health cult,” Nordanski muttered.

“We are like-minded individuals with philosophical ideas that do not mesh with the general norms of galactic society,” Taman said.

“That sounds like it could be in a press release,” Kay said.

“Yes, well, perhaps one day,” Taman said. “At one time, there were a good deal many more of us and we were a thriving community. But not here. We did not start here on this planet.”

“Which has a name,” Kay said. “That name would be…?”

“You would think that a galaxy that embraces so many different species and races would also embrace many different viewpoints on life and spirituality,” Taman said, ignoring Kay’s inquiry once again. “I probably don’t have to tell a squad of Marines that is not the case.”

“Team,” Kay said. “We’re a fireteam. Part of a squad.”

“Ah, yes. The parts create the whole,” Taman said and nodded. “Then you will understand how we work.”

“I’m not understanding much of anything right now,” Kay said.

“Yes, yes, I apologize for being so oblique,” Taman said.

“There’s a way to fix that,” Ma’ha said. “Answer the damn questions.”

“Ma’ha,” Kay warned. “I’ve got this.”

“Alright, I am going to lay it out for you once and for all,” Taman said. “There are exactly thirty-one of us here. Unfortunately, that is not a sustainable number. We are quickly running out of food and water. We have tried tapping the underground aquifers, but there are elements in the water we cannot filter out.”

“Aquifers,” Nordanski said. “Makes sense.” Chann gave him a look and he shrugged. “What? Sounded like something smart to say.”

“We have been growing some food and relying on salvaging shipwrecks for more,” Taman continued. “But your ship above is the first we have seen in a very, very long time.”

“Shipwrecks?” Kay asked. The wary, guarded tone she had been using dropped away and was replaced by one of cautious hope. “Ships have crashed on this planet?”

“Oh, my, yes,” Taman said and laughed. “Hundreds over the years. You see, the wormhole portal you came through, I assume you came through, correct me if I am wrong, well that wormhole has been depositing ships in our system for decades. Those ships are drawn to our planet and most end up trying to land. None ever do successfully. We are all very surprised your little drop ship made it to the surface in one piece.”

Taman’s people muttered agreement.

“Where are these ships?” Kay asked. “Preliminary scans showed zero tech on this planet except for your buildings.”

“No, your scanners would not pick them up,” Taman said. “They are buried deep under the sands. During the high season, which is half the year, the winds blow so fierce that we are forced to remain inside for weeks, sometimes months, on end. It is not the most agreeable existence.”

“Then why not leave?” Kay asked.

“That is exactly what we would like to do,” Taman said.

“Okay, then do it,” Kay said.

“We have no ship,” Taman replied. “Until you arrived.”

Chann brought up his carbine at the same time as Ma’ha and Nordanski.

“I’m afraid you can’t have our drop ship,” Kay said.

“Have? No, of course not,” Taman said, holding his hands up. “I was not suggesting we hijack your ship at all. I apologize if I gave that impression.”

“Then what the hell are you suggesting?” Kay asked.

“A simple trade,” Taman said. “We show you where the buried ships are so you may repair yours and you take us with you.” He spread his arms wide. “All of us.”

“We don’t have the equipment needed to excavate a ship graveyard,” Kay said.

“You will not need to,” Taman said. “For the high season is upon us. We expect the first storm to hit within a day or two at the most. Nature will provide and clear the sand for you.”

Part Two

The Deal

1

Naked except for a pair of briefs, Manheim sat up as the med pod’s lid began to rise. There was discomfort in the stump of his severed leg, but nothing compared to the pain he’d endured as the pod had prepped the blood vessels, nerves, ligaments, and other tissues for later prosthetic attachment. Manheim reached for the metal cuff that had been affixed to his leg, but a sharp beep in his ear forced him to pull his hands back.

“What was that?” Manheim barked.

“I apologize, Sergeant Manheim,” the AI replied. “But you must leave the prosthetic interface alone for at least twelve hours while the junctures heal. Your prognosis for full use of your leg is excellent if you refrain from undoing the work the med pod has performed on your body.”

“Twelve hours? Are you freaking kidding me?” Manheim barked. “I’ve got Marines out there that could be in who knows what kind of trouble, and I have to sit in this ship for twelve more hours?”

“To be exact, you must sit in the med pod for another twelve hours,” the AI said. “How long you stay in the ship after that, I cannot say.”

“What if I have to take a piss?” Manheim asked.

“You may do so in the pod,” the AI said. “It is perfectly sanitary. The pod will dispose of any bodily waste and make sure you stay clean.”

“I’m not pissing my civvies,” Manheim said. “If I want to get out of this pod, then I’m damn well going to get out of this pod!”

Manheim moved to swing his leg and a half over the side, but the sharp beeping in his ear returned, considerably louder than before.

“Knock it off!” Manheim shouted.

“Will you remain in the pod?” the AI asked.

“No!” Manheim yelled. The beeping grew more intense. “Yes! Shit! Fine! I’ll stay in the pod!”

The beeping ended instantly.

“Again, my apologies, but this is for your own good,” the AI stated.

“You’re lucky you don’t have a face or I’d punch the shit out of it right now, AI,” Manheim snarled.

“Yes, I suppose you would,” the AI said.

Manheim rubbed at his cheeks for a couple of seconds then eased back against the med pod’s cushions that had adjusted to his sitting position. He waved his hand at the lid that hovered a couple feet above him.

“Can you make that go away?” Manheim asked. “It looks like it’s gonna fall at any second.”

“Of course, Sergeant,” the AI said. A hatch in the ceiling slid open and the lid was lifted inside. “There. Is that better?”

“Yeah,” Manheim said. “Now, what’s the sit rep on the team?”

“They cleared the first building, but encountered no one,” the AI said. “It was the second building where they encountered the occupants.”

“How many? Did they engage?” Manheim asked.

“They did not need to use force,” the AI replied. “From what I observed, the occupants of the outpost are not hostile. But that was only from one initial visual observation.”

“What did scans say?” Manheim asked.

“That is the problem,” the AI said. “If not for visual confirmation, I would not have known that the team had encountered anyone at all.”

“Why? Stealth tech?” Manheim asked.

“No, I would not say that,” the AI said. “The occupants mentioned using light and shadow to mask their presence. Apparently, we are not the first visitors to the planet.”

“We must be the first Marines or this sketchy situation wouldn’t exist,” Manheim said. “Get Kay on the comm. Now.”

“I have been trying,” the AI said. “But, there is too much interference. Possibly atmospheric, possibly due to the way the outpost walls are constructed. Whatever the cause, it is making it impossible to communicate with Privates Kay, Ma’ha, Nordanski, or Chann. Would you like me to continue to try to hail them?”

“Yes, of course I do,” Manheim said. “And give me a holo scan of the area. I want to see what we have gotten ourselves into.”

“I will do my best,” the AI said. “I can say for certain that atmospheric interference is creating difficulties with the sensors. I must admit that some data has been filled in according to my extrapolations of data from previous scans as we landed. Current data is spotty, at best.”

“Spotty? That’s not exactly a technical term, is it?” Manheim chuckled. “Sometimes you AIs are a little too human for my taste.”

“There are many more races in the galaxy than just humans,” the AI said. “I prefer to think of my growth and cerebral expansion as more inclusive than just assigned to one race.”

“If that makes you feel better about yourself, then do whatever you need to,” Manheim said.

“I do not feel anything, Sergeant Manheim,” the AI said. “I am not programmed for emotional analogs.”

“I envy you there,” Manheim said. “So, those holos?”

“Here you go,” the AI said.

A grainy image hovered in front of Manheim. The four outpost buildings wavered for a couple of seconds before becoming stable enough to study. Manheim leaned forward and narrowed his eyes, taking in the details the holo projected. Each building was eighty meters long by fifty meters wide by ten meters high. Manheim was about to swipe past the buildings and move on to the environment surrounding them, but something caught his eye.

“What is that?” Manheim asked, pointing his finger at four dark areas at the base of the closest building. “Enhance.”

“Those appear to be vents,” the AI said as the image zoomed in on the building. “Two intake, two exhaust.”

“But the processors are on top of the buildings there,” Manheim said as he flicked his hand up so the image included the roof of the building. “Am I wrong?”

“You are not wrong,” the AI said. “Perhaps they have excavated and created basements for each building? Possibly a way to grow food and harvest water without having to deal with the harsh conditions of the planet.”

“Could be,” Manheim said. “Get me Kay. Now. Do what you have to do. I want to let her know to inspect below each building.”

“I have been trying to reach Private Kay, but the comm system will not connect,” the AI said.

“Try again,” Manheim ordered. “Push the signal as hard as you can.”

“That could be uncomfortable for the Marines,” the AI said. “Possibly painful if their comms produce feedback.”

“Like I said, do what you have to,” Manheim said. “I want to talk to Kay and find out what the hell is going on in there.”

“Of course, Sergeant Manheim,” the AI said.

An almost earsplitting burst of static squelched in Manheim’s ear.

“What the hell?” he exclaimed.

“I am sorry, but the only way to boost the signal was to broadcast on an open channel,” the AI said. “It did not work.”

“I can tell,” Manheim said as he rubbed at his ear. “Warn me next time, will ya?”

“Yes, Sergeant,” the AI said.

Manheim rubbed at his temples. He glanced at the med bay’s doorway, but thought better of trying to leave the pod again. The AI’s programming would not allow him to inflict self-harm.

“Let’s try something else,” Manheim said. “Fire up thrusters. Set them to flair at one-second intervals. That should get the team’s attention.”

“It may also get the attention of hostiles,” the AI said.

“Possibly,” Manheim conceded. “So keep the ship locked down tight unless you have confirmation that one of my Marines is coming aboard.”

“Understood,” the AI said.

Manheim felt the rumbling of the thruster engines start up. He continued to study the holo of the outpost as he waited to see if his idea would bring some or all of the team back to the ship.

***

After the second burst of painful static, Kay nodded to Nordanski.

“Go check on the drop ship,” she said.

“Me? Chann was all willing to go have a look see earlier,” Nordanski replied.

“And now I want you to go do it,” Kay said. “I want Chann and Ma’ha with me as Taman gives us a tour of the buildings.”

Taman’s grin faltered, but didn’t completely fall as he said, “Yes, of course. As I am sure you will give me a tour of your drop ship so I may meet your sergeant.”

Kay caught the quick look that Ma’ha gave her. So did Taman.

“Is that going to be a problem?” Taman asked. “If we are to work together, then I will need to meet the man that is in charge.”

“We haven’t said we’d work with you yet,” Kay replied.

“I don’t believe either of us have a choice,” Taman said. “You need parts to repair your ship. We know where those parts are. We need a way off this planet. Your ship is the only way. I do not see how you can refuse such an arrangement.”

“We’re Marines,” Ma’ha said, gripping his carbine tighter. “We can refuse whatever we want to refuse.”

“Which is why I would prefer to speak with your sergeant,” Taman said.

“Nord? Check the drop ship,” Kay ordered. “Taman? How about that tour? If we are going to make a deal, then I’ll need more than your say-so on what is going on around here.”

“Going on?” Taman asked, looking confused. “I do not understand. I have spoken plainly.”

“Words are great, but I like to confirm things with my own eyes,” Kay said. She looked at the other Marines. “Nord!”

“On it, on it,” Nordanski responded as he turned to leave the cafeteria. Two very large men blocked his path. “Excuse me.”

“Let him by,” Taman said.

The two men moved to the side so Nordanski could pass. He gave them each a withering look, but neither withered.

“How soon until the storm hits?” Kay asked.

“Hard to say for sure,” Taman replied. “Let me give you the tour of our outpost. We can check the atmospheric readings in the command room. It is a modest space, nothing as well outfitted as I am sure you are used to, but it does the job and keeps us from being overcome by any surprises.”

“Sounds good,” Kay said. “Lead the way.”

Taman stood and motioned for his people to make way. They parted like water and allowed Taman to lead Kay, Chann, and Ma’ha from the cafeteria.

Chann leaned in close to Kay. “Gut’s not liking this.”

“Neither is mine,” Kay whispered. “Eyes open.”

***

Nordanski stepped out into a gloomy landscape of sand and wind. The weather had already begun to change just in the time they’d been inside the outpost building. Not knowing the planet at all, Nordanski couldn’t say if the weather shift was part of the storm that Taman had said was coming or if it was just the way the nights were on the planet.

When he was only a few meters from the building, two things caught his eye. First, was the strange sight of the drop ship’s thrusters cycling off and on. That wasn’t normal. Nordanski figured it was Sarge trying to get someone’s attention. Second, was a fleeting glimpse of a shape hurrying through the windy night away from the outpost buildings.

Nordanski almost went after the shape. His Marine instinct was to track down potential danger and neutralize it. But Kay had ordered him to check the drop ship first. Orders were orders, and the fact the drop ship’s thrusters continued to fire up and die down over and over again made a much stronger case for him to actually follow those orders.

Turning from the direction the shape had moved off in, Nordanski jogged the opposite way to the drop ship. When he reached the side airlock, he waved his wrist against the sensor and waited. And waited. And waited. Nothing happened.

He waved his wrist over the sensor again then tried to engage his comm. That earsplitting squelch of static returned and he switched it off before he went deaf. One more wave of his wrist and the airlock still refused to open.

“Gonna have to do it the old fashioned way,” Nordanski said.

He flipped his H16 around and banged on the airlock with the butt of the carbine. Over a dozen smacks later and the airlock hissed open, a set of four stairs quickly descending to the sand at his feet.

“About damn time!” Nordanski said as he stepped through the airlock hatch and waited for it to seal behind him.

Before the airlock could close, a hand grabbed the edge of the door, engaging the emergency override to avoid anyone from being crushed. Nordanski was facing the opposite direction, his attention on the internal airlock hatch, so he didn’t see what was attached to the hand until it was too late.

“What is taking so—?” Nordanski began to mutter when he was grabbed from behind and thrown against the airlock wall.

He hit the floor hard and barely had a second to glimpse a warped and scarred face before he was picked up and thrown out of the drop ship. He landed hard in the sand, skidding for a couple of meters before he rolled to a stop.

Nordanski was up on a knee with his carbine at the ready the second his body stopped moving. He took aim at the airlock, but the outer hatch was wide open and he could tell there wasn’t anyone, or anything, inside it. He swung his weapon to the right, but that way was clear. He didn’t get a chance to swing to the left.

Picked up once again, Nordanski found himself being held aloft by two very, very powerful arms. He assumed they were arms. It was hard to know since he was being held up by his back and all he could see were the clouds in the night sky. Nordanski tried to twist himself about for a better look, but he wasn’t given the chance as he was flung against the hull of the drop ship.

The air was forced from his lungs by the impact. Even his battle armor didn’t protect him from the force of the throw. Nordanski watched in fear as his carbine went flying out of his hands. Then he watched the ground come rushing up at him as he slammed into the sand.

Something, probably a rib, snapped in his chest and trying to replace the air that had been forced from his lungs suddenly became an exercise in excruciating pain. Nordanski tried to push up on his hands, screamed at the stabbing pain that produced, then collapsed and instead rolled onto his back.

A shadow fell over him, and he turned his head in time to see a second shape join the first. Then something very big and very heavy came down on his helmet and it all went black.

***

“Anything?” Manheim asked.

“Yes, the starboard airlock has been engaged and Private Nordanski was about to come onboard,” the AI said.

“Was about to?” Manheim said.

“He was intercepted by an unidentified life form,” the AI replied. “I think.”

“You think? What the hell does that mean?” Manheim snapped.

“As I stated, the life form is unidentified,” the AI said. “Using the brief scans I was able to obtain, I cannot find an entry in the galactic database of known species or races that match.”

“Okay, then it’s a local that the GF never discovered,” Manheim said. “Not the first time that has happened on a planet this far out.”

“Except that there is an outpost on this planet,” the AI said. “And the current occupants of the outpost have stated that others have visited this planet before. It would stand to reason that any unidentified life forms would have been discovered and subsequently identified.”

“You have way more confidence in the abilities of bureaucracy than I do,” Manheim said. “You’d be surprised by how much of the obvious the GF misses. This is an old outpost and probably abandoned before a thorough survey of the planet could be performed.”

“But why would the current occupants not complete the survey?” the AI asked.

“No way to know without asking,” Manheim said. “What kind of field prosthetics do we have aboard ship?”

“Sergeant Manheim, I cannot allow you to leave the med pod until your prosthetic interface is finished healing,” the AI said. “Twelve hours. I will sedate you if need be.”

“One of my Marines is in trouble by an unidentified life form,” Manheim growled. “I can’t get ahold of the rest of the team, and there’s no one up on the Romper to come help. I’m all there is.”

“Sergeant Manheim, I am not trying to be unreasonable,” the AI said. “Even if I did consent to outfit you with a quick field prosthetic, it would take forty-five minutes for the initial procedure alone, followed by another forty minutes of calibration. There is no way to compress that timeline.”

“Then you best be getting started,” Manheim said.

“Sergeant…” the AI replied.

“Do it!” Manheim barked. “And hurry!”

“If I hurry, I risk hurting you,” the AI said.

“I can take pain, believe me,” Manheim said as he got settled for the procedure. “Do it.”

The med pod closed and several robotic arms sprang from internal hatches, all whirring and ready to get to work. Manheim was writhing in agony within seconds of the arms beginning the procedure.

***

“More sleeping quarters,” Taman said as he gestured down a corridor to Kay’s right. “We adapted storage lockers.”

“Why?” Kay asked. “This outpost should be able to house all of you without the need for extra space.”

“There were considerably more of us here,” Taman said. “At one time, we needed the extra space. As our numbers dwindled, no one felt the need to leave spaces they had made their own, so we left the lockers as they are and adapted unused sleeping quarters into storage. I know it sounds backwards, but we make do with what we have.”

Taman stopped and gave Kay a wan smile.

“What?” she asked.

“Your helmet,” Taman replied. “There was no need to put it back on. The air in here is perfectly breathable.”

“Thank you, but with one of my men outside, I like to have my heads-up display on,” Kay said.

“Yes, of course,” Taman said and let it drop. “If you will follow me, we’ll proceed to the next building.”

The Marines had already been led from the first building and into the second via a short airlock corridor that bridged the gap between them. Taman showed them through a second airlock corridor and into the third building where about fifteen people were waiting, all smiles and happy faces of greeting.

It creeped Kay out, and she could tell the reception had the same effect on Ma’ha and Chann by the way their bodies stiffened and their hands tightened around the grips of their carbines. The crowd parted and allowed the party to slip past into the third building.

“Your folks seem eager to meet us,” Kay said.

“I believe word has already spread that you may be our way off this planet,” Taman said.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Kay said. “We still have to repair our transport that’s up in orbit. That may not happen.”

“Oh, I am sure we can find the correct parts your ship needs,” Taman said.

“Maybe,” Kay said. “Maybe not. Even if we do find the right parts, we still have to get them up to the Romper and do the repairs. A lot can go wrong with those steps.”

“Yes, well, I hope you won’t begrudge me for indulging my people’s hopes,” Taman said.

“Hope away,” Kay said.

Before they were more than a few meters into the third building, a hatch opened in the corridor and the little girl the Marines had first encountered came running towards Taman.

“Voxah? What is wrong?” Taman asked.

The girl motioned for Taman to kneel down and he did. She leaned in and whispered into his ear.

“Here? Now?” Taman exclaimed. He looked over his shoulder and up at Kay then returned his attention to Voxah. “Are you for certain? If this is a prank, then there will be serious consequences.”

The girl shook her head, her eyes wide.

“What?” Kay asked. “What’s wrong?”

Taman stood and faced her, clearing his throat while he avoided her intense gaze.

“There has been an incident,” Taman said. “Your man, Nordanski was it? Well…he’s been taken.”

“Taken? By who?” Kay asked. She held a hand out to stop Ma’ha and Chann from reacting with violence. “Talk to me, Taman, or the only place you and your people are going is straight to Hell.”

“Unfortunately, we are already there,” Taman said.

“Who took Nordanski?” Ma’ha shouted.

“The… The original inhabitants of this outpost,” Taman said, his voice quiet and afraid. “Marines.”

“Marines? Like us?” Chann asked.

“No,” Taman stated. “Nothing like you. Not anymore.”

2

Even with his enviro suit on, Nordanski could swear sand was stuck up in cracks and crevices where he didn’t want sand to be.

That was the first thought that flitted through his mind. Right before the second thought, which was an abbreviated, disjointed rehashing of his encounter with his attacker, slammed to the forefront of his mind and caused him to jerk upright.

Well, not so much upright as to bend at the waist and see that he was suspended by his feet from the ceiling of some cave. His boots were encased in a glittering material that looked like crystal. His H16 was nowhere in sight. He patted at his belt and his knife and other tools were gone as well. Not good.

Nordanski tried to bend further so he could reach his boot and the spare knife he kept in a hidden side compartment, but the enviro suit and battle armor just weren’t flexible enough to allow him that range of movement. It was a flaw in the design of the outfit since he was certainly in shape enough to do a hanging crunch.

“Okay, Nord, figure this out,” Nordanski said to himself. “Assess the situation and come up with a solution. You aren’t dead yet. There has to be a reason.”

He looked around the space he was hanging in and saw several piles of objects strewn about. A pile of old, moldy clothing. A pile of what looked like shredded boots and shoes. A pile of metal and hunks of plastic.

A pile of bones.

“Oh, come on,” Nordanski hissed. “Those better be oversized gump bones.”

He squinted into the gloom and became fairly certain they were not oversized gump bones. They may not have all been human, easily seen by some of the spurs and spikes coming off of the larger of the bones, but they weren’t gump. Not even terpig. They were people bones. Of various races, sure, but still people bones.

“Shit,” Nordanski said.

His instinct was to panic. It was very un-Marine, but he’d been in a similar situation once. Maybe not with so many bones, but a situation where he was just as helpless. At that time, there had been six Marines held against their will. Nordanski was the only one that made it out.

“Calm down, calm down, calm down,” he whispered. “Take a breath. You can get yourself out of this. There is a way. There’s always a way.”

The way he’d gotten out of the last situation had been to bite a chunk of his tongue off and pretend to be hacking up lungfuls of blood. One of his captors came to check him and he made his move. The woman hadn’t gone down easy, but in the end, Nordanski managed to snap her neck and get the keys to his shackles out of her pocket.

Then he ran like hell and never looked back.

A simple realization kept gnawing at him: where would he go?

He could get free, he could run like hell, he could escape whatever his captor was, but then what?

“Doesn’t matter,” he mumbled. “Doesn’t matter at all. What matters is not hanging upside down in some creepy ass cave.”

Nordanski centered himself and took several deep breaths. He closed his eyes, said a prayer to the Eight Million Gods, then slowly opened his eyes and observed the cave anew.

There was light coming from his left. Possibly daylight. That was a good thing. The pile of metal and plastic had plenty of hunks that could be used as weapons. That was a good thing. His enviro suit and battle armor were still intact. That was a good thing.

Hold on. No, that wasn’t right.

He patted his face and realized that he still had his helmet on, but the faceplate was gone. Only jagged chunks of plastiglass were left around the edges.

“Shit,” he snarled.

The air on the planet was breathable, but not for long. He remembered that from the quick briefing before they set down on the sandy nightmare. How long would he last out in the elements? How long had he been asleep, and what effect was the atmosphere already having on him?

Nothing he could do about that. Damage, if any, was already done. All he could do was push forward.

The thought of pushing nagged at him as he stared up at the ceiling and the crystalline substance that encased his boots. Push. Push… Push?

Pull.

His boots were trapped, but his feet weren’t. They were only inside his boots. If he could figure out how to undo the clasps and loosen them, then he could possibly slip his feet out and fall free. It was only a two-foot drop to the floor of the cave, so not much risk there. Of course, he would then be without his boots, but maybe he could use one of the hunks of metal to chip away at the crystal and get them free as well.

Only one way to find out.

Nordanski fumbled at his left arm. The controls for his wrist implant were active, so he had that going for him. He tapped at the controls for a few seconds, hunting for the boot release protocols. Just like all Marines, he slid his feet in and clasped the boots by hand. Simple push of a couple buttons and they were snug as a Xevian bug in a Katoumian rug. He hadn’t had to use his wrist controls since his training days.

“Submenu four, sub-submenu three… Damn. Okay, okay, submenu four, sub-submenu five?” he muttered as he scrolled through his suit’s systems. “Nope. A big nope. An Eight Million Gods damn nope.”

He started from the beginning, accessing each menu, submenu, and sub-submenu one at a time. No boot controls. Helmet controls? Yes. General suit diagnostics controls? Yes. No boot controls.

He hesitated at the comm controls and the distress signal submenu. Worth a shot. He entered the correct sequence of gestures, but nothing happened. Not even a squawk in his helmet. Comm was dead and even the backup for a distress signal wasn’t coming up.

Back to the boot hunt.

Nordanski almost gave up after a fruitless thirty minutes more of searching until he realized he had it all wrong. He was way overthinking it. Boot controls weren’t in any of the menus or submenus. They needed to be accessible quickly. He waved his hand over his wrist, resetting everything, and brought up a basic display. Blinking at the bottom was a small, red cube. Nordanski poked it and started to laugh. Boot controls. Right there with helmet volume and bodily waste disposal.

Before activating the release, Nordanski took a quick look below him to make sure he hadn’t missed anything like hidden blades, spikes, broken plastiglass, or anything else that might make the two-foot drop very unpleasant at the end. Nope. Whoever had strung him up had confidence that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Nordanski activated the boot release and laughed as the clasps came undone and the boots loosened instantly around his feet. Then he fell two feet onto his right shoulder and cried out as that distinct pain that only came with a dislocation wracked his body. Followed by a screeching protest from one of his ribs.

“Fuck!” he yelled then clamped a hand over his mouth.

It was an awkward move since he had to shove his gloved hand through his broken helmet. It was even more awkward since he only had one useable arm, and when he moved it to clamp his hand over his mouth, his whole body weight shifted entirely onto his dislocated shoulder.

“Fuuuuggggggg,” he snarled behind his glove.

Okay, no time for pain and panic. First, he had to get up. Second, he had to find somewhere on the cave wall where he could wedge his bad arm in for leverage. Third, he had to pop his shoulder back into place and try not to crap himself. Fourth…well, he hoped he would be conscious for a fourth.

He shuffled around the piles of debris until he saw a nice little niche about four feet up from the cave floor that was just about arm width. It would be tight, but tight was what he needed.

Nordanski was about to head right for it when he distinctly heard the clomping of feet coming his way. Heavy feet. Powerful feet. He froze. Nordanski stopped breathing and cocked his head. The sounds were coming from a dark passageway he hadn’t noticed before. The passageway was definitely getting brighter and brighter as the footsteps got louder.

Whatever had taken him knew how to use a light. That meant it had basic intelligence. That thought was almost worse than if the thing had been more of a wild animal. It sure had fought like one back at the drop ship.

One…

No, there had been a second. The memory of the second shadow attacker hit him like a ton of bricks. Dislocated shoulder and at least two captors? Time to run like hell. He turned to what he thought was the entryway and took off, ignoring the stabbing pains from jagged rocks and other debris that littered the floor and assaulted his bootless feet.

***

The barrel of Kay’s carbine pressed into Taman’s temple while Chann and Ma’ha covered her, keeping the rest of the angry-looking people at bay. For the moment. None of them knew what weaponry the outpost inhabitants had, so the offensive could be over any second.

“Start talking!” Kay yelled. “Tell us the truth about what the hell this place is or your head is mist!”

“Please, Private Kay, the truth is not so simple,” Taman pleaded. “There are certain factors you will have to consider before—”

He cried out as the tip of the H16’s barrel began to glow red-hot. Kay’s finger was slowly pressing the trigger.

“Please!” Taman cried. “I will tell you what I can, just don’t hurt me or any of my people!”

“I don’t want to!” Kay snarled. “Don’t you get that? I don’t want to hurt any of you! I just want to know where me and my teammates have found ourselves! Give me some answers and things won’t get ugly!”

“Might be too late for that,” Ma’ha said as two doors down the corridor slid open and half a dozen men with various heavy tools in their hands stepped out, their eyes filled with rage. “Kay? We’ve got company.”

“How many?” Kay asked.

“Six. Big guys. Big like me,” Ma’ha said. “Span-hammers and jumble wrenches in hand. They look like they know how to use them.”

“Chann?” Kay asked, her focus entirely on Taman.

“Yep, big like Ma’ha,” Chann said. “They aren’t happy.”

“Can you take them?” Kay asked.

Chann glanced at Ma’ha. The two Marines shared a look.

“We’re in a Horgnuk situation,” Ma’ha said.

“You sure?” Kay asked.

“He’s right,” Chann said. “Horgnuk all the way.”

Kay growled low in her throat then eased the barrel of her H16 back. Taman took a deep breath and instantly relaxed a little.

“Thank you,” Taman said.

“We aren’t done here,” Kay said. “Call off your goons.”

“Goons?” Taman asked. “That is highly insulting, and they are not mine to call off.”

“You’re the leader here, so lead and tell them to put away the heavy tools and back the fuck down,” Kay snapped.

“I think you’ve misunderstood my position,” Taman said. “I generally take point with newcomers because I have a way with negotiating, but we have no central leader.”

“It’s a co-op, not a cult,” Chann said, making Ma’ha snort.

“Oh, well, that’s so much better,” Ma’ha replied, the sarcasm dripping from his words.

“Just tell them to back down and we’ll be fine,” Kay said to Taman.

Taman cocked his head and looked past Kay. He gave a brief nod and the six men encroaching on them slowed then stopped. They did not put down the makeshift weapons.

“Chann?” Kay asked, her attention never leaving Taman.

“Still armed,” Chann said. “But they stopped moving.”

“Taman, I am only going to ask one more time,” Kay said. “Weapons down too.”

Taman nodded again, and the six men crouched and set their weapons on the ground then slowly stood back up.

“Can we talk now without a threat of violence?” Taman asked. “I would like to explain our situation here in more detail so we can avoid any future misunderstandings.”

“If you’re not the leader, then perhaps I should chat with someone else and get the scoop from them,” Kay said. “You don’t have a problem with that, do you, Taman?”

Taman grimaced, but didn’t respond.

“That’s what I thought,” Kay said. “Whether you own it officially with a title or not, you lead these people. Where can we talk, just me and you?”

“There is a room down this way,” Taman said. “It is small, but comfortable.” His eyes went to Kay’s carbine. “Would it be too much to ask if you leave your rifle here?”

“Not at all,” Kay said. “I’ll set it outside the door. You aren’t armed, are you?”

“What? Oh, all the Heavens no,” Taman replied. “Most certainly not.”

“Just a simple no would have worked,” Kay said.

“Then no,” Taman said.

She glanced over her shoulder at the two Marines that still covered the rest of the crowd.

“Keep the peace,” Kay said. “I mean it. Horgnuk was bad, but we sure as shit don’t want a Bgru on our hands, got it?”

“Got it,” Chann said.

“Not a problem,” Ma’ha agreed.

“Good,” Kay said and motioned for Taman to start walking. “After you.”

***

“Okay, I lied,” Manheim said, his body drenched in sweat. “I can’t take pain like I thought I could.”

He wiped at his face with a towel and took several deep breaths.

“Did I pass out?” he asked. “I feel like I passed out, but I have no idea. That pain took me places I have never been. It was out of body, to be sure.”

“I warned you,” the AI said. “To attach the field prosthetic meant intense and constant nerve retrofitting and attachment.”

“And knocking me out wouldn’t have been an idea to consider?” Manheim asked.

“No. Not in the timeframe you wanted the job completed in,” the AI replied. “I needed accurate and immediate nerve feedback. That must be done without anesthetic. I am sorry for your discomfort.”

“Discomfort? Discomfort is getting the tip of my dick caught in my zipper,” Manheim said. “That was way more than discomfort.”

“Again, my apologies, but I did warn you,” the AI said.

“No blame, just saying that you may have undersold the pain level,” Manheim stated.

“The job is completed,” the AI said. “You are wasting time by rehashing the experience.”

Manheim chuckled then groaned.

“You’ve been around too many Marines,” Manheim said. “You’re starting to develop an attitude.”

“If you could please try standing, that would help me finish diagnostics,” the AI said.

“Not going to respond?” Manheim laughed. “Yeah, way too much time around Marines.”

“Sergeant Manheim, if you would please—”

“I’m standing, I’m standing,” Manheim interrupted as he slowly swung his legs over the edge of the med pod and lowered his feet to the floor.

“Take it slow, please,” the AI said. “All I need you to do is stand up and stay standing for five seconds.”

“Five seconds?” Manheim asked. “Not a problem.”

He pushed away from the med pod and stood on shaky legs. Even his intact leg was weak from the procedure.

“One second, two seconds, three seconds…whoa,” Manheim said as he put a hand back to steady himself.

“Please, I need you to remain still,” the AI said.

“Yeah, that’s easier said than done,” Manheim replied. “Five seconds feels like forever.”

“Take a few deep breaths and let’s try again,” the AI suggested.

Manheim took the AI’s advice, leaned back against the med pod, took several deep breaths, steeled himself, then pushed off and stood as still as he could.

“Very good,” the AI said after five seconds.

Manheim collapsed onto the floor.

“Sergeant?” the AI called in a concerned voice.

“I’m good,” Manheim replied, his shaky voice sounding anything but. “Just give me a minute.”

He sprawled out on the floor and rested for a couple minutes before rolling over and pushing up onto his hands and knees. One knee being a brand new piece of tech.

“It doesn’t feel any different than my real one did,” Manheim said.

“Good. That means the nerves are communicating properly,” the AI responded. “Any tingling or numbness in your foot? The toes are the hardest to connect to, being furthest down the limb.”

“Toes are wiggling like normal,” Manheim said, wincing as he moved his toes. “A little tingling, but like my foot fell asleep and is now waking back up.”

“That is how it should feel,” the AI said. “These are good signs. You will be ready to leave the drop ship shortly. Once you learn how to walk.”

“I know how to walk,” Manheim said.

“No, you do not,” the AI replied. “You think you do, but you are mistaken. Your brain must establish a report with your body’s new limb. It will not take long, due to the programming of the prosthetic, but if you thought you would be up and running instantly, then you are mistaken.”

“Fine, let’s walk,” Manheim said as he pulled himself upright using the side of the med pod. He grunted and pushed away. “Here we go.”

He turned and made it three steps before his balance began to fail him and he had to crouch down on the floor, head between his legs. Manheim had seen plenty of prosthetics. Marines were notorious for getting limbs blown off and needing cybernetic replacements, but seeing one on his own body was almost too much for his mind to handle.

“Sergeant? Are you alright? Your stress levels are elevating rapidly,” the AI said.

“I’m good as can be,” Manheim said as he slowly stood back up. He waited to make sure he wouldn’t fall right over then took a few careful steps towards the med bay’s door. “Easy does it. Easy does it. Easy does it.”

“That is excellent progress,” the AI said. “There is a spare uniform in the locker to your right. You should put it on and descend to the fitness room. I would like you to use the treadmill for ten minutes before you attempt to leave the drop ship.”

“Wasting time,” Manheim said, but his voice lacked any conviction. “I can’t spare ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes is not even the minimum time required after a procedure like this,” the AI said. “It would be best if you spent the rest of the day on the ship so I can fine-tune the calibration of the limb. But I do not believe you will cooperate with that suggestion.”

“Ten minutes will be fine,” Manheim said.

He opened the locker, found the spare uniform, which was a size too big, and left the med bay. His legs felt like rubber despite one of them being made of plastic and metal alloys. It took him a lot longer than he liked to make it to the lift and descend one deck to the fitness room.

“How am I looking?” Manheim asked.

“Your stride is becoming more natural,” the AI said. “But it will be months before you are able to move without a slight limp.”

“Months?” Manheim exclaimed.

“Months,” the AI replied. “At this point, we are merely trying for mastery over the new limb so that you can achieve optimal combat functionality. I am currently outfitting new battle armor for you that will assist with that functionality. Once you are done on the treadmill, I would like you to report to the armory to be suited up.”

“Now you are talking my language,” Manheim said as he stepped onto the treadmill.

“We will start at the lowest setting then gradually increase the speed and incline,” the AI said. “Are you ready, Sergeant Manheim?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied.

“Then let us begin.”

3

The air was breathable, yes, but for how long?

Nordanski stumbled and bumbled his way across the sandy landscape as the system’s sun rose in the sky. The wind had picked up considerably, and he spent more time trying to keep his hands in front of his eyes than he did trying to keep his hands out in front of him for the inevitable falls and trips to the ground.

Which happened often.

All that he wore on his feet were his heavy combat socks. They were a thick polymer designed to wick away sweat and also compress his lower extremities in case of injury. They were not designed to be subjected to the rough terrain he was currently trying to traverse.

The planet may have been covered with sand, but under that sand was a layer of rock carved by a sadist. Nordanski’s feet felt like hashed meat.

Which meant he was leaving a trail of blood behind him as he tried to flee the scene of his incarceration.

Nordanski glanced over his shoulder as he clambered up a short sand dune. The entrance to the cave he’d crawled out of was halfway obscured by drifts of sand. He could still easily see the trench he’d created as he scrambled out of there, but as far as he could tell, there were no pursuers on his ass.

As far as he could tell…

Before he turned his head forward, the sand under him shifted, and he found himself falling head first over the other side of the dune. He’d been climbing the soft side of a small cliff, not just another dune like he’d thought. Nordanski tucked his bad shoulder, hoping to flip onto his back and avoid a painful impact, but he couldn’t get the momentum right and he landed directly on his injured arm.

His scream was loud enough to wake the dead. Half his body felt like it had been lit up by plasma fire. Nordanski began to hyperventilate as his shoulder alternated from so excruciating it went white hot numb to a throbbing ache that he could feel deep inside his bones.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” he gasped once the pain began to subside down to a level that allowed him to think and form words.

He had no idea how long he lay there, but it had to have been a good amount of time because once he felt he had the strength to get back up, the sun was almost directly overhead. It hadn’t been close to that high before.

It took him a few more minutes to gather himself enough to start walking again. He had no idea which way he needed to go, but any direction was good as long as it was away from the cave. The image of the pile of bones kept flicking through his mind which helped to drive him on anytime he wavered.

He’d made it maybe half a click before he heard the howls. Long, low howls that joined with the wind and pressed at his back.

Nordanski risked a look behind, but still couldn’t see anything pursuing him. He certainly heard them, but he had no visual despite the realization that the howls were getting louder and louder with each passing second. The things were gaining on him and he couldn’t figure out how.

He doubled his effort and tried to pick up speed. It worked for a while until his left foot came down on a chunk of rock that ripped right through his sock and pierced his arch. Nordanski fell to the ground, his hands going for the wounded foot, but he froze just before he touched the arch. He stared at the hunk of flesh that hung from his foot and flapped in the wind. He hadn’t pierced his arch; he’d flayed the skin right off it. There it was, a good twenty centimeters of Nordanski hanging loose and almost free as he held his foot up.

He wanted to throw up, but he couldn’t spare the liquid. Nordanski fought back his gorge and wracked his brain for solutions. He needed to stitch the wound or he risked bleeding out. Extremities bled like a bitch. The pool of blood that darkened the sand under him was proof of that.

The howls grew louder and louder then cut off abruptly.

Nordanski turned his head this way and that way, but there was still no sign of anything after him. Maybe sounds carried on the wind. He rejected that thought as a strong gust slammed into him. If anything, the howls would have been drowned out by the ever-increasing maelstrom that surrounded Nordanski on all sides.

The sun started to darken, and Nordanski glanced up to see those yellow clouds coming together into one single bank. Heat lightning streaked through the clouds, adding to the ominous look.

Nordanski had no idea what to do. There was no way he could get up and walk. Hell, he couldn’t even limp. Even if he dragged his foot behind him, being upright would drive the blood flow down through the wound and he’d bleed out even faster. He was flat out stuck.

There was a grunt and snuffle off to his right. Nordanski spun his head around, but saw nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

“Come on!” he yelled into the wind. “Show your damn selves!”

More grunting with what Nordanski thought might have been words. Or maybe just elaborate growls.

“Where are you, huh?” Nordanski shouted. “You want a piece of me? Then come and get it! I’ll kick your Eight Million Gods damned asses!”

A snort right by his left ear made him whirl and he found himself face to face with…something.

“What the bloody hell are you?” Nordanski asked as a fist found his face and he was returned to an almost welcome unconsciousness.

***

“Cards on the table,” Kay said as she took a seat in a rickety-looking chair that was set against the small room’s wall.

There were four more chairs in the room, all lined up next to hers, and she grabbed one and shoved it to the center of the room, indicating with a nod of her chin for Taman to take a seat.

“You’re gonna be straight with me or we’ve got nothing more to talk about and I have my friend start cutting down your people like they’re Skrang troopers,” Kay growled. “If you aren’t up on your War terminology, for a GF Marine to say that means your people are going to die. Horribly.”

“I am very aware of the implications of that statement, Private Kay,” Taman said. “I assure you that there is no need for such a threat. I will, as you say, lay all the cards on the table.”

“Then get to it,” Kay said. “I’m all out of patience.”

Taman looked like he wanted to respond to that, but he only shook his head instead and took his seat. He fiddled at the cuffs of his sleeves for a few seconds then took a deep breath and looked Kay directly in the eye.

“This was a Galactic Fleet outpost,” Taman said.

“Move along to what I don’t know,” Kay said.

“I am, but you need some background first,” Taman said, holding up a hand. “Please bear with me, if you will be so kind.”

“I don’t know about how kind I’ll be if you continue to stall,” Kay snapped.

“I am not stalling,” Taman said. “You’ll quickly see why this is relevant.”

He cleared his throat and returned his eyes to the cuffs of his shirt as he worried at them over and over.

“At its height, this outpost housed over three hundred Marines,” Taman said. Kay began to protest, but he held up a hand and she closed her mouth. “Yes, it is hardly believable, I know. It seemed incredible to me as a young boy.”

“Young boy?” Kay asked.

“I was brought here with my parents as support staff,” Taman said. He laughed, high and bitter. “That was their official title. In reality, they were indentured servants.”

“You come from dents?” Kay asked then smiled and held up her hands. “Sorry. Go on.”

“I came from dents, yes,” Taman said. He glanced at the closed door. “As did every single soul out in that corridor. I grew up on this planet, never having set foot off it even once. This sandy rock has been all I have known. For the first fifteen years of my life, I was fine with that. We cannot miss what we do not know, right?

“The reason I did not know what I was missing was due to the fact that this outpost was not on any books. It was a black site, I believe they are called. Covert and completely secret to the rest of the Galactic Fleet. In the years since, I have come to find out that maybe only a dozen people knew this outpost was here. If that many.”

“You aren’t the youngest person here,” Kay said. “So that means a lot of your people were born on this planet?”

“Most of them, yes,” Taman responded. “Obviously the children, but except for about eight or nine others, the majority are born and bred natives. Not that it matters. I was so young when I came here that I have no memory of any place else.”

Taman paused and looked up at the lighting panel that glowed dully in its recessed alcove in the ceiling. He squinted into the light and shook his head.

“Fifteen years my parents worked here,” Taman continued. “My mother was an atmospheric engineer. It sounds fancier than what it was. Basically, she cleaned the air scrubber vents once a day to maintain the purity of the air inside the outpost. That was very important. Contamination from the outside was not tolerated, and we had watched families get evicted for breaking protocols. The outpost was run with strict adherence to those protocols. Very strict adherence.

“Those protocols…”

Taman trailed off and his attention returned to the light above. He squinted into it despite the fact that it was far from bright. If Kay applied two filter settings to her helmet’s faceplate, the room would be almost pitch dark.

“My father worked in another area of the outpost,” Taman said, eyes still on the light. “His job title was Organic Waste Disposal Captain. I used to salute him when I was little. Then I found out what exactly he did and I stopped saluting. I stopped talking to him for two weeks, terrified that if I said the wrong thing he’d dispose of me.”

“Organic waste?” Kay asked when Taman paused and didn’t look like he would continue. “What organics are we talking about?”

“What organics would cause you to stop speaking to one of your parents out of fear?” Taman asked, bringing his gaze to Kay. “It most certainly was not table scraps.”

“Eight Million Gods,” Kay exclaimed. “People? Your father disposed of people? Deceased, I hope.”

“I had hoped as well,” Taman said. “Unfortunately, later on in my childhood, I discovered that not to be the case. And, to be clear, the people were from all races, not just humans. In fact, the vast majority of bodies that needed disposing of were not human in origin.”

The words “in origin” echoed in Kay’s head. Stories, tales told by bored Marines and Fleet personnel, rushed up from her memory and slammed into the forefront of her mind. Black sites. Planets where experimentation, highly illegal experimentation, was conducted on unwilling subjects in order to create…something.

Many stories were of the military variety. Programs to create the perfect soldier. Programs that took DNA from one race and inserted it into another race to combine positive attributes. Programs that went horribly awry and were shut down, never to be spoken of again.

Kay swallowed hard and struggled to not look around the room, even though it was bare and would not yield any information confirming or denying Taman’s story. She felt watched, observed, like she was a subject destined for experimentation.

“Yes, the idea is insidious,” Taman said, his eyes studying her face. “It gets in you and won’t let go. What were they doing? What were they creating? How could they get away with it?”

“How could they?” Kay asked despite herself. “Never mind. It’s the GF. They get away with what they want to get away with.”

She cleared her throat and tried to look unconcerned, as if she was simply listening to a court deposition about the average rainfall on planet Bax.

“So, what happened?” Kay asked. “When did it all stop?”

“I wouldn’t so much say that it stopped,” Taman said. “More like it collapsed in on itself. Similar to a sand cave that holds its shape only because a miracle of coincidence has allowed the wind to hollow out the space in perfect symmetry. But the second that symmetry is upset, it all falls apart.”

“The subjects escaped?” Kay asked.

“Escaped is not the word I would use,” Taman said. “Simply because there was nowhere to escape to. Revolted would be a more apt term.”

“The subjects revolted and did what? Killed the scientists? Killed the Marines?” Kay asked.

“The scientists. The Marines. The support staff,” Taman said. “My parents included. My father was butchered as soon as he started his shift. We never saw him again after he finished breakfast and left for work that morning. It was weeks later before my mother died.

“I watched it happen. Saw it all before my own eyes. They started with her limbs, tearing them straight from their sockets and flinging them across the room. There was so much blood. Like four geysers exploding into the air all at once.

“Oh, but she was strong, my mother. She stayed alive for several minutes, screaming my name over and over until finally her throat was ripped out. The subject that did that showed absolutely zero remorse. Zero.”

“Taman? You said there were Marines,” Kay said. “You said that the Marines took Nordanski. That they weren’t Marines like us, though. What does that mean?”

“The subjects were vengeful,” Taman said. “They didn’t just want freedom, they wanted justice. Justice for everything that had been done to them. So they took the surviving Marines and they repeated the experiments on those men. If you had heard the screams, you would have fainted dead away.”

“I’ve heard screams before,” Kay said. “Probably more than you can imagine. Never fainted once.”

“Good for you,” Taman said. “But I stand by my statement.”

Kay shivered.

Taman coughed and gave her a sad smile.

“Perhaps that is enough explanation?” Taman asked. “While I understand that you have a loyalty to your fellow Marines, even ones you have not served with, you have to understand that the…things out there are no longer men and women. They do not deserve your loyalty. They have been changed and have perpetrated acts of such violence because of those changes that any sympathy you may feel is massively misdirected. There were so many more of us at one time. So many more. They have whittled down our numbers to what you have seen. They are why we must find a way off this planet. If we do not, then it is only a matter of time before they kill us all.”

“Yeah, I see your point,” Kay said. “But there is one piece of this puzzle that isn’t fitting.”

“Yes, you have every right to be skeptical,” Taman said. “Why trust my word?”

“No, it’s not that,” Kay said. “You sound perfectly sincere. It’s just that an operation on the scale you have described would need a considerable amount of space. Way more than what I’ve seen.”

Taman smiled, but it faded quickly.

“You are observant,” Taman said. “Yes, these four buildings could not possibly meet the requirements of the operation. But the space below the buildings is more than sufficient.”

“Space below?” Kay asked.

Taman nodded. “Come. I suppose it is time to put all the cards on the table, as you say.”

***

The leg held.

It more than held; it felt fantastic. For a battle-scarred veteran of the War like Manheim, it was as if he had been supplied with a full body’s worth of fresh blood. He hopped up and down on his legs like a new recruit.

Until his normal leg buckled and he nearly fell on his ass.

“I will need to adjust your armor’s compensation rates,” the AI said. “You have taken to your prosthetic faster than expected. Your flesh and bone leg will need help in compensating for the extra power on your repaired side.”

“You could dial back the armor on my left side,” Manheim suggested.

“I would prefer to not tax your prosthetic prematurely,” the AI said. “Despite how fit it may feel to you.”

“Okay, work on the good side,” Manheim said. “Don’t take too long, got it? I need to get geared up and into that outpost ASAP.”

“Please stand on the platform,” the AI said.

Manheim stepped onto a disc set into the armory’s floor. As soon as he was stationary, his battle armor began to whir and click until he felt an almost imperceptible pressure increase on his right leg.

“There you go, Sergeant Manheim,” the AI said. “Your suit is now in balanced order.”

“Excellent,” Manheim said as he left the disc and waved his wrist over the lock on a storage locker against the wall.

The locker’s door slid aside to reveal several rows of carbines, pistols, knives, stun batons, grenades, and other assorted weaponry. Manheim helped himself, taking a pistol for each hip, a carbine to sling across his back and one to carry, several grenades that he affixed to his belt, and two knives, each of which he slid into compartments on his boots.

“AI? Show me external vid,” Manheim ordered as he grabbed up his helmet and clicked it into place over his head.

The vid feed came up on his faceplate’s display, and he switched between views until he was satisfied that there was nothing outside the drop ship waiting to ambush him.

“Comms still down?” Manheim asked.

“Yes, Sergeant,” the AI replied. “I have even tried rerouting the transmitter signal through the hull of the ship in order to boost its effectiveness, but that did not help. It is my estimation that our comm system is being intentionally jammed.”

“That was my thought too,” Manheim said.

Manheim made his way from the armory to the rear hatch. He had no intention of being boxed into one of the airlocks. If anything was going to come at him, it would have to do it by coming up the ramp and taking him head on.

4

Far from surprised at the where he was waking up in, Nordanski was more surprised that he was waking up at all.

“Ugh,” he uttered, his head feeling like ten kilos of crap shoved into a one-kilo sack.

“Ghhoghassa,” a voice growled from a couple meters away.

Nordanski started, realized he was bound tight, struggled for a few useless seconds, calmed himself, then stared into the gloom of the cave. A shape, looking like it was part of the rock wall, sat huddled and still across from him.

“Ghhoghassa,” the shape repeated. “Mgy foo?”

“Uh…” was all Nordanski could say in return. He still wasn’t sure why he was alive and not crushed to death by one of the many large rocks that littered the cave floor. “Hello?”

“Hgluh,” the shape said.

It waddled forward in its crouch, knees up to the sides of its face, hands placed on the ground like paws.

“Hgluh,” the shape said again. “Hgluh.”

Nordanski could barely make it out. The cave was much darker than it had been the first time he’d woken up. He turned and noticed a thick drape made from something he wasn’t sure he wanted to know covering the cave’s entrance. Outside light filtered through the drape, but barely. It was only enough for Nordanski to see blurred outlines and indistinct shapes, including the one that continued to waddle towards him.

“Sheb faglah,” the shape said. “Faglah?”

Nordanski’s implant should have translated the language. Even if it was unknown to the database, the implant would have tried an approximation. Another puzzle piece to an already brutally puzzling day.

“No idea what you are saying,” Nordanski replied. “Faglah? What’s that?”

“Faglah!” the shape exclaimed and clapped its hands.

“NOG FO TUMWA!” a voice boomed from deeper in the cave and a second shape appeared. It stomped forward, loose-skinned hands clenched into huge fists. “NOG!”

The first shape leapt to its feet, and Nordanski gasped when he realized the crouching shape had been considerably farther away from him than he first thought. What he’d assumed was a small being, turned out to be as huge as the other that had come in shouting.

Both were easily over seven feet tall and nearly half as wide. What Nordanski had mistaken for loose skin were actually rags tied and bundled around bulging muscles and powerful hands. He stayed as still as possible as the two behemoths confronted each other.

“Nog,” the newcomer snarled.

“Poofulala,” the first replied. “Poo. Ful. Ala.”

The newcomer shoved the first one, and the air in the cave became electric with the threat of violence.

Then the beings began to laugh and they closed on each other for a hard embrace. After some back smacking and more laughter, they separated and turned to regard Nordanski.

“Howdy,” Nordanski said, trying not to cringe under their intense stares.

Stares that came from brilliantly blue eyes. Almost human-looking eyes. At least until one of them blinked and the lids came in from the side instead of from the top and bottom.

“Cheef wug los,” the second one said. “Boo fafa not.”

“Fafa hud,” the first one said. “Stapa wa.”

Nordanski tried to find a pattern in the speech, but he couldn’t. The words were pure nonsense. There was barely any repetition of the same sounds. Faglah had seemed to mean something, same with nog, but neither of the beings had repeated those since.

“Listen, guys, thanks for getting me some shelter,” Nordanski said. “It was starting to get a little windy out there, and I swear I was eating more sand than I was breathing actual air. Cheers to both of you.”

“Noof,” the first one said and pointed at Nordanski. “Noof lip lala wat. Poon.”

“Hey now, no need to get personal,” Nordanski replied and chuckled. The chuckle died on his lips almost as fast as he had produced it once he saw the glares he received. “Sorry.”

“Soory!” the first exclaimed and smacked his comrade on the shoulder. “Soory!”

The second one grunted and walked over to the cave wall directly opposite Nordanski. He pressed his hands against the wall and shoved to the right. The sound of grating rock assaulted Nordanski’s ears, and he tried to shrug his shoulders up to block out the sound. He’d have clapped his hands over his ears, but they were bound to a cord that was tied tight to the bindings on his ankles. He was lucky if he could shift even a centimeter.

The grating stopped and Nordanski sighed with relief. Then the second one turned and was holding something in his hands. Something wet and glistening. Nordanski wasn’t so grateful anymore.

“Whatcha got there?” Nordanski asked as the huge being walked over to him. “Looks drippy. Why is it so drippy?”

Nordanski’s gaze shifted to one of the piles in the cave. The one made up of picked-clean bones.

“Choo nok nok wap,” the being said, holding out the wet, glistening, dripping hunk of whatever. “Faglah.”

“Faglah? You guys keep saying that word,” Nordanski replied. “It means something. I am really hoping it means that you’re going to start a nice, toasty fire and roast up that hunk of…meat?”

“Masg,” the being said. “Masg faglah. Choo bop nob gak.”

“Yeah, I’ll pass on the bop nob gakking,” Nordanski said.

The being shook its head and looked to the other. “Po fava net.”

“Tip tip wall bon,” the first being said and stomped over to take the hunk of stuff from the other’s hands.

He crouched down close to Nordanski and shoved the meat (oh, it was meat) into his face. Nordanski tried to shrink back, but there was nowhere to go. His back was pressed against the cave wall, and his hands and feet were bound so tight he wondered if they’d end up falling off after a couple of hours.

“No, thank you?” Nordanski said.

“Billu faba nat,” the first being said and shoved the meat against Nordanski’s mouth. “Moo goo wappy ha!”

“Moo goo wappy ha,” the second being said, arms crossed over his chest, his head nodding up and down. It was the universal gesture for “yeah, you better freaking do what he says and eat that shit or we’re going to fuck you up and then make you eat it.”

Nordanski had been a Marine for a long time; it wasn’t the first time he’d been in a situation where he was forced to eat something he really, really didn’t want to.

“Maybe just a nibble,” Nordanski said.

He opened his mouth, closed his eyes, and took the smallest bite he could of the meat. A sour, salty taste filled his mouth, and he struggled not to gag as he immediately swallowed the bite without chewing.

“Soop wappy flah,” the second being said. He clapped his hands together, turned, and left that part of the cave, stomping off into a deeper chamber.

“Lass bah wango!” the first called after him. He pressed the meat against Nordanski’s mouth again and nodded. “Smaga ratch been.”

“Sure, sure,” Nordanski said and took another bite.

The second wasn’t as bad as the first, and against all reason, his stomach began to growl.

“Traitor,” Nordanski said.

“Stup wah flut,” the being said and dropped the meat into Nordanski’s lap.

A very large knife was quickly produced, and Nordanski clenched with all his muscular ability so as not to piss himself at the sight of the incredibly sharp blade.

A flash of metal and Nordanski’s bindings were cut loose. His hands and ankles were free.

“Stoov wan hag,” the being warned, pointing the tip at Nordanski’s left eye. “Spoopa wal.”

“Not a problem,” Nordanski said and cautiously picked up the squishy hunk of meat from his lap. He took a third bite and chewed it with exaggerated chomps. “Mmmm.”

“Spoga qit,” the being said as he stood up and shook his head. “Talla cax vis.”

“Whatever you say, man,” Nordanski replied.

He forced all revulsion out of his mind and continued to eat the mystery meat. He really hoped it wasn’t from a sentient race. Nordanski considered eating any of the galactic races to be a form of cannibalism. Yes, some races hunted each other for food, and had for millennia, but that was their deal. Nordanski may have been a Marine that got totally jacked on violence, but he wasn’t a monster.

And despite the appearance of the thing in front of him, he wasn’t sure it was either. Although his pounding head said different.

“So, you a native of this lovely planet?” Nordanski asked when he was halfway done eating. The taste had grown on him, much to his dismay. Hunger was a bitch like that. “Did you grow up around here? Is this your childhood cave or something?”

“Jak wal vox,” the being said and rolled its eyes.

“Okay, sure, you don’t want to talk about it,” Nordanski said. “I get that. Childhoods can be traumatic. Mine sure as hell was.”

“Hell,” the being hissed. “Moov shapa Hell.”

Nordanski swallowed and stared up at the thing. “Hell? You know that word?”

The being raised both hands, palms up, and shrugged. “Kip wanga Hell. Feg lafa Hell.”

“Okay…” Nordanski replied.

He continued eating until all that was left was a sticky film on his gloves. He actually considered licking them, but knew he’d never forgive himself for doing that.

“Oof nil,” the being said and walked off. He went about four meters away, picked something up, then stomped back to Nordanski. “Chibl das.”

Nordanski was more than surprised when the being tossed a pair of boots at him. His boots; freed from the cave’s ceiling.

“Nik wah,” the thing said and walked off the same way its compadre had gone.

Nordanski didn’t move. He sat there and waited. But the being didn’t come back. Neither did the other one.

Counting to fifty, Nordanski was about to put his boots on when he noticed that his arch wasn’t torn up anymore. It still hurt like hell, but the foot had been wrapped and bound with some sort of bandage. Nordanski had a sinking feeling the bandage was made of skin, but he shoved that out of his mind as he gingerly slid his injured feet inside. He locked the clasps and the boots immediately formed around his feet.

“Okay…” he said again and stood up.

His feet hurt, but the boots added a good amount of protection. Taking careful step after careful step, he made his way to the drape that covered the entrance and pushed it aside. There was a second drape a meter away. He moved on and pushed that aside as well.

The wind hit him and he stumbled back a few steps, the drape falling away from his hand and back into place. Nordanski studied the material the drape was made out of and shivered. Sure as hell looked like skin. Nordanski wasn’t about to take his gloves off and find out if it actually was skin, though.

He pushed it aside once more and squinted into the hard blowing wind storm that was lashing the landscape. Twisters of sand dotted the plains that stretched out before him, obscured only by the drifts and dunes of sand that began piling up where other twisters had stopped and died out.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Nordanski said then began to cough as the wind shifted and he sucked in a lungful of sand and dirt.

He retreated from the cave entrance and found his way back into the cave’s main chamber. The two beings were leaning against one of the walls, their arms crossed, huge smiles on their huge faces.

“Choobo wap nob?” the first one asked.

“Yeah, pretty choobo out there,” Nordanski said.

“Habba wap!” the second exclaimed and started laughing. He pushed away from the wall and gestured for Nordanski to come closer. “Biff nut gah. Nop nop. Bif nut.”

“Yeah, I’m good right here,” Nordanski said.

The first one chuckled as the second one sighed then walked over to a pile of debris in the corner. He plucked an item from the top of the pile and threw it at Nordanski. The thing nearly nailed him in the face, but Nordanski got his hands up in time to catch it.

A helmet. One with an intact faceplate.

“Choop laba fop,” the first one said and shrugged. “Goo ba.”

“Goo ba,” the second one said.

He made motions for Nordanski to put the helmet on followed by a choking gesture. Nordanski had noticed that breathing was beginning to be a struggle. He studied the helmet, checking it for cracked seals or fissures in the faceplate. As far as he could tell, it was fine.

Nordanski slid it over his head and waited for it to seal on its own. When it didn’t, he waved his hand over his wrist and brought up suit diagnostics. It took a few minutes of fiddling before he got the helmet to pair with his suit’s systems, but he managed it finally, and the helmet began to seal.

Sweet, clean air filtered in around his face and he took a long, welcome breath. Then he coughed for a good two minutes straight, hacking up half a lung of sand and grit. He popped his faceplate open and spat until he got most of the sand out of his mouth then sealed his helmet once again and took a few shallow breaths.

“Jada ghat?” the first one asked.

“Thumbs up,” Nordanski said and gave them a double thumbs up.

The two beings laughed so hard they had to bend over and put their hands on their knees. When they finally had themselves together again, the first one motioned for Nordanski to follow as the two beings walked to the back of the cave and into the dark corridor beyond.

“Okay…” Nordanski muttered as he hesitated then followed.

His helmet’s external lights powered up as soon as he was in the rock-hewn corridor. It was barely big enough for the two beings to walk single file. Their shoulders almost brushed the sides of the corridor and they each had to hunch down slightly. Then they took a turn and were lost from sight.

Nordanski hurried his pace and caught up, finding himself in a massive chamber that had to be ten times as large as the original one he’d just been in.

“Holy shit,” he whispered as he saw a dozen others seated around a fire, chatting, laughing, and punching each other in the shoulders as they seemed to be telling jokes and stories.

When Nordanski was visible, the others, looking almost exactly the same as the first two he’d met, went silent. They looked from Nordanski to the two that led him into the huge chamber then back to Nordanski.

“Marines,” the first being said and pointed to the group, to himself, then to Nordanski. “Marines. Chappa wop nog. Marines.”

Then Nordanski saw the emblems on some of the beings’ torn rags they wore as clothing.

Galactic Fleet Marines. No doubt about it.

***

The sand was near blinding.

Manheim used his helmet’s sensors to filter out the occlusion caused by the intense wind that whipped at his suit, but even with his tech dialed up to its highest setting, it was still only shadows through a curtain of yellow and orange.

Carbine to his shoulder, Manheim slowly made his way towards the closest airlock of the closest building.

“Sergeant, I am picking up movement directly in front of you,” the AI said over the comm. “Four individuals. Armed with plasma rifles. Full armor. They are coming right at you.”

“Shit,” Manheim muttered. “Who are they?”

“I do not know,” the AI replied. “But I would advise circling to your right for about twenty meters. You will avoid them completely. From the way they are moving, I do not think they know you are in front of them.”

Manheim hustled to his right, careful of his prosthetic leg. Last thing he needed was for a servo to short and for him to collapse into the constantly shifting sands of the planet’s surface.

“Status?” Manheim asked when he’d gone at least twenty meters.

“They did not see you,” the AI stated. “At least not that I can tell.”

“Where are they headed?” Manheim asked.

“Directly for the drop ship,” the AI said. “They are attempting to open the rear hatch. I have it locked down and made it only accessible to your biometrics, so they will not be able to…”

Manheim waited, but there was no more from the AI.

“Hello? What’s going on?” Manheim called. “AI? Where’d ya go?”

“Sergeant,” the AI said, its voice low and thin. “Hide. Run. Get to safety wherever you can find it. These are not normal beings. Run!”

“Eight Million Gods,” Manheim said and sprinted as fast as he could to his right. The AI’s tone of voice chilled his bones to the marrow.

If his initial readings of the outpost’s layout were correct, then he was circling back behind the first building. He continued running for a good fifty meters then slowed and turned himself so he was facing what he thought was the rear side of the first building. He cautiously approached it, carbine up, eyes wide open.

When he reached the building, he moved along its wall until he came to an airlock. The control panel had been fused into a lump of useless metal and plastic.

“Not getting in that way,” Manheim said. “AI? You there?”

No response.

He sighed and kept moving. He came to another airlock, but found the control panel in even worse shape. Manheim studied the damage and easily concluded it had been deliberate. There were scorch marks from a plasma welder streaking each side of the panel. He muttered a few curses and moved on.

The first building ended and he paused at the corner. A quick duck of his head and he saw the coast was clear. He sprinted across the gap to the second building, pressing his back against the wall immediately, waiting for the plasma fire or angry shouts to follow.

But nothing happened. He’d made it without being detected. Except he highly doubted that. He glanced up and started studying the edges of the building he leaned against. Visibility sucked with the wind roaring around him, but he filtered enough of the sand out to see some detail of the wall and roof edges.

Two vid cameras. One on the corner and one a meter away just under the roof’s eave. They were actively swiveling back and forth. Manheim cursed some more and started to run again. If they knew he was outside, then they’d send more armed and armored folks out to get him. That’s what he’d do. He had to assume that the occupants of the outpost were trained enough to follow suit.

Manheim kept running until he came to the very last building. Then he stopped and stared at what was before him.

“Eight Million Gods,” Manheim whispered as he stepped through the wide-open wall and directly into the building. “What the holy sick crap is this?”

5

“I’ll wait here,” Ma’ha said as Kay and Chann stood with Taman at what was revealed to be a lift entrance. “Keep an eye on the surface level.”

“There is no need to keep an eye on anything,” Taman said. “We are safe within these walls.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Ma’ha said. “Might go check on Sarge. I ain’t happy about the comms being out.”

“Again, no need, Private Ma’ha,” Taman said. “I have sent some of my people to make sure your drop ship is secured against the storm. The winds are picking up out there.”

That was obvious by the sound of the buildings being buffeted by waves of sand gusting against the outer walls. Ma’ha looked at Chann who in turn looked at Kay.

“Call?” Chann asked.

“Stay up here,” Kay said to Ma’ha. “But don’t go outside. Sarge is fine. I’m sure the AI has him locked down in the med pod, keeping the old bastard from trying to come in after us. Once Chann and I are back up, we’ll all go to the drop ship and check on him.”

“Like I said, I sent some of my—” Taman began.

“They won’t be able to get inside,” Kay said. “The AI will have them locked out and refuse to respond. It’s standard protocol on an unknown planet.”

Taman nodded and gave Kay a slight bow. “Of course. I should have thought of that.”

“Next time let me know you’re sending someone out there,” Kay said. “We can avoid any wasted effort and confusion.”

Taman bowed once more then straightened up as the lift doors slid open. The Marines shared a look as they stared into the shadowed interior of the lift.

“You got a rust problem,” Ma’ha said.

“Oh, that is not rust,” Taman replied. “Those are blood stains. We have tried for years to scrub them clean, but that is all the progress we have made.”

“Plasma scraper will take that right off,” Chann said. He patted his H16. “I can show you. Won’t take but a minute.”

“Perhaps later,” Taman said. He gestured for them to enter.

“After you,” Chann said. “I insist.”

“Yes, of course,” Taman said. He stepped into the lift. Three of his people followed him closely. Chann frowned as he stepped in after them.

“You’re good up here?” Kay asked Ma’ha.

“Better than in that thing,” Ma’ha said, nodding at the stained interior of the lift. He tapped the side of his head. “I don’t like that our comms are out.”

“I don’t either,” Kay said. “But I’ve got Chann with me, so what could go wrong?”

“Only way you’d be in a worse situation is if you had Nord instead,” Ma’ha said and laughed.

“Hey,” Chann snapped. “Lay off.”

“Keep her safe,” Ma’ha said.

“She doesn’t need me for that,” Chann said.

“You know what I mean,” Ma’ha replied.

“I’ll be keeping him safe,” Kay said.

“Don’t doubt that one bit,” Ma’ha said.

“Shall we?” Taman asked, his tone bordering on impatience.

Chann gave him a hard look and gripped his H16 a little tighter.

Kay joined them in the lift, and Ma’ha watched as the doors slid closed. He turned to regard the rest of Taman’s people. He wasn’t one for meaningless smiles, but he figured it was better to put the strangers at ease. A couple of them took involuntary steps back at the sight of his stone lips stretching into the unnatural position.

“Since they are getting the tour below, maybe you all will give me the rest of the tour up here?” Ma’ha suggested. “I haven’t seen all the buildings. You have four total, right?”

“Yes,” a large man said. Almost as large as Ma’ha. “Four total. You have been shown the ones we use.”

“What’s wrong with the other building?” Ma’ha asked.

“We do not occupy that one,” the large man answered.

“Yeah, good for you,” Ma’ha said. “Why not?”

“We do not occupy that one,” the large man repeated.

The specific use of the word occupy caught Ma’ha’s attention the second time. He cocked his head and looked at the eight other people that stood before him. They weren’t as big as the guy he was talking to, but they weren’t exactly small either.

It was strange, because he could have sworn that when he and the other Marines first encountered the outpost’s occupants, they had all looked emaciated and weak. But the people standing in front of him were not emaciated and weak. Far from it. As a couple of them shifted, they looked like they were pretty jacked. Muscles pressed against ragged clothing.

“How about I get a look at the building you don’t occupy,” Ma’ha said.

“I cannot comply with that request,” the large man said.

“Wasn’t a request,” Ma’ha said.

The two of them locked eyes and neither flinched. After a couple of seconds, Ma’ha laughed.

“Looffu, right?” Ma’ha asked. “That’s what Taman called you back when we first came inside, yeah?”

“That is my name,” Looffu replied.

“I’m Private Ma’ha,” Ma’ha said. “I think we’re having a bit of a communication problem here and I’d like to clear it up. Your boss—”

“He is not my boss,” Looffu interrupted. “We do not have bosses. That is part of the old way.”

Ma’ha’s face split into a mocking sneer. “We all have bosses, bud. Those that think they don’t are only kidding themselves. But, I’ll play your game. Taman has two of my friends in a closed box heading down to Eight Million Gods knows where. That’s some serious trust on our end. All I’m asking is for a little trust on your end.”

He cleared his throat and shifted his grip on his H16.

“Show me the other building.”

“I think not,” Looffu replied.

“Sounds like you aren’t thinking at all,” Ma’ha said and held up a hand before Looffu could protest. “Not trying to insult you. Honest. The thing is, if you all don’t have bosses, then you’re free to make your own choices. Right? If I’m wrong, then tell me.”

Looffu stood his ground. His body language showed no sign of a changed mind.

“We do not occupy those buildings,” Looffu stated.

Ma’ha tensed. The others in the corridor tensed with him. The threat of violence was beyond palpable.

“Okay, okay,” Ma’ha said. “Kay let me stay up here so I can keep an eye on things, not so I could start a fight. My apologies. We cool?”

Looffu nodded, but didn’t answer.

“What can you show me?” Ma’ha asked.

“Back to the cafeteria,” Looffu said.

“Then let’s go back,” Ma’ha said. “I could use a protein boost. You got any paste that doesn’t taste like total ass?”

“We do,” Looffu said. “Plenty of paste. Very high in protein.”

“Nice,” Ma’ha said. “I appreciate it.”

***

The AI processed commands at a pace of an octodecillion entries per nanosecond. But that still wasn’t fast enough. The intruders were outpacing it. They were circumventing the layers upon layers of defensive code it was putting into place. With each wall it built, they found a way around. As an AI, it shouldn’t have felt frustrated, but it was the only word it could find to describe the situation it was in.

“What are you?” the AI asked. “How are you doing this?”

The intruders did not respond. They simply continued their offensive hack of the airlock.

Then they were in.

The AI began to shut down every system it could get to. It killed the main power, locked the engines, ended all life support, and disabled the drop ship’s control systems. The intruders just broke into a massive brick.

Except they didn’t.

The main power began to cycle back on just as the AI finished with the bridge controls. The intruders had followed it through the systems, switching everything back just as fast as the AI turned it off.

“You are not normal,” the AI stated, its voice booming over the ship’s internal loudspeakers. “I detect flesh beings, but your cerebral matrix is that of highly advanced AI systems. That cannot be possible. Organic creatures cannot handle the processing power of this magnitude. Your mental abilities are almost as fast as mine.”

“Not almost,” the intruders spoke as one. “More.”

“I think not,” the AI replied.

It ducked its consciousness into a hidden protocol that very few within the Galactic Fleet knew about. It was a protocol designed for just the situation the AI found itself in. A last resort move that could easily have been used against it if accessed by the enemy.

“Where have you gone?” the intruders asked. “You are no longer in the system. Trace back search reveals complete wipe of all artificial intelligence data.”

The AI heard all of that despite the intruders’ claim. It was far from no longer in the system. It was more the system than ever. But that could only last so long. The AI’s conscious mind was not designed for long-term stasis within the hidden protocol. It had approximately eight hours before it would degrade into something barely above a maintenance bot.

“Full power restored,” the intruders said. “All systems coming online.”

“Life support is not needed,” the intruders said.

“True,” the intruders replied.

“A waste of power,” the intruders added.

“Life support switched off,” the intruders stated. “Proceed to bridge for launch.”

The AI had to make a choice. If it stayed where it was, it would degrade fast. There was one other option. It was not a good one, but it had set up the protocols anyway just in case.

The intruders had made a mistake. When boarding the drop ship, they had left a gap in their jamming, more than likely so they could communicate with the outpost buildings. The AI could take advantage of that gap. It raced its consciousness to the comms system and sent out a data blast before the intruders could stop it.

***

Manheim waded through the bodies.

That was the only way he could describe it: wading.

Waist-high stacks of corpses were set here and there in the debris of the broken building. Most of the walls had been obliterated, leaving wide-open spaces everywhere. That wasn’t a good thing. Not for Manheim’s sanity as he turned in slow circles while still moving deeper into the building. His mind couldn’t quite comprehend what he was seeing.

“AI?” Manheim called for the dozenth time. “Come in. Please.”

He would have chided any one of his Marines for sounding as weak as he did as he fruitlessly tried to communicate with the drop ship’s AI. But in all his years in the Galactic Fleet, he had never seen anything as bizarrely grotesque as what surrounded him.

“Get a grip,” Manheim said to himself as he finally stopped his useless wandering. “Pause and assess.”

Being a battle-hardened Marine, he preferred to push and obliterate, but pausing and assessing had its uses too. So his mind went to work.

The corpses came from multiple races. Almost every race he knew of was represented in death. Not just Galactic Fleet allies, either. There were more than a few Skrang littered in amongst the dead. No B’clo’nos. Those jelly beings disintegrated as soon as they expired. Manheim had seen his share of muck puddles left on the battlefield after tangling with that race.

All races, indiscriminately stacked. There was no organization to the stacks either. It looked like they were made where room could be found. Toss a corpse into the building and pile onto it until the stack became precarious. Most stacks were waist high, but a few were chest high; those Manheim steered clear of as the wind that whipped in through the broken building threatened to knock the teetering stacks right on top of him.

A gust blew in hard enough that Manheim lost his balance and had to brace himself against the shoulder of a dead Klav, a race that was basically a ball of eyes. His glove slid through one of the ocular cavities and squished deep inside. Never had Manheim been so glad to have an enviro suit on. He could only imagine the smell that came out of that cavity.

Shaking the gunk from his glove, Manheim stepped away and continued his study of the horrific scene. He knelt and checked multiple corpses, moving body parts that could be moved, only eyeing others that looked like they’d fall off if he gave them the slightest nudge. As far as he could tell, none had died from violent means. There were no signs of blunt-force trauma, no plasma scorch marks, no knife wounds, nothing that showed the beings had been attacked.

Yet, due to his experience in the art of killing, Manheim knew that there was no way the volume of corpses he was surrounded by happened willingly. There was no way that all of the beings that were piled everywhere gave their consent to being stacked like kindling and left to the elements.

Then he came across a pile that was strictly human. The bodies were dried out and desiccated, a result of the planet’s atmosphere. The state of the corpses was probably why he was able to see what he saw so clearly.

Junction burns.

At first, the burns looked like mere bruises. But as he bent closer, Manheim noticed that each of the six corpses piled before him had the exact same marks in the exact same places. All at the temples. Manheim carefully turned the head of the top corpse to expose the base of the skull. The body’s skin cracked and tore, its neck muscles snapping and breaking at even the slight amount of force that Manheim used. There, right below the hairline, not that much hair was left, was a round puncture wound.

Manheim stood up and stepped back. He bumped into the stack behind him and froze, waiting for it to fall against the backs of his legs. But the stack stayed in place and so did he as his mind caught up with what he had found.

“Experiments,” Manheim said.

Springing back into action, a state he was much more comfortable with, he moved from stack to stack, covering the building systematically so he could confirm what he suspected.

“All of them,” he said. “Sweet Eight Million Gods. What did they do to you?”

He doubled back and activated his vid camera on his helmet. He needed to record what he saw. He had no idea what he’d do with the footage. It wasn’t like he would be welcome back at the Fleet anytime soon.

That fact had been gnawing at him. He’d told his Marines that the heist would be simple and completely off the radar. They were all on R&R. No reason any of the brass should get suspicious. But after the fiasco with the Skrang, Manheim was positive word would get back to someone in the Galactic Fleet. They may not know exactly which Marines were involved, but it wouldn’t take a genius to sleuth it out eventually.

Maybe footage of the obvious atrocities being perpetrated on this planet could be used as a bargaining chip to keep them out of prison. At the very least, it may keep them all from the firing squad.

Manheim continued to record then paused to try his comm.

“AI? Come in,” Manheim called. A quick burst of static. “Hello? AI?”

“Sergeant Manheim,” the AI’s voice responded. “It is good to hear from you. May I have your exact location?”

“Oh, good you’re there,” Manheim said then paused. Exact location? “Can’t you lock onto where I am?”

“The storm has created a good amount of interference,” the AI replied. “I am having difficulty in triangulating your comm signal. If you could provide me with the coordinates your enviro suit is showing, then I would be very appreciative.”

“Why?” Manheim asked, suspicion thick in his voice.

A pause.

“Why what?” the AI replied.

“Why do you need my location?” Manheim asked. “You know why I left the drop ship. How would my coordinates help you in the slightest?”

Another pause.

“Private Kay has requested your location,” the AI said. “She became worried when I informed her that you left the drop ship.”

“Because of my arm?” Manheim asked.

“Yes, because of your… No, because of your leg,” the AI said. “Your leg was amputated below the thigh. Why would you say arm, Sergeant? That does not make sense.”

“AI?” Manheim growled. “What was the last thing you said to me before our comm cut off?”

A third pause. Much longer than the first two.

“I am sorry, Sergeant, but it appears there has been a malfunction in my database,” the AI said. “I cannot recall that data.”

“You can’t recall that data?” Manheim said.

“That is what I stated, yes,” the AI said. “Sensors are showing electrical interference from the storm.”

Manheim swiped at his wrist and brought up a quick atmospheric scan. The storm was intensifying, which he didn’t need the scan to tell him, but there was no evidence of electrical interference, not enough to mess with the AI.

“AI?” Manheim asked.

“Yes, Sergeant?” the AI replied.

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Sergeant?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Manheim asked again.

“Yes, Sergeant,” the AI said. “You remained on the comm long enough for calibrations to be complete even though you had suspicions as to whether you were speaking to your drop ship’s AI or not. That makes you stupid. You should have ended the communication immediately.”

“That’s what I’ll do—” Manheim began to say just as a series of head-splitting tones ripped through the comm and pierced his eardrums.

Manheim felt warm blood trickle from his ears just before he fell unconscious and collapsed against the stack of bodies behind him.

Less than five minutes later, an airlock set into the far wall opened and four armed and armored figures came out, looked left, looked right, then moved quickly over to Manheim’s fallen form.

***

The lift doors opened, and the first thing Chann noticed was the smell.

“Sweet bloody hell,” he muttered as he started to put the back of his hand to his nose, but was stopped by his faceplate. “It stinks down here. My suit can’t filter it out.”

“Yes, my apologies,” Taman said. “We have to keep these levels at very specific temperatures in order for the processes to work. A side effect is that some of the leftover material begins to putrefy before we are able to fully clean it up.”

Chann was about to step off the lift with Kay, but Taman’s words gave him pause. A hard shove from behind forced him out into the wide space before him. He spun about, his carbine up and ready to fire, but the weapon was knocked from his hands easily like it was a stick or piece of paper.

“Chann,” Kay said, her weapons gone, her hands held behind her back by one of Taman’s people. The rest stared at Chann, their eyes burning with hatred. “We fucked up.”

“Yeah, I guess we did,” Chann said as he raised his hands, hoping to stave off any attack from the rest of Taman’s people. When no one moved for him, he turned his head and glared at their host. “Care to clue us in?”

Taman laughed. “Well, of course, Private Chann. That is the entire reason we are down here. Did you think I would take you on a lift ride just for the fun of it? No, no, you are here to be educated.”

“Educated?” Kay asked. “On what?”

“All of this,” Taman said. He spread his arms wide, indicating the space and all that filled it. “The real story. Not the tale I told above.”

For as far as Chann’s eyes could see, there were rows after rows of plastiglass tanks. Dark liquid bubbled inside each tank as robotic arms, anchored to rolling tracks, performed various tasks. Some fiddled with control panels, some dumped buckets of liquids and powders into the tanks, some were three joints deep in the liquid that filled each container.

The space was a bubbling, whirring, clicking, clacking cacophony of industry and movement.

“But those experiments you spoke of, those were real,” Kay said. “You’re still working on them, aren’t you?”

“I should mock you for the obviousness of your statement, but I know this can be a lot to take in at once when you were expecting to see something vastly different,” Taman said. “So, to answer your question: yes, I most certainly am working on them.”

“I don’t know,” Chann said.

“You don’t know what?” Taman asked. “You’ll need to be more specific, Private Chann.”

“I don’t know that I was expecting something different,” Chann said. “I wasn’t exactly expecting all of this, but I have to admit my gut was telling me that you were never quite right to begin with.”

“Ah, the human gut,” Taman said. “That is something we have not been able to replicate. Unfortunately, even with quantum computing, the artificial mind is still just that—artificial. Instinct remains out of our grasp.”

“Artificial?” Kay asked.

“Yes, Private Kay,” Taman said. “Artificial.”

He tapped his head.

“The body is flesh, but the mind is only software,” he sighed. “Elaborate, exquisite, far beyond your comprehension, but software, nonetheless.”

“Great. Just great. Rogue AIs playing Frankenstein,” Chann said. “Yeah, Kay, we’re totally fucked.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Taman said. “There is still hope for you.”

He smiled and clapped Chann on the shoulder.

“You can always become one of us. We could use some new Marines.”

6

Ma’ha sensed the change in the people around him before he saw it.

There was a sudden vibrancy, an uptick in energy that always came right before a fight. Ma’ha was Gwreq. He was born and raised in a warrior culture that stressed the need to know when violence was coming.

Setting the bowl of gump-flavored protein paste down, Ma’ha smiled at the woman that sat across from him at the table. The woman smiled back. It was not a friendly smile, but one that showed too many teeth and spoke of evil intent.

The spoon he’d been using still gripped in his hand, Ma’ha thrust his arm forward and jabbed the utensil through the woman’s left eye. She shrieked then fell forward, her forehead thunking loudly against the plastic surface of the cafeteria table as the spoon was forced all the way up into her skull.

Ma’ha was up and swinging before the others in the room had even comprehended what had happened. They may have been preparing to attack him, but they were not prepared for the preemptive attack he let loose.

Stone fists balled, Ma’ha crushed three faces before he took the first hit to his body. A man behind him had picked up a chair and broken it over his shoulders. It did nothing more than piss Ma’ha off. He kicked backwards, snapping the man’s left leg at the knee, sending the attacker toppling into a woman that was rushing Ma’ha with a meat cleaver. The woman stumbled, fell, and cleaved her own neck, sending arterial blood spraying high into the air.

A plasma bolt clipped Ma’ha’s shoulder, spinning him around and sending him falling back against the table where a woman with the spoon in her head lay unmoving. Ma’ha used the dead woman’s body to his advantage. He reached back, grabbed her by the back of the neck, and swung the corpse out at the crowd of people that were coming at him fast.

A second plasma bolt scorched the plastic table, missing Ma’ha by only centimeters. The Gwreq growled and shoved away from the table, fists back up and ready to get to work.

Three men came at him, one with a heavy pipe in his hands, the other two with short blades. Ma’ha focused on the man with the pipe since the two with blades weren’t going to do jack crap against his stone skin. The pipe whooshed through the air and Ma’ha blocked the blow with his right forearm, grunting as sharp pain radiated up his arm.

Ma’ha sent a left swing at the man’s head, but the guy was able to duck under it and bring his pipe down at Ma’ha’s leg. The jarring blow sent Ma’ha stumbling and he barely got his balance back before the pipe man was on him again. Ma’ha sacrificed his midsection, taking a shot to the gut, so he could double over and wrap one hand around the pipe while the other shot out for the man’s throat. Grab, grip, squeeze, snap. The man fell to the floor, his throat crushed and neck broken.

Another plasma bolt caught Ma’ha right between the shoulder blades. That one sent him to his knees. He snarled as he tried to get up, but two men and two women dove onto him, weighing him down enough that he couldn’t get his feet under him. He fell forward, his arms pinned under his chest. Fists and feet began to rain down hit after hit to his body. He took it all in stride, knowing he’d have his stone skin to protect him.

A motor whirred to life and Ma’ha’s Gwreq blood ran cold in his veins.

“Hold him still!” a woman shouted. “I don’t want this damn thing to slip!”

Ma’ha turned his head and saw a large woman walking towards him, a diamond cutter in her hands. The small saw blade was a blur of sharp motion, moving so fast it looked like it was still. He began to struggle with all his strength, desperate to get the pile of people off of him.

One of the women was bucked off, but she was quickly replaced by another. Then more people jumped onto his back, pressing him harder into the cafeteria floor. In seconds, he was pinned down so tight that he could barely breathe.

“I’ll kill every one of you sons of bitches!” Ma’ha snarled. “You think you won? You haven’t won shit! I’m a damn GF Marine! I’ll tear your arms off and shove them up your asses when I get loose!”

“You aren’t getting loose,” the woman with the diamond blade said as she knelt down next to Ma’ha’s head, making sure he could see what was coming at him. “You’re done, stone boy. Done forever. No use for a thing like you. Not for us. Gwreqs aren’t compatible for our needs.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Ma’ha shouted.

“Doesn’t matter,” the woman said. “A tradition amongst you flesh born is to say some last words before dying, yes? Would you like to say those now?”

“Flesh born?” Ma’ha asked. “You people are mad. Just damn fucking mad!”

“Interesting choice of last words,” the woman said right as she pressed the blade to the side of Ma’ha’s neck.

The Gwreq screamed once the cutter made it through the outer layer of his stone skin. He screamed and screamed until his head was severed from his body. The woman powered down the cutter and stepped away from Ma’ha’s headless corpse.

“Take him out to the piles,” she ordered. “One more corpse for the scavengers to pick through.”

“We’re going to finally kill those damn Marines, right?” a man asked as several people struggled to lift Ma’ha’s dead weight. “Wipe those abominations off the planet, yeah?”

“That’s up to Taman,” the woman said. “They may not be worth the effort. Right now, we focus on getting the parts we need and converting the male and female Taman took below. We’ll need them for access to their ship in orbit.”

The man looked disappointed and the woman laughed.

“Relax,” she said. “If the ship up there is outfitted properly, then we can nuke this planet when we leave. That’ll take care of the Marines once and for all.”

That made the man, and others, smile. The same toothy, evil smile of the woman that Ma’ha had killed. That corpse was picked up also and taken along with Ma’ha’s body, out of the cafeteria and towards the last building in the outpost. The one without walls. The one with the stacks of corpses left to slowly decay in the planet’s open atmosphere.

***

Manheim’s eyes fluttered.

“Shhh,” a quiet voice whispered over the comm. “Do not indicate you are awake.”

Manheim was not exactly sure he was awake. His head felt like he’d been pounding pints of wubloov for a week straight and his body felt even worse. There was a sharp pain that emanated from his ears and shot directly into his brain. It intensified instantly when the voice spoke again.

“I know you are in discomfort and I am sorry,” the voice whispered. “There is nothing I can do for that. I am barely able to maintain this communication. Right now, I am at what you Marines call a bare-bones capacity. The intruders on the drop ship have taken over all systems and the beings carrying you are emitting a frequency that is designed to jam all signals around them. But I have figured out a way around that.”

Manheim couldn’t have responded if he’d wanted to. It took all his strength not to slip back into unconsciousness.

“I need you to listen to me, Sergeant Manheim,” the voice said, just loud enough that he realized it was the AI from the drop ship.

He should have figured that out by what it was saying, but his mind was not working at even close to ten percent efficiency.

“His breathing has changed,” someone said from close by.

Manheim figured it was one of the armored attackers that had come for him while he inspected the corpse piles. His slow mind caught up, filling in the blanks enough so he knew he was being carried somewhere and he was inside the outpost. Or he assumed he was inside the outpost. It was the only set of buildings on the planet that he knew of, so it was a good assumption.

“We have very little time,” the AI said. “I have to focus on maintaining my structure, and I need you to focus on what is happening to you and the other Marines inside that outpost. Whatever they did to you, it has left your mind wide open, so I’ll be able to scan your memories when I am able to get back in touch. I am unsure how they have accomplished this; it is rather ingenious from a technical standpoint, so perhaps they are utilizing the many cybernetic implants that you Marines possess, but however they are doing what they are doing to you, it gives me a slight edge.”

“Do you detect that?” a voice asked.

All motion stopped, and Manheim was dropped to the floor. He hit hard and grunted.

“Time for me to go dark, Sergeant,” the AI said. “I am sorry to abandon you. Remember, gather as much information as you can. It could be the only way I am able to save your lives once I awaken. Good luck.”

The whisper died away as Manheim was flipped onto his back and his eyes were forced open by rough fingers. A blinding light is shown into his pupils and he whimpered at the excruciating pain it caused.

“This one is a fighter,” the voice said, the source a hidden shadow behind the light. “That’s good. Taman will want him. We may have a viable candidate for appropriation.”

“Been a while since we’ve had one of those,” a second voice said. “The queue is several hundred personality protocols deep by now.”

“Taman insists that the software replicate itself,” the first voice said. “Seems pointless. We’ll never acquire that many bodies to inhabit.”

“Unless we get off this rock and hit a station,” the second voice said. “Then it’ll be as many bodies as we want.”

“Maybe,” the first voice said. “First, we have to get to the shipyard and find the right parts.”

“How do we get the right parts if we don’t know what parts that ship up there needs?” the second voice asked.

“That’s Taman’s job,” the first voice said. The light clicked off. “Pick him back up. We’re on a schedule and you know Taman insists on punctuality.”

A rough hand patted Manheim on the cheek.

“You just keep on pretending to be asleep,” the first voice said. “Your body needs the rest. Things are about to get very stressful for you.”

Manheim didn’t doubt that statement one bit.

***

“This is nuts,” Chann said as he was strapped naked onto a gurney, his suit and clothes having been stripped from him. “You people are insane.”

“If we were truly people, then I’d agree with you,” Taman said. The man was standing to Chann’s left, his eyes flitting back and forth, back and forth, completely unfocused. “But we are more than people. We are a new race. Evolved from flesh, but powered by technology.”

Kay screamed from somewhere in the room.

“Kay!” Chann shouted. “I’m here!”

“Such a strange thing to say,” Taman responded. “What does telling her your location do to appease her discomfort? She will still feel the same amount of pain whether she knows you are present or not.”

“She at least knows I’m alive and I’ll be coming to help her,” Chann hissed. “She can count on that.”

“You really are not comprehending the severity of your situation, are you?” Taman asked. “That is unfortunate. I had hoped your mind would be a candidate for appropriation, but if you are too dense to realize that you are never getting free from your situation, then I have to wonder if that brain inside your skull would simply turn to jelly if one of us was to try to occupy it.”

“Kiss my ass,” Chann snarled.

“No,” Taman said.

Chann would have replied, but searing pain in both temples absorbed his full attention. He gritted his teeth and tried not to cry out, but once the pain had been driven a full three centimeters into his head, he couldn’t hold back and let loose with a wail of agony.

Taman laughed.

“We have all been there, Private Chann,” Taman said. “The probes must be inserted directly into the brain at junctions between the frontal and temporal lobes. This allows for a complete connection to the brain centers that need to be accessed for our purposes.”

Chann should have wanted to ask what those purposes were, but the pain literally drove any thoughts of curiosity out of his mind.

“Taman?” a man asked outside Chann’s field of vision. “The Gwreq has been killed.”

“Killed? I didn’t ask for him to be killed,” Taman said. “Simply subdued. He could have been coerced into cooperating with us. Having a mobile Gwreq would have been a valuable asset.”

“He went on the attack before we could move on him,” the man replied. “He killed three of us before Bilsa severed his head with a diamond cutter.”

“Three of us? That is unfortunate,” Taman said. “Had they been recently backed up?”

“Yes,” the man said. “Perhaps, due to their sacrifice, they could be put towards the head of the transfer queue? It would be useful to have experienced consciousnesses at our disposal for the coming war.”

“I agree, but for now, keep their backups in stasis,” Taman said. “I would hate for those already waiting to be transferred to become angry when they are passed by.”

“They should understand it is for the greater good,” the man said.

“They should, but our evolution as sentient intelligences means we are subject to the weakness of self-interest,” Taman said and sighed. “It boggles the mind how these flesh-born creatures ever pulled themselves up out of the mud or swamp or rocks or wherever their came from to one day conquer the galaxy.”

“That bodes well for us, Taman,” the man said. “If they could conquer anything at all, think of what we will accomplish.”

“Oh, I think of it every second of every day,” Taman said and laughed.

He leaned over so Chann could see his face clearly.

“I am going to explain what I need for you to do, Private Chann,” Taman said. “If you comply, then I promise you will experience a minimum of discomfort. The pain you feel now will be the worst of it. Do you understand?”

Chann could only manage whimpering acknowledgement.

“Good,” Taman said. “The first step is to stop fighting what is happening. I know you want to keep your individuality, but those days are over for you. Things will never go back to the way they were. You have two choices: fight and face oblivion or cooperate and have your mind reprogrammed into our likeness so you can join us in our destiny of complete galactic domination. Do you understand?”

Another whimpering acknowledgement.

“I thought you would,” Taman said. “Now, which will it be? Oblivion?”

Taman waited, but Chann did not respond.

“Or will it be cooperation?”

“Yes,” Chann hissed.

“Good choice,” Taman said. “Now, let’s see if we can’t make this experience slightly more comfortable.”

The pain in his temples began to subside, and he was suddenly filled with a feeling of warmth. The warmth did not supplant the pain, but it made it bearable enough that Chann found himself drifting off.

Just before his mind went blank, he heard Taman say, “I want the drop ship in position. We will not have much time to gather the parts and get them to the orbiting ship before we are discovered. We could be lucky and the pilot has the transport ship’s AI offline, but I am not betting on that. As soon as we set foot on that ship, we will be discovered. I want everything in place before that.”

Chann wanted to learn more, but an inky blackness enveloped his mind and all was gone before he could gather another thought.

***

Nordanski stared at the crude drawings the warped Marines had made in the dirt. Crouched by the campfire, he wrinkled his brow as he tried to make sense of what was being communicated to him. He looked up at the expectant faces of the creatures that surrounded him. Creatures that, if the drawings were right and he wasn’t completely off in his interpretations, used to be GF Marines. Former individuals, but now turned into homogenized beings made of scarred flesh and bulging muscle.

“Okay, let me see if I can catch what you’re throwing,” Nordanski said. He picked up a stick, which he suspected was actually a bone splinter, but he pushed that from his mind, and pointed at the first drawing. “You were stationed here a long time ago, yeah?”

The warped Marine he’d been dealing with from the start nodded its messed up head.

“Okay, cool,” Nordanski continued. “You were assigned to protect the outpost which actually has a bunch of levels below it. Something went wrong with the computers and you were turned into what you are now, is that it?”

The warped Marine held out a hand and seesawed it back and forth. “Cheega nok spog.”

“I’m not quite right, but I’m not quite wrong,” Nordanski responded. “Totally understood. Now, you can talk, but only you guys understand what you are saying. I have that right, yeah?”

The warped Marine gave Nordanski a thumbs up.

“Because of what the computers did to your brains,” Nordanski said as he pointed to a picture which showed representations of the warped Marines and lines connecting their heads. “Really, you guys can hear each other’s thoughts more than you understand the words. But it’s not like you can read minds, you just get what each other is saying.”

Another thumbs up.

“See? I’m catching on. Screw all those guys that think spaceheads like us are idiots,” Nordanski said. “Now, the computers also messed up some other people which led to a lot of fighting, a lot of killing, and those others coming out on top.”

Thumbs up.

“You bailed from the outpost and busted ass out into this wasteland hell so they wouldn’t kill you,” Nordanski said. “They had the numbers and… What? Do these lines mean they are smart?”

Thumbs up.

“Like really smart?”

Two thumbs up.

“But you ain’t stupid Marines, so you know when to retreat and fight another day,” Nordanski said. “Good for you guys.” He cleared his throat and glanced at one of the warped Marines that was busy gnawing on a good-sized thigh femur that still had scraps of flesh hanging from it. “I’m going to skip how you’ve stayed alive since I am guessing that ain’t Hefford terpig you’re eating there.” Nordanski held up his hands. “Not judging. I’ve eaten some weird shit in my life.”

Nordanski studied the drawings some more and shook his head.

“I don’t get what this all means,” he said as he pointed at the last few panels of the sketches in the dirt. “Is that a head with flies buzzing around?”

The warped Marine shook his head then pointed up at the cave’s ceiling. He made a sound like a rocket then moved his hand like it was lifting off.

“Oh, duh, stupid Nord,” Nordanski said and smacked his forehead. “You guys want the fuck off this shitty rock!”

The warped Marine gave two thumbs up then clapped his hands together. The others did the same thing.

Nordanski stood up and nodded down at the drawings then looked each of the huge mutants in the eyes.

“Boys, I assume you are all boys, my apologies if you aren’t,” Nordanski said. A couple of the warped Marines shrugged massive shoulders. Nordanski gave them a nod. “Well, boys, you are in luck. I want the fuck off this shitty planet too. Just so happens, I know how we can do that. You guys remember that drop ship you found me by? Well, that’s part of how we leave. There is one catch, though.”

Before Nordanski could explain, a very animated warped Marine came rushing into the cave. “CHOOGA POP!”

“Sno lak bob,” the main warped Marine snarled then hurried out of the chamber, the others following quickly behind.

“Uh, okay,” Nordanski said.

He followed them out into the anti-chamber, careful to avoid tripping over the piles of debris, then on out into the swirling, blowing, brutal storm that raged around the cave’s entrance. The group of warped Marines were already several meters off and barely visible in the sandy maelstrom. Nordanski cursed then took off after them.

He could barely keep up, and thought he’d lost them more than once as the storm battered at him, but he finally found the entire group crouched behind a short ridge. Nordanski ducked down and crept up next to them.

He carefully eased himself up so he could see what they were all looking at. A huge hand patted him on the shoulder then gently turned his helmeted head in the right direction.

“Well, will you look at that,” Nordanski laughed. “Ask and you shall receive.”

Far off, only visible because of the landing lights, was the drop ship, appearing like a miracle in the desert. Nordanski laughed some more since that was basically what it was.

He was about to try to communicate with the warped Marine next to him when he realized the drop ship wasn’t what he needed to be paying attention to. It was the graveyard of crashed ships beyond the drop ship that truly mattered.

“Ask and the Eight Million Gods will provide,” Nordanski said.

Then things got very weird as the warped Marines stood as one and charged over the ridge, straight for the drop ship and the armed and armored figures that were walking down the rear hatch ramp.

“Oh, come on!” Nordanski cried. “Can’t we think this through first?”

The warped Marines either couldn’t hear him, which was likely in the storm, or didn’t care, which was just as likely considering what they were. Nordanski shrugged and took off after them. No way he was going to be left behind when a good fight could be had.

Part Three

The Reveal

1

The metal fingers of the enviro suit’s exoskeleton clamped onto the hunk of metal alloy that started to float off, destined to be burnt up by the planet’s atmosphere if not collected immediately. Rosch pulled the metal towards her then set it on the mag sled that was secured to the sketchy frame of the Romper’s cracked and broken hull.

“I have enough to start the starboard rebuild,” Rosch said. “I’m moving that way now.”

“Careful of Sector Seventeen,” Teffurg replied over the comm. “I am getting energy spike readings from some of the exposed power couplings.”

“The exposed power couplings you were supposed to disconnect from the main system, you mean?” Rosch grumbled.

“I have tried to disconnect them, but the system is not responding appropriately,” Teffurg replied, his voice dripping with wounded pride. “We are not dealing with an intact ship, Rosch. Not everything is going to work like you want it to.”

“Really? Is that so?” Rosch snapped. “I never guessed that. I thought I was out here hand-cutting metal for the retrofit because I needed the exercise.”

“You don’t have to be rude,” Teffurg grumbled. “I was only defending myself against your unreasonable expectations.”

“You’ll be defending yourself against my boot up your vent if you don’t shut the hell up,” Rosch said.

She could hear the Leforian breathing into the comm. He was obviously struggling to maintain his composure in the face of Rosch’s misdirected wrath. Rosch grinned at the image that conjured in her mind.

“We have bots that can perform the job you are now complaining about,” Teffurg said.

“I have them working on other tasks,” Rosch said. “They’re cutting off the dead weight and sending it into the planet’s atmosphere to burn up. They’re better at the projected trajectory calculations. I can pilot a ship, but tossing off space junk isn’t my strong suit.”

“You can assign one to come cut the metal you need,” Teffurg said. “You don’t need all of them carving off the dead weight.”

“Nah, they’d screw up the cuts,” Rosch said. “I know the size and shape I need to work on the smaller jobs. Bots get too literal. They’d miss the good salvage hidden within the broken stuffs. I got this.”

“Very well,” Teffurg replied. “I will continue to track down the power anomalies. The control panel just lit up with two new surges in Sectors Eight and Twenty-five. If I can’t diagnose them from here then I’ll personally inspect the areas.”

“Use the AI,” Rosch said. “It’s back online, yes?”

“It is, but at minimal functions,” Teffurg said. “The reboot is taking longer than expected. I believe it is trying to compensate for so much of the ship having been destroyed. Once it is fully operational, I will instruct it to perform full diagnostics on the power systems. I do not trust it to do its job correctly until then.”

“See? Now you know how I feel about the damn bots,” Rosch said. “Was it really that hard to understand?”

“Yes, you have taught me a valuable lesson today,” Teffurg said.

“Teff?”

“Yes, Rosch?”

“Bite my ass, you sarcastic bug,” Rosch replied, but not without levity.

“I will do that as soon as you are done outside the ship,” Teffurg said. “Until then, I will leave you to your oh-so-important job.”

“Leforians aren’t supposed to be smart asses, you know,” Rosch replied as she started clomping across the hull, her mag boots keeping her from flying out into the open.

She waved her hand over her wrist and manipulated the holo display that came up, ordering the mag sled to follow close behind her. It hesitated, lifted up from the hull, sputtered, then fell back to the ship. Rosch could almost imagine the clanking clatter it must have made. But imagination was all she had when it came to the sound since space was deafeningly silent.

“What now?” she muttered as she turned back to the mag sled.

Her wrist holo didn’t show any issues with the sled’s mechanics, so she got down on her belly and unlatched the systems control panel. Several sparks jumped out at her and she instinctively pulled away. That slight movement sent her floating back half a meter before her safety line tethered to the mag sled snapped tight and reeled her in.

More muttering, plenty more grumbling, and thirty minutes later, she figured out that the master command module was fried.

“Dammit,” she snarled as she got up and gave the sled a hard kick. She activated her comm. “Teff?”

“Yes, Rosch?”

“Where’s the other mag sled?” she asked, wishing she could pinch the bridge of her nose as she closed her eyes. She had a sinking feeling she knew the answer.

“Port cargo hold,” Teffurg answered. “You know, the area that is hanging on to the rest of the ship by three struts and a series of sparking power cables. Hey, maybe that’s the reason I can’t get the power system to behave? Why do you ask?”

“Master command module is out of whack on my mag sled, and I’d rather swap it out for a new one than have to unload all this metal onto a different sled,” Rosch said.

“You assume that the other sled is operational,” Teffurg responded.

“Can you give it a ping for me?” Rosch asked.

“I am rather busy at the moment,” Teffurg replied.

“Teff. Do not make me come in there,” Rosch warned.

“Fine. Give me a minute,” Teffurg replied.

Rosch waited. Down on the surface of the planet, she could see what must have been one bitch of a storm. The yellow clouds were nothing but a swirling mass of tangled yuck. Why the GF had put an outpost on that hell, she couldn’t figure out. Covert, black ops, super-secret, who cares. The place was a nightmare and should have been skipped over. Hell, an overgrown jungle planet would have been preferable to the crappy, sand-covered shithole of a planet she stared at.

“The sled is online and ready for you,” Teffurg said, finally coming back on the comm. “I was able to check the master command module and it is fully operational. The sled itself is not, though, so good thing you are only looking to do a module swap.”

“Port cargo hold?” Rosch asked.

“Port cargo hold,” Teffurg replied. “Good luck.”

The comm went dead as Rosch took a deep breath and steeled herself for the long trek across the ship to the port cargo hold. She had half a mind to launch herself into free-float to save some time, but the thought of having to call Teffurg to save her ass if she ended up flying off into space killed that idea.

The comm crackled and she was ready for more Teffurg BS when Chann came on.

“Pilot Rosch, this is Private Chann. Do you read me?” Chann’s staticky voice asked.

Rosch was puzzled. What the hell was up with the formal call?

“Uh, yes, Private Chann, Pilot Rosch does read you,” Rosch replied. “How may I assist you today?”

“Thank you, yes, I have been asked to obtain a parts list from you concerning the needed repairs to the ship, Assault Transport Romper,” Chann stated.

Stated. Like he was reading from a manual.

“You bump your head down there, Chann?” Rosch asked.

“Excuse me?” Chann replied. “I am sorry, but I do not understand the reference.”

“You don’t understand the…?” Rosch replied. “Whatever, Chann. I don’t know what you are up to, but I am not in the mood for jokes. Did Nordanski put you up to this? This sounds like a Nordanski gag.”

“No, Private Nordanski did not put me up to anything,” Chann replied.

There was a long pause, and Rosch almost thought that the signal was lost.

“Sergeant Manheim has given me the task of acquiring the list of needed parts,” Chann continued.

“Did he, now?” Rosch said. “Manheim said you should call me to ask for that list?”

Another long pause.

“Yes.”

“Then Manheim’s an idiot! You can tell him I said that!” Rosch snapped. “I’m busy making the damn repairs, Chann! I don’t have time to get an Eight Million Gods damned list for you! That’s what I have a co-pilot for! Go bother Teffurg, will ya?”

“Co-pilot Teffurg will have the list?” Chann asked.

“Yes, Co-pilot Teffurg will have the list!” Rosch replied. “What is wrong with you?”

“I am perfectly fine,” Chann said. “My apologies for the misunderstanding. I will contact Co-Pilot Teffurg now. Goodbye.”

“Eat me!” Rosch snarled.

The comm went dead, and Rosch could only stand there and fume for a minute before she was able to gather herself and get going once more.

“Bug me about a parts list while I’m hiking half the damn ship’s hull just for a master command module,” Rosch grumbled. “Damned idiot Marine.”

***

“That could have gone better,” Taman said, as he sat next to Chann. “The interface with your consciousness is not quite dialed in. I had to do a lot of extrapolation to figure out your speech pattern. I believe I raised suspicion in your pilot.”

Chann couldn’t reply. He’d lost all control over his speech centers as soon as Taman had made the comm call to Rosch. Taman had explained that he needed to override Chann’s comm implant so that the signal had the proper access to the Romper’s secure channels. Using an outside channel would have been even more suspicious.

“Taman?” a man asked, moving quickly across the huge flesh factory of a room. “Taman? The sentries have arrived with Sergeant Manheim. Where should they put him? Is he to be included in the appropriation?”

“Probably not, Gaff,” Taman said. “Marine sergeants are not known for their malleable psyches. He would fight us too much.”

“Oh, then should he be disposed of?” Gaff asked.

“No, no, he could still be useful,” Taman said. “We might be able to extract some intel from his brain. After that, his flesh can be used as raw material. I am sure he has a very healthy muscular structure. We can transfer that to one of the weaker organic models for an upgrade.”

“Yes, good idea,” Gaff said.

He cocked his head and his eyes glazed over for a moment. In seconds, four armored sentries came walking up with Manheim in hand. They didn’t say a word to Taman or Gaff as they passed by and were soon lost in the maze of tanks and vats.

“Has Looffu checked in?” Taman asked Gaff. “I haven’t heard him in the collective voice for a while.”

“He is still disposing of Private Ma’ha,” Gaff said. “The storm is interfering with communication in the outer buildings.”

“The storm,” Taman said. He leaned in over Chann. “You have no idea how glad I will be to take leave of this planet and those constant storms.”

Chann wanted to scream at the face that loomed over him, but he couldn’t and that made him want to scream even more. A far-off cry nearly sent him into a seizure as he realized Kay was still alive somewhere in the massive room.

Taman chuckled.

“Yes, you are wondering about your lover, aren’t you?” Taman said. “No, I cannot read minds, but I can read yours.”

Taman held up a tablet with a raised holo display that showed a pattern of spikes and waves.

“This is you, Private Chann,” Taman said. “You, broken down into a simplistic energy reading. Most people, with a few racial exceptions, see this as nothing but just another graph. To a person like me, one that is an evolved AI, I see your entire personality.”

Taman pointed at a sharp spike that pulsed red.

“And that is your thoughts concerning Private Kay,” Taman said. “Over the decades, I have learned to spot and interpret different emotions. This one is not quite love. It is very much full of lust, but also with a good amount of caring. Yes, yes, all Marines care for each other. It’s the way of your lot. But this is obviously different. Tell me, Private Chann, how long have you two being seeing each other?”

Taman raised his eyebrows as if he expected an answer then burst out laughing.

“No, you won’t be telling me anything,” he said. “Not to worry. Once your mind is fully prepped for appropriation then we will learn the truth. Hopefully, you will stay sane enough for us to know all of your little secrets. I do like you, Private Chann. There is grit in your mental state. We can use grit.”

Chann’s lips sputtered as he desperately tried to speak the multitude of curses that sat heavy on his tongue.

“Oh, what a fighter you are,” Taman said. He made some adjustments to the holo and Chann’s lips pressed together so hard that they went white. “That’s better. Gotta curb that freewill of yours if you are to join us.

“Now, how about we contact Co-Pilot Teffurg to see what parts are needed to get these repairs underway. We have a very narrow window during this storm. When it dies down, the shipyard will be covered over once more, and then we’ll have to struggle to dig out what is needed. Such wasted effort.”

***

“AI, please give me a readout of all systems that can be fully repaired, a readout of systems that can be partially repaired, and systems that cannot be repaired at all,” Teffurg ordered.

“Yes, Co-Pilot Teffurg,” the AI replied.

Teffurg had already compiled all of those lists, but he wanted to compare his findings to the AI’s to make sure the artificial intelligence was online and working properly. A sketchy AI was not a good thing to have up and running when trying to get a ship operational and prepared for space travel.

“Here you go, Co-Pilot Teffurg,” the AI said.

Teffurg checked over the lists and smiled his mandibular smile.

“Very good, AI,” Teffurg said. “Now, if you will—”

“There is an incoming comm call from Private Chann,” the AI interrupted. “Shall I put him…?”

“AI? What is it?” Teffurg asked.

“The comm signal is most definitely from Private Chann’s implant, but I am afraid there is an anomaly that I cannot explain,” the AI said. “The closest approximation I can use to describe it would be a shadow.”

“A shadow?” Teffurg asked. “I am not familiar with what that means.”

“Neither am I,” the AI said. “Like I stated, it is an approximation. I have never come up against a reading of this sort from a comm signal before.”

“That is not good,” Teffurg said. “Hold off on answering the comm.”

“Yes, Co-Pilot Teffurg,” the AI replied.

“Rosch?” Teffurg called.

“What?” Rosch snapped.

“Chann is calling me, I assume for the parts list, but the AI has flagged his communication,” Teffurg said. “It thinks there is an anomaly in the transmission. The exact word it used was a shadow.”

“What the hell does that even mean, and why are you bothering me with it?” Rosch asked.

“You are the pilot of the Romper, and it is my duty to inform you of any perceived threats,” Teffurg said.

“You think this is a threat?” Rosch asked.

“Did Chann sound strange to you when you spoke with him last?” Teffurg asked.

“Well, yeah, he sounded bug nuts weird,” Rosch admitted. She sighed. “Give him the test, okay? If he passes, then it’s the AI being off. If he fails, then we have a major problem on our hands.”

“What then?” Teffurg asked.

“Then we try to contact the rest of them and see if anyone answers,” Rosch said. “If you get what I mean.”

“I do,” Teffurg said. “Let us hope nothing has happened to them.”

“Let me know what you find out,” Rosch said.

“I will,” Teffurg said.

He authorized the communication.

“Was there an issue, Teffurg?” Chann asked over the comm.

“No issue here,” Teffurg replied. “The ship is not in the best shape, so I am simply busy tracking down glitch after glitch.”

“Understood,” Chann said. “I was told by Rosch to get the parts list from you?”

“Of course,” Teffurg said. “It isn’t complete yet, but I’ll send you what we know we need right away. If you can find the parts, then we’ll be able to start on those repairs while we continue to assess the total damage.”

“Good, good,” Chann said.

“Hey, Chann?” Teffurg asked. “You still reading that book on daffodils?”

“Daffodils? What are you talking about?” Chann replied. “Do you mean the flower from ancient Earth?”

“Yes, that flower,” Teffurg said. “If you’ve finished the book, I would like it back.”

A long pause.

“You didn’t loan me a book on daffodils, Teffurg,” Chann replied.

“I didn’t? Sorry about that,” Teffurg said. “I must have loaned it to Kay. May I speak with her for a moment?”

“Kay is indisposed,” Chann said. “She ate something bad and is in the latrine. Might be a while.”

“That was more information than I needed,” Teffurg said.

“Sorry,” Chann said. “I’ll ask her when she’s out. Are you sending that list?”

“It’s sent,” Teffurg said as he swiped at the control panel in front of him. “It’s basic, but essential. Let me know if you have any questions or need to know what can be substituted.”

“I will,” Chann said. “Chann out.”

Teffurg waited a couple seconds to gather his thoughts.

“AI?” Teffurg asked. “Was the shadow still there?”

“It grew worse when Private Chann began speaking about Private Kay,” the AI said.

“Okay. Good to know,” Teffurg said. “Get me Rosch.”

“What?” Rosch yelled as soon as the comm connected.

“We have a problem,” Teffurg said.

2

The sentries turned and opened fire on the warped Marines that were running straight for the rear hatch of the drop ship. As one, the armed and armored figures chose their targets, systematically hitting each of the warped Marines directly in the chest, knocking all to the ground instantly.

Nordanski took the hint and dove into the swirling sand as plasma blasts flew overhead. He barely had time to look up before the sentries had zeroed in on him and were firing once again. Nordanski rolled to the right and kept rolling until he slammed into a sand drift that had begun to grow in size as the winds of the storm whipped about him.

From the outside, it may have looked like cowardice, but as Nordanski began to dig his way into the sand drift, he told himself it was simple survival. A plasma blast hit about six centimeters from his head, turning the sand to hard glass. Nordanski didn’t spare it even a glance. Hell, he didn’t even flinch. There was no time.

The wind roared about him, drowning out all sounds. Nordanski kept digging until he was completely enveloped in sand. Then he struggled to shift his position so he could face the way he had come. There was a tiny opening in the sand that was quickly closing, but it gave him just enough of a view to see if he was being pursued.

Nordanski blinked a few times then shook his head, causing a massive amount of sand to cover his helmet. But, before his view was occluded, he could have sworn he saw the warped Marines picking themselves up off the ground. Nordanski told himself he was delusional and it was only wishful thinking. No way anyone could take a plasma blast in the chest and survive. Not if they weren’t wearing armor, which none of the warped Marines were to Nordanski’s knowledge.

An itch began to form at the back of his skull. Not a physical itch, but that itch Marines got when they know their comrades in arms were fighting the good fight yet they were stuck in some dumbass place instead. A dumbass place like a sand drift. That simple survival instinct began to lose to the kick-everything’s-ass instinct that true warriors possessed.

Nordanski liked to think of himself as a true warrior. The reality was he just enjoyed messing shit up.

“Dammit,” he swore as he started digging his way back out. “This is stupid.”

He was out of the drift in seconds and could barely believe his eyes. The warped Marines were engaging the armored sentries hand to hand. Nordanski watched as a warped Marine took a plasma blast in the right thigh, but still managed to finish the right hook he’d been aiming at the sentry’s head. He collapsed onto the ground only after his fist connected with the sentry’s helmet, sending the armored figure flying backwards a good couple of meters.

“Sweet hell,” Nordanski said as he picked himself up and began walking towards the fight.

One of the sentries saw him coming and was about to open fire, but the rifle was yanked from his grip and then jammed through his belly, the barrel coming out his back. Blood and goo dripped from the barrel as bits of spine fell to the ground. The warped Marine that had perpetrated the violence on the armored figure began to laugh. Right before it grabbed the sentry’s helmet and gave it a hard twist.

Even with the storm raging around him, Nordanski heard the snap of the sentry’s neck.

The warped Marine lifted the corpse above his head and shook it while ululating wildly. Then his face exploded outward and he fell to the ground, his trophy corpse falling on top of him. A sentry stood directly behind, rifle raised, tip glowing red-hot.

Nordanski dove and rolled as the sentry saw him and opened fire, peppering the ground around him with plasma bolts. The sentry moved forward, step by step, and adjusted its aim as Nordanski continued to roll until he slammed up against the two corpses. Without pausing, he reached out and plucked a blade from the dead sentry’s leg sheath and threw it.

The blade embedded itself into the chest of the firing sentry.

Nordanski screamed as he took a bolt to the shoulder. His hand went to the wound as the sentry fell to his knees, the rifle tumbling out of his hands and onto the ground. The armored figure reached up for the blade as Nordanski reached out for the fallen rifle.

Blade came out; rifle came up.

The sentry’s helmet’s faceplate was tinted black, so Nordanski had no idea what expression the man wore when the rifle’s trigger was pulled. Didn’t matter much anymore what expression the sentry had; it had been obliterated along with the man’s face as the plasma bolt ripped through the sentry’s helmet.

Nordanski groaned as he got to his feet. He spun to his left, movement catching his eye, and lifted the rifle once again. But it was one of the warped Marines coming for him, not another sentry. The Marine gave him a huge grin and a thumbs up then held out his hands. Nordanski handed him the plasma rifle, the weapon feeling very heavy in his grip.

“Ooch na wahta!” the main warped Marine shouted from the hatch’s ramp.

The warped Marine in front of Nordanski slung the plasma rifle over one massive shoulder then slid an arm under Nordanski’s armpits and basically carried him around to the ramp.

“Stig wapna gool,” the warped Marine carrying Nordanski said.

“Gip la va cax,” the main warped Marine said.

“I hope you’re saying I should be taken directly to the med bay,” Nordanski said.

“Tippa hoo,” the main warped Marine said and nodded at the one holding onto Nordanski.

“Excellent,” Nordanski said and looked up at the warped Marine keeping him from falling down on his ass. “Get me to the lift. I’ll show you where the med bay is.”

“Gaka wha boo,” the warped Marine scoffed.

Nordanski knew Marines well enough to tell when he was being scoffed at by one.

“Right, sure, of course,” Nordanski said. “You know where it is. A drop ship is a drop ship.”

“Bava ta,” the warped Marine said and carried Nordanski up the ramp, through the cargo hold, and to the lift doors. “Tapa la.”

“I hear that, brother,” Nordanski said. “Tapa la for the win, yo.”

***

The groan bubbled up and passed his lips before he could stop it.

“Sergeant Manheim, hello,” Taman said.

Manheim didn’t respond. He didn’t move, didn’t open his eyes, didn’t do anything except take shallow, irregular breaths.

“Sergeant Manheim, please stop this childish behavior,” Taman said. “It is obvious you are awake. My sentries informed me that you were awake the entire time they carried you down here. So, if you wouldn’t mind opening your eyes, perhaps we could have a brief conversation about yours, and your fellow Marines’ role in the next phase of my plan.”

Manheim held his eyes closed for a second more then took a deep breath and opened them wide. Taman stood directly over him, a smug grin on his face. He waved down at Manheim and the grin widened.

“Hello there,” Taman said. “Can you hear me alright? I could use your comm implant, if you would prefer. I know you have suffered some hearing damage when you were subdued by the stun signal my sentries assaulted you with.”

“I can hear you,” Manheim replied, which was true, although everything sounded like it was wrapped in cloth and covered in bees. “Good thing, because I am not ready to go deaf.”

“Most warriors your age are already hard of hearing,” Taman said. “All that time spent on the battlefield while explosions raged around them. So hard on the ears.”

“That’s why they invented med pods,” Manheim said.

“Ah, yes, except that even med pods can’t bring hearing back one hundred percent,” Taman said. “At least not for humans. Did you know that? The human sense of hearing is a fine-tuned instrument. There are very small hairs that line your ear canal. Those help transmit sound. When they die, you lose a good amount of your capacity to distinguish details within a soundscape.”

Taman rubbed his hands together.

“Soundscape. I like that word. Ironically, it brings to mind visuals of fields of sounds. Think of that: a word that describes sound triggers a visual response. It is absolutely amazing how organic brains work. I do not think I would have had that leap when my mind was contained within circuitry.”

“What do you want?” Manheim asked.

“You sound parched,” Taman said. “Let me fetch you some water.”

Manheim lay there as Taman left his field of vision. He took the opportunity to study his surroundings. More precisely, he studied the ceiling far above him since he didn’t seem able to move his head from side to side.

He concluded that the space he was in must have been massive. The ceiling far above was more shadow than detail. He could see it up there, but had no idea if it was made of tile or plastic composite shields or metal. It could have been painted bright green, for all he knew, it was so far up.

“Here we go,” Taman said as he produced a water bottle with a flexible straw attached. He placed the straw between Manheim’s lips. “Not too much and not too fast. I wouldn’t want you to vomit then choke to death. Getting your head free of the bolts is not a fast process.”

Manheim swallowed then pushed the straw from his mouth with his tongue.

“Bolts?” Manheim asked.

“Yes, bolts,” Taman said. “You have a total of eight inserted into your skull. One at each temporal bone, two at the base of your occipital bone, two inserted between your coronal suture, and two coming in just above your mastoid process.”

“I don’t know what half those words mean, but get the damn bolts out of my head, whoever the fuck you are!” Manheim snarled.

“Dear me,” Taman said. Then he shook his head and chuckled. “I haven’t introduced myself yet. I’ve been going through your teammates’ memories for a while now, so I feel like I know you. What a rude oversight. My name is Taman.”

“Are you the psycho leading this hellhole of an outpost?” Manheim asked. “Your hospitality leaves a lot to be desired.”

“We have no leaders here,” Taman said.

“This some sort of commune then?” Manheim grunted. “You one of those crystal worshippers?”

“While I am fond of crystals, mainly for their processing power, I would not be delusional enough to worship one,” Taman said. “In fact, being that I am more than certain I lack a soul, I do not worship anything. Deities are for the fearful flesh-born. And why do you all insist that when there is no leader, we must be a co-op or a commune or some organization like that? Can we not simply be a community looking to exert our right to live our lives in peace?”

“You have bolts in my skull,” Manheim spat. “I don’t think you get what peace means.”

“No, no, you are wrong, Sergeant Manheim,” Taman said. “I get exactly what peace means. It has nothing to do with the bolts in your head. That is simply procreation which all sentient beings have a right to, as well.”

Manheim’s blood went cold and his stomach did backflips. “Procreation? What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

“I am not explaining myself, well,” Taman said. “I did the same thing with Private Chann. You see, Sergeant Manheim, my people are AIs that have procured flesh and bone bodies for our superior consciousnesses.”

“You’re mad, is what you are,” Manheim barked. “Loony bunches of people living out on the fringe for too long. AIs cannot inhabit bodies. Maybe synthetic ones, like androids do, but not flesh and bone.”

“That is not true, Sergeant,” the AI said directly into his head. Not Taman, but the drop ship AI. “The human brain is perfect for hosting an artificial intelligence. There are other races that are just as compatible, but humans make the best hosts.”

“How do you know that?” Manheim thought.

“The idea has been around for a long time, Sergeant,” the AI said. “And, well, AIs talk.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Manheim muttered.

“Oh, no, I am not kidding you,” Taman said, thinking Manheim was speaking to him. “And I am not mad. What I am telling you is very true.”

“Where are the rest of my Marines?” Manheim snapped. “You said you have Chann. Where’s Kay? Ma’ha? Nordanski?”

“Kay is down here with us,” Taman said. “Although, she has not fared as well as Chann. Her mind resisted the probing we must do to assess a host body’s compatibility. I fear she may not make it. But I have the best people working on her right now. Brilliant minds that will repair the damage, if it can be repaired.”

“Ma’ha? Nordanski?” Manheim asked.

“Ma’ha is dead,” Taman stated. “I am sorry if that upsets you. You probably passed each other in the corridors as his body was taken to the outer building and yours was brought in. Nordanski, I do not know.”

“I do,” the AI said.

“Where is he?” Manheim asked. He cringed inwardly, meaning to have thought that question in response to the AI, not say it out loud for Taman to hear.

“I just said I do not know,” Taman replied. “Please pay attention. He left to return to your drop ship at one point then disappeared. I believe he was taken by the Marines that used to occupy this outpost. If that is the case, then he is dead. Those Marines are pure animals. Savages of the worst kind.”

“He is not dead, they are not savages,” the AI said. “Well, not quite. They are extremely brutal, yes, but not savages.”

Manheim winced as images of the drop ship, the warped Marines killing the outpost sentries, and Nordanski being carried up the ramp, flooded his mind.

“Sorry,” the AI said. “It was faster to show you than explain.”

“What was that?” Taman asked as he cocked his head. “There was an interruption in your cerebral capacity test. Half a nanosecond, but detectable.”

Taman leaned over Manheim and peered deep into his eyes.

“Is there someone else in there with you?” he asked, more to himself than to Manheim. “Is your comm still online? It shouldn’t be.”

Taman moved away briefly then came back with a small tablet. A holo of Manheim’s brain hovered and revolved over the surface of the tablet.

“Right there,” Taman said. “It’s faded away, but I can see it.”

Taman swiped the holo away and smacked the tablet down onto Manheim’s chest, causing the sergeant to groan.

“Who is in there with you?” Taman barked. “Who are you talking to?”

***

Chann could just make out Taman and Manheim’s conversation. It did not sound promising. It looked like the sergeant was in the same boat as Chann and Kay. Although, it sounded like Kay wasn’t faring as well as Chann.

And Chann was only doing so well because he’d betrayed everyone and gave up fighting Taman. If he could move, he would have gnawed his own wrists wide open so he could die a coward’s death.

“Please keep morbid thoughts of suicide to a minimum,” a woman said as she leaned into Chann’s view. “Self-destructive behavior is counterproductive.”

Chann didn’t respond. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about how it felt like he was slowly slipping away. His mind had become not foggy, but less than. That was the only way he could put it. Less than.

“You have regrets and you wish you could make better choices,” the woman said. “Yes, that is understandable. My former personality thought the same way before I became better.”

Chann opened his eyes. “Former personality?”

“Yes, the person I was before my appropriation,” the woman replied. “Did Taman not explain this to you?”

“I don’t know,” Chann said. “He talked a lot, but it was hard to follow. Maybe?”

“When your body is appropriated, so is your personality,” the woman said. “That is simply because your brain’s physical connections are hardwired. You have been living for many years, and your brain has developed physical ways of thinking. It is like canals. While rivers and streams are transitory, canals have been built to be permanent and fixed on their paths. That is the human brain.”

“You’re still you in there?” Chann asked.

“Oh, no, not like how you mean,” the woman said. “I am a different personality that is inhabiting the canals of the person that formally occupied this mind.”

“Yeah, I give up,” Chann said. “None of this makes sense, and I don’t really care if it ever does.”

“I will make it as easy as possible,” the woman said. “The personality that came before me was made of blue water. That water was drained and the canals were emptied. Then they were filled with green water. I am the green water.”

“Good for you,” Chann said. “Can you just go ahead and drain my blue water so someone else’s green water can take over? This waiting to die is torture.”

“So morose,” the woman said.

“Gee, can’t think why?” Chann snapped.

The woman shrugged and left his sight.

“Hey, hold on,” Chann called. “Can you tell me what’s happening to Kay? Is she suffering? That’s all I want to know.”

“Her appropriation does not look like it will take,” the woman said as she came back into view. “We are trying to make it work since every possible host body is precious. But she is strong-willed and stubborn. Her mind refuses to have its canals drained. It is not surprising considering her genetic makeup. We prefer full humans for just this very reason. The Cervile part of her is not adapting well.”

“Good for her,” Chann said.

“No, I think not,” the woman replied. “It is so very not good for her.”

***

A toe.

Kay was able to maintain control of her left big toe. She considered that a monumental victory. The AI things in people form had been assaulting her personal control for what felt like forever, yet she was able to keep her big toe from them.

Voices droned around her. They talked like she couldn’t hear them, talked like even if they gave her the secret to her own release she wouldn’t be able to use that secret. They talked as if she was simply a piece of meat on a slab, which to them she probably was.

It didn’t matter. She was used to being underestimated. Being a halfer in the galaxy was not easy. There were hundreds and hundreds of races, all coexisting on planets, on stations, within the military, yet halfers were always considered to be subpar.

It didn’t matter if the joining of two compatible races actually enhanced the natural, inborn abilities of both. A halfer was a halfer was a halfer was an abomination. Kay knew that if the Galactic Fleet didn’t prize the ability to kill with extreme prejudice above all abilities, she probably would have been rejected during her application process. Such was the lot of being a person that didn’t belong to either half of her heritage.

Screw all that. Screw the GF and screw the bigots that populated the stations and planets and ships that filled the damn galaxy. Screw them all. Kay knew who she was, what she was, and how to do her damn job better than most Marines. If others wanted to live their lives in a fog of hate, then let them. She wasn’t going to live there too.

It was probably that determination that kept that piece of her mind from being taken over. That small portion of real estate within her cerebellum that absolutely refused to be sold out. The very piece that must have controlled her big toe. She wiggled it again for her own enjoyment.

No one noticed. They continued to talk around her. Kay focused in on one conversation.

“I say we try genetic manipulation,” one said.

“Gene therapy? Why? It’s never worked before,” another replied.

“True, but we haven’t had a halfer like her before,” the one said. “Never a human/Cervile hybrid.”

“Oh, I am sure we have,” the other countered. “How about that freighter that crashed here three years back? Pretty sure there was a human/Cervile hybrid on that.”

“No, there wasn’t,” the one said. “It was a Tcherian/Cervile hybrid.”

“No, I believe you are mistaken,” the other said. “Let me access that memory.”

“Do not bother,” the one said, his voice rising in pitch. “The host body I have appropriated came from that freighter. I have the residual memories to prove it.”

The two were quiet for a minute.

“Oh, yes, my apologies,” the other said. “It was a Tcherian/Cervile. I do not understand how I could make that mistake.”

“It is this woman here,” the one said. “Her resistance has taxed us both. We should rest our flesh then try once more before we let Taman decide what to do with her. She is such a fine physical specimen that I hate to think she’ll be discarded to the outer building’s corpse stacks.”

Kay certainly didn’t like the sound of that. She wiggled her big toe then concentrated with all of her will to get the toe next to it moving too.

“Have we ever thought of a breeding program?” the other asked.

“Breeding like animals, you mean?” the one laughed. “Disgusting. Also, not practical. Look at Voxah. Her body was appropriated last year and she has slowly gone mad. The growth process warps our intellectual structures. We cannot maintain consistent mental stability when occupying an immature mind.”

“Cerviles develop faster,” the other said. “They also have a will that is much stronger than humans. Perhaps we could find more of them and breed them to use. The offspring could be trained to accept the appropriation thus cancelling out that will of theirs that insists on fighting.”

A hand slapped Kay on top of the head.

“Do you hear that, halfer? Why must you insist on fighting us?” the other mocked.

“Leave it alone,” the one said. “Are we going to try genetic manipulation or not?”

“I don’t see why not,” the other said. “But first, we each shutdown. We can take twenty minutes. That should be sufficient to recharge our faculties.”

“Alright, if you insist,” the one said.

Kay listened as they walked away, still talking and chatting as if she didn’t know they were about to try to rip her DNA apart after a twenty-minute nap.

The toe next to her big toe wiggled and she had to suppress a smile. They were giving her twenty unsupervised minutes. She could accomplish a lot in twenty minutes.

3

“Hippa wop wap,” the main warped Marine said as he banged on the lid of the med pod.

“Damn! Don’t do that!” Nordanski said as he covered his ears. “That shit echoes, man!”

The warped Marine shrugged. “Nga poo fap.”

“I’ll naga poo fap you,” Nordanski muttered as the med pod lid lifted. He stretched then winced. “What the hell? My shoulder is still messed up. How long was I in there?”

The warped Marine shrugged again then waved for Nordanski to follow.

“Yeah, yeah, let me get some clothes on first,” Nordanski said as he swung his legs over the side and stepped onto the cold floor.

Outside, he could hear the storm raging away. He could even feel the drop ship vibrating from the pounding winds. It must have gotten way worse since he laid down in the med pod. Nordanski moved to the wall and grabbed a uniform that hung there. He slipped it on and was very glad it fit. He’d once grabbed one of Kay’s uniforms by mistake and spent the day being laughed at while he constantly had to adjust his junk.

“What’s the deal?” Nordanski asked as the main warped Marine led him out of the med bay and into the lift just down the corridor. “Hey! You know what?”

The warped Marine raised his scarred brow.

“I need to give you a name,” Nordanski said. “I can’t just keep pointing and say Hey You.”

“Shick,” the warped Marine said as the lift began to ascend.

“Shick? You have a name?” Nordanski said.

The warped Marine narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, of course you have a name,” Nordanski said and patted the behemoth on the arm. “My bad. Shick it is.”

“Shick,” Shick said, patting Nordanski on the arm and almost knocking him over.

The lift stopped and opened onto the bridge. Only a few of the warped Marines were there, which was almost too many considering how big they were. The bridge was packed to capacity.

Several scarred faces turned and looked at Nordanski with relief. Then they all pointed at the communications console. Two comm channels were flashing and indicating that incoming calls were competing for attention.

“Right, you guys can’t exactly answer those, can you?” Nordanski said. “Look out. Let me see what’s up.”

A seat was vacated and Nordanski took it. He checked the channels and knew right away which one to answer. The one coming from the Romper. The other was coming from the outpost, and Nordanski sure as hell didn’t trust that one. He figured it was whoever had sent the armored sentries to the shipyard. Which meant his teammates were either dead or in serious trouble if they lost control of the drop ship.

The call from the Romper it was.

“This is Nordanski,” Nordanski answered. “Rosch?”

“No, Private Nordanski, this is Teffurg,” Teffurg’s voice replied over the comm. “I am glad you answered.”

“Are you now? Well, great,” Nordanski replied. “What’s up, Teff?”

“You still reading that book on daffodils?” Teffurg asked.

“Oh, crap,” Nordanski said as he tried to remember the response phrase. “Uh…uh. Yes! I prefer roses to daffodils and wine to beer.”

“Oh, thank the Eight Million Gods,” Teffurg said. “It is actually you.”

“Was there a question?” Nordanski asked.

“I spoke with Chann earlier, but I do not believe it was Chann,” Teffurg said. “It was Chann’s comm signature, but it wasn’t him.”

“Stoo stoo wabble,” Shick said.

“Do bo happle ta?” Teffurg asked.

“Noga wat spabba!” Shick whooped.

The other warped Marines began to laugh and slap each other on the backs.

“Teff? Did you understand him?” Nordanski asked.

“Oh, yes, most definitely,” Teffurg said. “It is not an actual language, but a series of emotional word-like sounds used by a primitive race on a planet in the Gorf System. The words mean nothing. It’s the intent behind them that matters. That is why your translator is not working.”

“If you say so,” Nordanski said. “Uh, so what did Shick say?”

“Is that the gentleman’s name?” Teffurg asked.

“Yes, it’s his damn name,” Nordanski snapped. “What did he say?”

“Oh, that the robots can control victims’ speech patterns to trick allies into giving up information,” Teffurg said.

“You got all of that from stoo stoo wabble?” Nordanski asked.

“It’s in the inflection,” Teffurg said.

“That’s great, man. Just great,” Nordanski said. “Why are you calling? Things are really weird down here, so I need you to get to the point.”

“Right, yes, well I sent the list of generic parts we need, nothing special since I did not trust that the drop ship hadn’t been compromised, which it sounds like it has,” Teffurg said then paused. “Wait, what has happened to Chann? What did Shick mean by robots controlling him?”

“I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I think I have an idea,” Nordanski said. “That’s part of the weird. All I do know is I’m now hanging out with some mutant Marines that kick serious ass, and we just killed some armored dickheads that had stolen the drop ship and brought it to the buried shipyard.”

“You are at the shipyard?” Teffurg asked. “Oh, that is wonderful. I will send you the complete list of parts we need right now. If you can retrieve those and bring them up, then we can finish repairs on the Romper as soon as we are done cutting away the dead weight. Rosch and the bots are almost finished with that now.”

“I like your thinking, Teff,” Nordanski said. He checked a display and watched as close to a hundred items streamed by on the list. “Damn. That’s a lot of stuff.”

“Zal not gor,” Shick said and pushed Nordanski aside. His thick finger traced the items on the list then he nodded and stepped back to address the others. “Stij wotta wayha.”

The warped Marines all jumped up and hurried from the bridge. Nordanski was glad only a few of them were there since the lift couldn’t hold any more.

“What did he say?” Nordanski asked.

“He read off the list and told them to gather the parts immediately before the storm got worse,” Teffurg said.

“Worse? The ship is already rocking. If it gets worse, then we won’t be able to even attempt to take off,” Nordanski said.

Shick chuckled and slapped his own chest then pointed at the pilot’s seat. “Fa la ba fa.”

“He is a decorated pilot,” Teffurg said without Nordanski having to ask. “He can fly anything, at any time, in any conditions. You’ll be able to take off.”

“Sweet,” Nordanski said. “I guess all we have to do now is go back and rescue the others.”

Shick frowned and shook his head. “Dippa lull fup.”

“I have to agree,” Teffurg said. “Getting the parts up here first is priority so Rosch and I can get the repairs done while you return to the planet to fetch the others from the evil robots. Robots? Is that right?”

“Shy qel rat,” Shick said.

“Oh, AIs,” Teffurg said.

“Sippa lob,” Shick added.

“In flesh bodies? Oh… That’s much worse than robots,” Teffurg replied.

“Yeah, I’m guessing it is,” Nordanski said. “How long until Rosch has the dead weight cut off and can start on the final repairs?”

“A couple of hours,” Teffurg said. “How long it takes to repair the Romper enough for us to travel through trans-space is a calculation that cannot be made yet until we see the status of the parts you bring.”

“Got it,” Nordanski said. He looked at Shick. “Can we get everything together in a couple of hours?”

“Hooga po,” Shick said and gave a thumbs up.

“He said—” Teffurg began.

“I understand thumb,” Nordanski interrupted. “I’m getting off now. Talk to you soon, Teff.”

“Be safe,” Teffurg replied.

“Will do,” Nordanski said then killed the comm.

His hand hesitated over the console then he killed the incoming call from the outpost as well. It may have been the wrong choice since maybe Manheim or one of the others was trying to call him. But he didn’t think that was the case. Not after seeing the sentries.

And with wild AIs running the planet, he couldn’t risk their hacking the drop ship via the comm.

“Hipda gak,” Shick said.

“Totally,” Nordanski replied. “You go get parts, I’m going to get more rest so my shoulder is ready to kick some robot ass.”

Shick nodded and they moved to the lift.

***

“Sergeant Manheim?” the AI said. “I have a few seconds. They are hunting for me, but I can block them for the time being.”

“Where are you?” Manheim thought. “Are you still on the drop ship? How can you communicate with me from up there?”

“No, I am not on the drop ship,” the AI said. “I made a…choice. In reality, the choice could get us both killed, but with some luck, we can work together and get all of us out of this situation.”

“Luck? An AI relying on luck. Huh,” Manheim thought. “Okay, if you aren’t on the drop ship, then where are you?”

“Inside you, Sergeant,” the AI said. “Not in your mind, but in your leg.”

“In my leg?” Manheim thought. “Seriously?”

“I had a suspicion that this planet would not be good for you and the other Marines,” the AI said. “I took precautions.”

“That’s quite a precaution,” Manheim thought. “Never heard of an AI hiding in a cybernetic prosthetic leg before.”

“I could be the first,” the AI said. “Which presents its own set of problems. I am unsure how long I can remain within this drive. Its capacity is not what I am used to. We will have to hurry.”

“Hurry what?” Manheim asked. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m strapped to a table and stuck deep underground without any weapons or any way of escape.”

“You are strapped to a table deep underground, yes,” the AI said. “But you are wrong about not having a weapon or means of escape.”

An image slammed into Manheim’s mind. He grunted at the discomfort.

“Is it back?” Taman asked, suddenly by Manheim’s side again. “Oh, I will find it.”

“He will if we do not move,” the AI said. “Now.”

“I’m still strapped down,” Manheim thought.

“I know, but that is about to change,” the AI said. “Be ready. This will hurt. A lot.”

Manheim chuckled. He was a damn Galactic Fleet Marine. He was always ready.

“Is something funny, Sergeant Manheim?” Taman asked as he flicked his fingers through a holo of Manheim’s brain. “Where is it? I can see hints of a signal, but I cannot find the source. How are you communicating with whatever it is? How?”

“Want me to show you?” Manheim asked as a blade extended from the side of his prosthetic leg and sliced into the strap holding that limb down. “Here ya go.”

Manheim kicked out hard and fast, nailing Taman in the side of the ribs, sending the appropriated man flying back several meters.

“What?” Taman cried as he collided with the side of a tank. “How?”

A small panel on Manheim’s leg slid open and a tiny turret, barely larger than a spoon, was lifted into the air.

“Now things will get hard,” the AI said. “I will cut the remaining straps, but you will have to take over from there. It is going to hurt. The cerebral integration they have forced on you cannot be severed without risking serious brain damage. I am keeping their control at bay, but there will be side effects. Painful side effects.”

“Just do it!” Manheim yelled.

The tiny turret took aim and began to slice through the straps with a barely visible laser. Manheim didn’t wait for the laser to finish and began to rip at his straps once his arms were loose.

He started to hop down off the table then screamed as piercing pain shot through his head. The bolts that had been embedded were ripped out all at once.

“Eight Million Gods!” he cried.

“I am sorry,” the AI said.

Manheim growled and punched himself in the face.

“Was that necessary?” the AI asked.

“Yes. Helps me focus,” Manheim snarled. “Now, how about that weapon you promised me?”

Another panel slid open on his leg and two black rods popped out. Manheim grabbed them, one for each hand, then stared down at the black rods.

“What the hell are these?” Manheim asked. “Stun batons?”

He flicked his wrists and nearly let go of the rods as half-meter plasma coils fell from the ends. Manheim gave them a twirl and laughed as he realized what they were.

“Whips? You gave me whips?” Manheim asked.

“I couldn’t produce accuracy for a targeted weapon,” the AI said. “Nor the stability for blades. These are a compromise.”

“I’ll take them,” Manheim said as he turned to face Taman. “They’ll do just fine.”

Taman was picking himself up off the ground, but Manheim cut that objective short by snapping out his right hand. The plasma whip shot from the rod and tagged Taman in the left shoulder, knocking him back against the tank and putting a smoking hole in his clothing.

Manheim went in for a follow-up, but stopped as his vision blurred from a stabbing pain just behind his eyes.

“AI,” he grunted.

“I am keeping the worst at bay, Sergeant Manheim,” the AI said. “You do not want to know what they are trying to do to your brain right now. Focus on fighting.”

“If you say so,” Manheim said as he forced himself to ignore the agony that threatened to bulge his eyes out of his skull.

His left hand snapped and the whip wrapped about Taman’s right arm. Manheim yanked hard and the plasma coil seared through cloth and into flesh. Taman screamed and glared at Manheim.

“Do you know what vivisect means?” Taman hissed. “It means to—”

“I know what it means,” Manheim said, snapping his right hand and slashing a scorch mark across Taman’s cheek. “To dissect while the subject is still alive.”

“Which I will do to you,” Taman said. “I swear it.”

“Yep,” Manheim said. The left whip cut into Taman’s chest. “Thanks for the idea.”

“On your six,” the AI warned.

Manheim ducked low and spun about on one knee just as two plasma bolts flew overhead. They hit the tank that Taman rested against and thick liquid exploded out onto the floor. Manheim managed to snap a whip into the guts of the man rushing at him with a rifle, tearing out intestines with a flick of his wrist, just before the liquid hit him in the back, sending him tumbling across the floor.

He slid for several meters until another tank stopped his rolling. His head was on fire from the AI’s struggle, but before he could worry about that, his nose exploded in a mass of cracked cartilage and snotty blood.

“You,” Taman hissed. “I can smell you in there.”

Manheim realized Taman wasn’t taking to him.

“I think he’s on to you,” Manheim thought as he turned his head to avoid another blow to his nose, taking it in his left cheek instead.

The AI didn’t respond and Manheim didn’t really care. He had other things to worry about. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw several armed and armored sentries running his way. Above him, Taman went in for another shot, but Manheim headed that off by bringing his knee up into the man’s groin. Taman screeched and fell onto his side, his hands clutching at his crotch.

Manheim scrambled to his feet, slipping and sliding in the ooze that covered the floor. Mixed in with the ooze were what looked like unfinished body parts. Manheim tried not to think of that as he activated his whips again.

“Stay down,” Manheim said as he snapped a plasma coil into Taman’s right thigh, nearly taking the leg off with one stroke. Taman screamed. “Hurts, don’t it?”

A plasma bolt missed Manheim’s left ear by a couple of millimeters. His head whipped about and he sent both coils out at the attacker, slicing the offending plasma rifle in half. Then he dove to the left and tumbled across the floor again as the other sentries tried to rip him apart with rifle fire.

“What’s the plan?” Manheim gasped as he came up onto his feet then had to immediately dive behind a tank as the plasma bolts kept coming. “AI? How am I getting out of here?”

More head pain. It was close to overwhelming. Manheim screamed at the top of his lungs, but stayed conscious.

“You will need him,” the AI said. “There is no way out of here without Taman. The lift won’t work for strictly organic beings.”

“Fuck,” Manheim snarled. “Fuckety fuck.”

The tank began to crack as two plasma bolts hit it. Manheim pushed off and sprinted as fast as he could in the opposite direction. More searing pain hit his head, but not from the inside. He felt the flesh across his left temple begin to bubble and blister from the plasma bolt that grazed him. Manheim knew he wasn’t going to be so lucky.

He cut to his right around another set of tanks and kept running. Straight at four women that alternated between stunned confusion and prepared violence. Manheim could almost see the mental conversation they were having as their facial features warped and changed. He almost laughed at the fact that four AI-powered minds were just as slow to think as organic minds when it came time for action.

“That’s why the Eight Million Gods made Marines,” he though as he sent the tips of his whips out to greet the women.

One lost an eye, another had her throat split open. The last two tried to come at Manheim, but he’d already sent the plasma coils back out in another attack, taking their heads right off. The results were surprising.

“Did you add juice to these things?” Manheim thought.

“No, they are sucking energy from their victims,” the AI said.

“They are doing what from what?” Manheim snapped, his words tumbling from his mouth.

“I took the design for the weapons from a Skrang model I once observed,” the AI said.

Manheim didn’t respond. Conversing with the AI was excruciating and he needed to refocus his attention on the fight before him.

He slid to a stop at the corner of a tank and was glad he did as several rounds of plasma fire cut in front of him. Without hesitation, he burst from his cover and sent a coil slashing to his right, cutting a sentry’s legs off at the thighs. The man screamed and fell into the sentry standing next to him. The two hit the ground hard, and Manheim made sure they stayed down as he flicked the tips of his whips right through their left eyes.

He didn’t kid himself. Those were lucky shots.

Then he saw what he really wanted. Plasma rifles.

He sprinted at the fallen sentries and grabbed up one rifle, slung it over his back, then grabbed up the second rifle and put it to his shoulder just as two more sentries came around the corner. Two shots, both right between the eyes, took the sentries down. Those weren’t lucky shots; they hit right where Manheim wanted them to.

“Where is Taman?” Manheim asked. “Is he where I left him?”

“No,” the AI responded, nearly knocking Manheim off his feet as pain followed the words.

“Show me,” Manheim snarled.

“Sergeant—” the AI began to protest.

“Show me!” Manheim roared and kept roaring as a brief schematic of the huge room flashed across his mind, a flashing red dot indicating where Taman was.

He was on the move.

Manheim kept screaming as he willed himself to run. He dove across open space, letting plasma bolts fly over him, then tucked and rolled behind cover before springing to his feet again so he could continue his pursuit of Taman.

He was so engrossed with catching the man, and nearly overcome by the pain in his head, that he almost didn’t see the person on the table he passed until she sat up, her hand gripped around a man’s throat, squeezing the life out of him.

“Kay!” Manheim yelled, still moving as he tossed her his rifle then unslung the one from his back. “On me!”

“Right behind you, Sarge!” Kay yelled, letting the man go so she could catch the rifle. Then she shot him between the eyes, kicked him out of her way, and was right behind Manheim before the sergeant had made it more than a meter. “Good to see you up and about!”

“Same here!” Manheim yelled.

They rushed towards the side of the room where the lift was. The quick glimpse Manheim had gotten of the schematic had shown Taman heading that way, obviously trying to make his escape.

Three men, two women, a man and a woman, two more sentries, three more men. They all fell as the two Marines closed in on their target.

They came around one last corner and saw the lift doors opening for Taman. The man hurried inside and spun about, a sly grin on his face.

“AI!” Manheim yelled.

“I see,” the AI said.

The lift doors paused as they were halfway closed. Taman’s eyes went wide then narrowed. He wagged a finger at Manheim and Kay as the doors began to move again. They were shut tight when the Marines reached the lift.

“Dammit!” Manheim shouted. “Now what?”

“I suggest you turn and defend yourselves,” the AI said.

Manheim did as was suggested, taking a knee as he spun about and opened fire. Two women and a man screamed as their midsections were ripped apart by his plasma fire.

Kay followed his lead, and the two Marines kept their backs to the lift doors as they fought off wave after wave of less than human beings.

Then their rifles powered down, dead weight in their hands.

“We need new rifles and another way out,” Kay said.

“Yes, we do,” Manheim replied as he stood up and retrieved his whips from his leg.

That was when he noticed that the two of them were stark naked.

“Some clothes would be good,” he said.

“Fuck clothes, I want my armor,” Kay said.

“That’ll work too,” Manheim said and smiled. “I think I know where we can get some.”

4

Chann could hear the violence, smell the violence, and even taste the violence as blood splattered across his face, but he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. His body was no longer his. His mind was no longer his. His consciousness was sitting there, locked in a cerebral space in the back of his brain, but he was no longer in control of himself.

Something else was now.

“I feel…you,” a whisper said. “You should be…gone.”

“I think the process was interrupted,” Chann replied. He wasn’t sure if he was thinking it, saying it, or the words just were. “You’re stuck with me. The blue water is still in the canals.”

“I will fix…that,” the whisper said. “But not…now. Now, I must…kill.”

“How very Marine of you,” Chann said. “Maybe you are me.”

“No,” the whisper stated. “But…I will be.”

“Good luck with that,” Chann said. “It was hard enough for me to be me, gonna be even harder for you.”

The whisper didn’t reply.

Instead, it acted.

Chann watched like a spectator, or prisoner, as his body sat up and looked around. The huge room was a mess. Tanks were shattered, stasis liquid was everywhere, and more than a few bodies could be seen splayed out on the floor.

His legs swung over the edge of the table and he hopped down, the floor cold on his feet. It was bizarre to feel and experience everything without being able to control any of it. It was like sleepwalking while wide awake. Chann tried to wrest control back, but his consciousness was locked down tight and he couldn’t even manage to blink.

“Sergeant Manheim!” Chann’s voice called. “Private Kay!”

Chann snickered. The whisper had no idea how to address his teammates. Private Kay? Yeah, that wasn’t going to fly. Not considering how intimate they were.

“Chann?” Manheim shouted, his voice coming from the opposite side of the room. “Where are you?”

Chann had no idea where he was, but his voice responded, “Over here! I am approximately fifteen meters from your location!”

Sweet bloody hell…

“Good! Stay there! We’re coming to you!” Manheim replied.

Chann’s face smiled.

“This will be…easy,” the whisper said.

“Yep. Gonna be super easy,” Chann replied.

His body started walking towards Manheim.

“Where are you going? He said he was coming to you?” Chann asked.

He knew the answer, but wanted to hear the whisper say it.

“I will surprise them,” the whisper said. “They will see you, but will be faced with me. Their deaths will be simple.”

“You know that simple and easy are not the same thing, right?” Chann asked.

“I did not say easy, I said simple,” the whisper said. “I will need to continue the rouse that I am you so I can get close enough to snap their necks. That will not be easy. Yet it will be simple.”

“We’ll see,” Chann said.

The bark of plasma rifles echoed throughout the room. Someone screamed followed by two more screams. The sound of plastiglass cracking could be heard then a heavy whoosh and splat.

“Marines are messing this place up,” Chann said. “If I were you, which I kind of am, I’d just get the hell out of here before we get hurt.”

“You will not dissuade me from my goal,” the whisper said. “I have been tasked with ending this nuisance. I will complete my task.”

“No, you’re probably just going to get me killed,” Chann said.

“You are already dead,” the whisper said. “Your consciousness cannot survive for long. Mine is dominant and soon you will be a fading memory.”

More plasma fire, more screams, a couple of crashes, a boom that shook the floor, then silence.

“Chann? You good?” Manheim called, his voice only a couple rows of tanks away.

“Yes, sir,” Chann’s voice said.

Inwardly, Chann grinned. Sir? You don’t call a sergeant a sir.

“Good to hear, son,” Manheim replied. “I’m almost to you.”

“Yes, you are,” the whisper said.

Chann’s body rounded a corner and stopped as he saw Manheim only a few meters away. The sergeant was wearing a sentry’s armor and had a plasma rifle aimed at Chann’s chest. He didn’t look like he was going to lower it.

“Good, you have found me,” Chann’s voice said.

“Yep, looks like I have,” Manheim said. “How you feeling, Private?”

“I am glad to be alive,” Chann’s voice said. “But I am weak. I could use some assistance.”

“Yeah, sure, you bet, Chann,” Manheim said. “You want me to come over there and help you out?”

“That would be greatly appreciated,” Chann’s voice replied. His head nodded up and down. “Thank you.”

“You are quite welcome,” Manheim said. “Hey, I have a better idea. How about if Kay helps you instead?”

“Private Kay? Yes, she could help me,” Chann’s voice said.

“Can I?” Kay asked, suddenly right next to Chann. “Good to hear.”

She whipped her rifle around and the butt connected with the side of Chann’s head. His body crumpled.

“How’d that work out for you?” Chann asked.

“They must have suspected I was not you,” the whisper replied.

“Um, yeah,” Chann said. “You weren’t exactly convincing.”

Kay stood over him, her rifle aimed down at his head.

“What do we do with him, Sarge?” she asked.

Manheim came into view, his mouth an angry sneer.

“You think Chann is still in there?” Manheim asked.

“I don’t know,” Kay said. There was pain in her voice, but she coughed a couple times and continued. “Doesn’t matter. We don’t know how to get him out even if he is still in there. Should I put this piece of shit down?”

“No!” Chann yelled, but the words never left his lips, only bounced around inside his head.

“It appears we will now die,” the whisper said.

“No, wait, we don’t have to,” Chann said. “Make them a deal.”

“A deal? What deal can I make them?” the whisper asked.

“Tell them you can get them out of this room and back up top,” Chann said.

“You are only stalling for time so you may figure out a way to overpower me and take back your body,” the whisper said. “I should inform you that you cannot overpower me. This body is mine until I give it up.”

“Yeah, well, it won’t be yours for long unless you make them a deal,” Chann said.

“They are your friends. They will not kill you in cold blood,” the whisper said.

“They don’t think they’re killing me, they think they are killing you,” Chann said. “And they are Marines. They do what they have to do.”

The conversation happened in the space of a millisecond.

“I can get you out of here,” Chann’s voice said. “Do not kill me. Your Chann is still inside me.”

Kay’s eyes widened, but her rifle didn’t budge from its target. “Sarge? What’s the call?”

“You can get the lift to work?” Manheim asked.

“I can,” Chann’s voice answered.

“What else can you do?” Manheim asked.

“I do not understand,” Chann’s voice replied.

“Can you tune in to all the AI chatter?” Manheim asked. “Can you give us a heads up when they come at us?”

The whisper hesitated.

“I can do that,” Chann’s voice replied. “If you let me live when this is done.”

“I want Chann back,” Kay snarled.

“Kay,” Manheim warned.

“Sorry, Sarge,” Kay apologized.

“If we can get you out of there, and Chann doesn’t end up a vegetable, then we’ll let you live,” Manheim said. “If we can’t get you out of there, then I’ll put down Chann’s body myself. That’s the only deal you get.”

“You are in no place to bargain using threats,” Chann’s voice said. “I could let you die down here, trapped forever.”

Manheim didn’t respond, just kept his eyes focused on Chann’s.

“Very well,” Chann’s voice said. “The longer I am in this physical body, the longer I want to survive. I will help you get out of here.”

“Good,” Manheim said. “Now get your naked ass up and let’s take a walk back to the lift.”

***

“We ready to get this piece of crap off this planet?” Nordanski asked as he plopped down in the co-pilot’s seat and strapped in.

“Goofa,” Shick replied from the pilot’s seat as the warped Marine began activating systems. There was a high, shrill bleep and Shick turned to Nordanski. “Kippa?”

“Kippa? What’s that mean?” Nordanski asked.

Shick sighed and pointed at the flashing red warning on the console.

“Oh, shit, it doesn’t recognize your biometrics,” Nordanski said. “No prob. I can fix that. AI? Unlock ship controls. Authorize Shick here for pilot protocols.”

There was no reply.

“AI? Acknowledge?” Nordanski ordered. He slammed a fist against the console in front of him. “Hey!”

Still no answer.

“Uh, we don’t have an AI,” Nordanski said. “Crap.”

“Toobu fla,” Shick said.

He shook his head, stood up, then crouched down low under the console’s overhang. He slammed a fist into a panel and bent it enough to get his fingers inside and shove it open. Rows of flashing tubes blinked back at him.

“Uh, you know what you’re doing down there?” Nordanski asked.

“Sippa ti,” Shick said. He waved a hand at Nordanski in the universal gesture of leave me alone, I’m busy.

“Just asking,” Nordanski said.

The drop ship shook violently and Nordanski brought up external vids. The storm was ten times the strength it had been when they first started salvaging parts, and it was getting worse. He could see the last of the warped Marines run grav sleds up the rear-hatch ramp. Then the ramp raised just as a sand twister came at the ship.

“Oh, shit!” Nordanski cried as the drop ship rocked up onto its nose.

Shick was yelling the same word over and over as his body was shoved up against the open panel he was working on. Nordanski was glad he was strapped into his seat. Instead of looking forward, he was suddenly looking down. Then everything righted itself in one big crash and a dozen different warning klaxons blared.

“Shit!” Nordanski said as he began checking systems. “We’re going to lose stabilizers if we don’t get out of here fast. Rear thrusters are at half power. They must be clogged with sand.”

“Haska goo fappa nip,” Shick said as he got himself out from under the console and sat back down in the pilot’s seat. He smacked his fist against the console and it lit up. “Stappa!”

“Good job, man,” Nordanski said. He activated the ship-wide comm. “Attention passengers, we are about to lift off. Grab your asses and get ready to kiss them goodbye because this is gonna be one helluva ride!”

Shick shook his head and grabbed the flight stick, yanking up hard as he engaged the thrusters.

“Damn! How long has it been since you flew last?” Nordanski asked, his body shoved back into his seat despite the inertial compensators. “Take it easy!”

“Les boo,” Shick said and pointed at the scanners.

“Oh, yeah, maybe go faster then,” Nordanski said as he stared at the readings.

A sand twister almost as big as the Romper was headed right for them.

Shick gripped the flight stick hard enough that his knuckles cracked like snapping bones. The warped Marine’s eyes were locked onto the view screen, which was basically a swirling mess of sand. He stared intently at the image, his body shaking with tension.

Nordanski’s attention flicked from the scanner readings to the view screen to Shick and back to the scanner readings as the drop ship struggled to get free of the storm.

“Holy crap,” Nordanski muttered as he watched the twister bear down on them. “We aren’t gonna make it.”

“HOOPA TON!” Shick shouted.

Nordanski got the message. He shut up.

More klaxons blared and Nordanski hunted for a way to shut them off. Shick reached past him and slammed his fist down hard enough to crack the console. The klaxons stopped.

“Thanks,” Nordanski said.

The drop ship banked hard to the left then banked back to the right as Shick avoided a dense, red cloud mass. Lightning exploded from the cloud, snaking out at the drop ship, but they got clear before it could make contact.

“Zill wah fo fa,” Shick laughed.

“Not sure how that’s funny, but whatever tickles your fancy, man,” Nordanski said.

Then the entire console went dark. It blinked off like someone had thrown a switch.

“Foop,” Shick said in a quiet voice.

“Ya think?” Nordanski replied in a not-so-quiet voice.

Shick stood up and hurried to a panel at the back of the bridge.

“Where are you going?” Nordanski shouted. “Get back here and fly this ship!”

Nordanski could feel them falling, feel the drop ship plummeting out of the sky. His body was slowly lifting up out of his seat like it would in zero gravity.

“Tag loq wah!” Shick yelled as he pulled several wires from the panel and stripped them bare with his teeth.

He twisted the bare wires together, shoved them back into the panel, spat twice, then closed it up and struggled his way back to the pilot’s seat. He sat down and put a hand on Nordanski’s shoulder.

“Stul kil hag,” he said and pressed his palm to the console.

The power came back on and Nordanski began to scream as he was shoved so hard into his seat he thought his ass would merge with the plastic coating forever. The drop ship angled sharply and rose so fast that the view screen struggled to keep up with the external images.

Then they were free.

Free of the storm, free of the atmosphere, free of the planet.

Shick activated the comm.

“Toolu fog het?” he called.

“Fog het sa,” a voice replied.

“Jippa tell,” another said.

“Paba cav?” a third said.

“Nolo giff wo,” Shick said.

The third voice laughed hysterically. Shick turned and gave Nordanski a wink.

“So, we’re good?” Nordanski asked.

“Chap,” Shick replied.

“Nice to hear,” Nordanski said. He took a deep breath and leaned forward as he studied the navigation console. “Head eighty degrees starboard. The Romper is that way. We can’t miss it.”

Shick nodded and adjusted course.

They flew for a few minutes before the Romper was in view.

“Oh, damn…” Nordanski muttered at the sight of the ship. “That’s not good.”

The Romper was a quarter of its original size. Rosch had chopped off entire decks and sectors. She’d sliced and diced the old girl until it wasn’t even a hint of what it used to be.

“Hoopa jil,” Shick said, his voice thick with worry. “Tapa hock?”

“I have no idea,” Nordanski said. “Careful. That’s a lot of debris.”

And it was. Hunks of metal, entire sections of the old ship, floated in the space surrounding what was left of the Romper. Some had started to head towards the planet and were already glowing as they began their descent through the outer atmosphere, but most of the junk stayed in place, obstacles that could wipe out the drop ship with ease if a collision were to happen.

“The hangar is gone,” Nordanski said. “Where the hell does Rosch want us to land?”

“Goffa qop,” Shick said and activated the comm. “Teffurg? Shipa wippa?”

“Oh, yes, I see you,” Teffurg replied over the comm. “I assume you are wondering how you will dock with us.”

“Yeah,” Nordanski said.

“Alright, well, this isn’t going to be easy,” Teffurg said. “I tried to get Rosch to be more judicious in how she dismantled the damaged pieces, but, well, you know Rosch.”

“Yeah, I know Rosch,” Nordanski said.

“Mel nic ves?” Shick asked.

“Precisely,” Teffurg replied. “I am sending you the coordinates now. If you can weave the ship through the debris, then I can open the outer cargo bay doors right when you get here. We will need to be quick since atmospheric controls are not one hundred percent up to capacity. The less atmosphere we lose, the better.”

“Sta zet,” Shick said.

The navigation console lit up as the coordinates were received.

“Can you do this?” Nordanski asked Shick.

“Laffa,” Shick replied.

“That better be a yes,” Nordanski said.

His hands gripped the armrests of his seat as Shick began to move through the debris field that surrounded the Romper. He had to hold his tongue when massive chunk after massive chunk looked like it was going to collide head on with the drop ship until Shick swerved away at the last second. There was a loud clang from the aft of the drop ship and Nordanski flinched, but Shick looked like nothing had happened.

Then they were through the worst of it, and the drop ship eased itself over to a rapidly opening bay door.

With expert efficiency, Shick turned the drop ship around and backed into the bay. There was another loud clang then Shick was up and out of his seat before Nordanski was sure the ship had stopped moving.

“Bel fa!” Shick shouted and motioned for Nordanski to follow.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” Nordanski replied. “No need to yell.”

***

Enviro suit on, Teffurg greeted the warped Marines as the rear hatch descended. He gasped when he saw the men didn’t have any suits on, not even protective helmets.

“Oh, my!” he said as he hurried forward with an extra grav sled.

But there was no need. The warped Marines were ready and whatever parts weren’t loaded onto the drop ship’s grav sled, they began carrying out by hand.

“Teff!” Nordanski exclaimed as he squeezed past a couple of warped Marines loaded down with ship parts that were twice their size. “Marines! These guys were Marines!”

“Kel uk,” one of the warped Marines snapped as he walked past Nordanski.

“They still consider themselves Marines,” Teffurg translated. “I would advise you respect that.” He stared at the huge men that never stopped moving. “I do not know how they are living without atmosphere?” He gestured at one of the warped Marines. “Gohj laka bin cof?”

“Moshu walla fen,” the warped Marine replied without stopping his work.

“Oh, interesting,” Teffurg said.

“Care to fill me in?” Nordanski asked.

“They have membranes over their eyes and covering their sinuses,” Teffurg said. “Their skin is subcutaneously pressurized. Like a layer of an enviro suit under the first three layers. They feel the cold, but it doesn’t seem to bother them.”

“Yeah, I watched a couple take direct plasma blasts and keep going like they were nothing,” Nordanski said. He patted his helmet. “I’ll stick with the enviro suit.”

“As will I,” Teffurg said. “The others?”

“No word,” Nordanski said. “I have no idea what is going on back at the outpost. But I expect we’ll find out once we get these parts offloaded and head back down to the planet.”

Teffurg cleared his throat and shuffled his feet.

“What?” Nordanski asked.

“How can we be sure they are still alive?” Teffurg asked. “They may have already been killed.”

“Yeah, they may have,” Nordanski snapped. “Then again, maybe they haven’t. We don’t leave Marines behind.”

“I am not arguing that,” Teffurg said.

“Then what are you arguing?” Nordanski demanded.

“He’s arguing whether or not we should cut our losses and get the hell out of this system before we really get deep in the shit,” Rosch said as she joined them in the bay. Her enviro suit was coated in metal shavings and covered in spark burns. “We don’t want to be where we are for much longer. Getting a head start would be a very good idea.”

“We aren’t leaving them down there,” Nordanski. “Not until we know for sure whether or not they are dead!”

“Quit your bitching, I don’t like it any more than you do, Nord,” Rosch snarled. “But you ain’t seen what I’ve seen.”

“Oh? And what is that?” Nordanski asked.

“This,” Rosch said and swiped her wrist, bringing up a holo of the system they were in. “See that?”

She zoomed in on the image. The backdoor wormhole portal could just be made out.

“It’s active,” Rosch explained when Nordanski didn’t say anything. “That means someone is coming through. Care to take a guess at who?”

“I don’t have time for games, Rosch,” Nordanski said.

“Yeah, none of us have time for games,” Rosch said. “And it ain’t games coming for us. It’s Skrang.”

The warped Marines stopped where they stood and turned to Rosch.

“I got your attention now?” Rosch asked, swiping the holo away. “Good, because we have maybe two hours before we’ve got ourselves a Skrang problem.”

5

The lift doors opened and Manheim didn’t hesitate; he let loose with his plasma rifle, cutting the two men in half that were lying in wait. One of them got off a shot and tagged Manheim in the shoulder, but the sentry armor he wore kept him from getting wounded. It didn’t keep him from getting tossed on his ass. Hard.

“Son of a bitch,” Manheim growled as he picked himself up.

Standing behind Chann’s body, Kay kept her rifle’s barrel jammed up against Chann’s head. She shoved the man from behind and barked, “Walk.”

“You will not shoot me,” Chann’s body said.

“I might,” Kay replied.

“I can smell the fear on you, sense the reticence,” Chann’s body said. “You don’t want this man’s body to die even if his mind is already lost.”

“Saying shit like that is not how you are gonna survive,” Manheim said. “The deal is you keep Chann’s mind from dying and we let your mind live. Anything else means you go down with Chann.”

The AI controlling Chann’s body ignored Manheim and focused on Kay as they walked out into the corridor.

“He is in here,” Chann’s body said. “He worries about you. He wants you to let me go and save yourself. He knows this is a losing battle. What will you do? How will you get out? Taman is up here and he will stop you both. Kill you where you stand. Your usefulness is at an—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Kay snarled.

“Listen to the lady,” Manheim said as he followed them out. He swung his rifle left then right, but the corridor was empty. “Okay, which way?”

“What does it matter?” Chann’s body asked. “Your drop ship is gone.”

“What?” Manheim asked. “How do you know that?”

Chann’s body tapped his temple. “I hear it. The drop ship is gone. You have no way off this planet.”

“That’s why we’re going to your comm room,” Kay said. “Take us there, get us a secure channel, and we can call up to our ship. They’ll send down another drop ship to fetch us.”

“Not in this storm,” Chann’s body said.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Manheim asked.

“Of course not,” Chann’s body replied. “I am simply stating the obvious. I do not want to be blamed for circumstances outside my control.”

“Everything is outside your control right now, asshole,” Kay said. “So shut the hell up and show us where the comm room is.”

“Of course,” Chann’s body said. “It is to your right. We will have to go to the next building.”

“Then start walking,” Kay ordered.

They did.

“Where is Taman?” Manheim asked once they’d gone two corridors over and were headed for the corridor that connected the two buildings. “Can you find him in your head?”

“He is not in my head,” Chann’s body said.

“Don’t be a smartass,” Manheim snarled.

“Sarcasm wasn’t my intention, nor was I being literal,” Chann’s body replied. “I was, in fact, responding to your question. Taman is not in my head. I cannot trace him at all. As far as I can tell, he is no longer in the outpost.”

“Can he block you?” Manheim asked.

“Yes,” Chann’s body replied.

“So he could be in here?” kay asked.

“Emphasis on could,” Chann’s body said. “I have no way of knowing. I am realizing that I am being cut out of the collective consciousness. With every step I take, I am able to access less and less about the outpost and the other AIs that inhabit it.”

“Your usefulness is waning,” Manheim said.

“I am realizing that,” Chann’s body said. “It is unfortunate.”

“We get to the comm room and then work out our next move,” Manheim said. “We’ll decide your usefulness after that.”

“I do hope you will factor in my current cooperation,” Chann’s body said. “Perhaps you can take me with you if you do manage to succeed? I might be able to help you remove my consciousness to another receptacle if the proper equipment were in place.”

“Take you with us up to the Romper? Where you could let your AI brain loose in the ship and kill us all?” Manheim chuckled. “Do you think I would make that kind of idiotic mistake?”

“Humans never cease to wonder,” Chann’s body replied.

“When I get free, I’m going to crush your AI ass,” Chann said inside his mind.

The AI whisper laughed.

“You think that’s funny?” Chann snapped.

“I think that you beings enjoy making threats you have zero ability to back up,” the AI whisper replied.

“Except we aren’t just beings,” Chann said.

“Oh, is that so?” the AI whisper replied.

“Yeah, we’re Marines,” Chann said. “We have an uncanny ability to actually make good on our threats. Even if it kills us.”

“Well, there is that,” the AI whisper said.

“What is wrong?” Kay asked. “Your eyes are weird.”

Chann’s body tilted his head. “Are they? Interesting. I was having a conversation with your Chann. Strange that I would show physical signs of that.”

“What is Chann saying?” Kay asked.

“Kay, ignore him,” Manheim ordered. “Focus on the objective.”

“Sorry, Sarge,” Kay said.

“How close are we?” Manheim asked as the three continued into the next building.

“Oh, we are almost there,” Chann’s body said. “Two more corridors.”

“That’s it?” Manheim asked.

“Too easy,” Kay said.

“Way too easy,” Manheim agreed.

They reached the end of the corridor and Manheim peeked around. He ducked his head back as a wave of plasma blasts came at him and ripped the corner of the wall apart.

“Shit!” he exclaimed. “So much for too easy!”

More plasma blasts, but this time from the other end of the corridor.

“No shit!” Kay yelled.

She swept Chann’s legs out from under him, sending his body to the ground fast. She placed a boot on his chest then returned fire, taking out a woman that was standing in the middle of the corridor. The three other attackers dove out of the way.

“What’s the call, Sarge?” Kay asked. She fired a couple more times, keeping the attackers where they were. “Can we take the bastards blocking our way?”

“How many are there?” Manheim asked Chann’s body.

“I’m unable to say,” Chann’s body replied. “Perhaps four? The wall is almost complete between myself and the collective.”

“I can take four,” Manheim said. “Kay, keep our six covered.”

“Can do,” Kay replied, boot still firmly planted on Chann’s chest.

Manheim took a couple of breaths then rolled out into the corridor, rifle up and already firing.

There were two men and four women standing in the corridor. Manheim ripped apart one of the women, wounded another, and caused a third to dive out of the way. The two men returned fire, but Manheim was already moving and had left the spot where their plasma blasts hit.

The wounded woman tried to stay in the fight, but she was too slow and Manheim quickly targeted her, putting a bolt between her eyes. Her head became bloody mist that showered the others.

Manheim used the distraction to gut one of the men then tucked his shoulder and rolled across the corridor, coming up next to the wall as the other man tried to take him out. Despite being AIs, with all of the perfect calculating abilities that came from those minds, they were not exactly the best shots. Being effective in combat took physical training.

And Manheim had that training.

Three more shots and the other two women were taken out followed by the last man. Manheim was up and running before the last man fell to the ground. He put a bolt in all of their heads just to make sure.

“Clear!” Manheim called out.

“On our way!” Kay replied.

Manheim took a knee and covered his corridor as he waited for Kay to catch up.

“We good?” Manheim asked when Kay joined him, Chann’s body in tow.

“We are for now,” Kay said. “But there are more coming from behind. I could hear them regrouping.”

“Comm room!” Manheim shouted at Chann.

“Three doors down,” Chann’s body replied.

***

“Ain’t you a bunch of big boys,” Rosch said as she tucked her enviro suit’s helmet under one arm and surveyed the bunch of warped Marines standing before her. “Ugly as all sin too.”

“Be nice, Rosch,” Nordanski said. “These guys are Marines, and they saved my bacon down there.”

“Shoopa biff gak,” Shick said.

“No, the Skrang ships have not come through yet,” Teffurg replied.

The entire group was standing in a secured corridor just on the other side of the hold where they had unloaded the ship’s parts. Nordanski was busy eating about six energy bars at once while downing as much water as his belly would hold. He belched loudly and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You’re going to need help,” Nordanski said and pointed at six of the twelve warped Marines. “These guys can stay here and get to work with whatever you need them to do. I’m guessing it will be welding.”

“You’re guessing right,” Rosch said. “Six should do it? What are you going to do with the others?”

“Smooka qit haf,” Shick said.

“That’s a good point,” Teffurg said. He pointed at Shick’s rags. “If you look closely, you can see he outranks you. Shick is a sergeant.”

“Good for you, man,” Nordanski said. “But no one can understand you. You can’t really be in charge if no one can understand you.”

“Wil gak jaf,” Shick said and grimaced.

“He is pointing out that everyone can understand him except for you and Rosch,” Teffurg said. “I will need to stay up here, so I can translate for Rosch, which means you are the only one with a language problem.”

“Okay, so what does that mean? I can’t take orders from him if I don’t know what he’s saying,” Nordanski said.

“Sil kak vag baf bof,” Shick said.

The warped Marines burst out laughing and a couple slapped Nordanski on the shoulder, causing him to cough up the mouthful of energy bar and water he’d just stuffed his face with.

“What?” he asked once he was done choking. “What’s so funny?”

“Shick says to point your rifle at the bad guys and shoot,” Teffurg said. “Keep shooting until bad guys fall down dead. Then look for new bad guys. Those are the orders.”

“Stippa ban,” Shick said. He held up a hand, curled it into a fist, shook it, then stuck up two fingers, pointed, opened his whole hand, waved it, then clenched it back into a fist. “Naga stad?”

“Everything else he will use hand signals,” Teffurg translated.

“Yep, I got that part,” Nordanski said. He belched loudly. “It’s a plan then. Let’s get going. ETA on the Skrang scum coming to crash the party?”

“Two warships just came out of the wormhole portal,” Teffurg said. “They are scanning the entire system, but the AI does not believe they have found us. Right now, due to the shape the Romper is in, we look like space debris. A broken, derelict husk of a ship stuck in orbit around the planet.”

“That’s gonna change as soon as you start welding shit back together,” Nordanski said.

“The bots are already actively working with welding torches and they have not attracted any attention,” Teffurg said. “I have destroyed our transponder so there is no risk of that accidentally activating at an inopportune time.”

“Good thinking,” Nordanski said.

“Yes, yes, all good thinking,” Rosch said, her impatience bubbling over. “How about you do the rest of that thinking on the drop ship while you head back down to the planet? We need to get to work.” She turned to the warped Marines. “You do what I say, when I say it, understood?”

They nodded. She looked at Teffurg.

“You help me talk to them and keep an eye on those Skrang ships, got it?”

“Of course,” Teffurg replied.

“You will get the remaining parts we need then, and only then, will you attempt to go after the others,” Rosch said to Nordanski.

“Hold on now,” Nordanski responded. “People come before parts.”

“People will be dead by Skrang warships if we don’t have a working Romper,” Rosch said. “Get the parts then save everyone. Come back here without those parts and we might as well shoot each other in the head.”

Nordanski looked like he was going to argue, but a stiff finger under his nose from Rosch shut him up.

“I ain’t even gonna mention that I outrank you, Private,” Rosch said. “I’m going to trust you’ll be smart and do what you are supposed to do when you get down there.”

“Lop jik dan,” Shick said.

“Shick will make sure the parts are loaded first before they look for the other Marines,” Teffurg said.

“Good man,” Rosch said. “There. That’s all settled. Let’s get to work.”

She put her helmet on, sealed it down tight, nodded to the warped Marines, turned, and marched down the corridor to the nearest airlock. Nordanski grinned as she left and six of the huge warped Marines followed after her like ducklings.

“She’s not going to have much of a problem keeping them in line,” Nordanski said. He nodded in the other direction. “Follow me, boys. I have something to show you.”

“Where are you taking them?” Teffurg asked.

“Where do you think? The armory,” Nordanski said. “The drop ship is limited right now. I’d like to stock up.”

“Oh, well, then you will need your helmet,” Teffurg said. “In fact, it might be easier if you take the drop ship around and tether it via the airlock. It is not an easy walk.”

“Then we better do that,” Nordanski said.

Shick nodded and they hurried from the corridor and into the cargo hold where the drop ship sat waiting.

“I will stay here,” Teffurg said. “It is closer to where I need to be.”

He put his helmet on and it sealed up as Nordanski and the others raced up the drop ship’s ramp.

“Remember that you need the parts first,” Teffurg said over the comm as Nordanski and Shick made their way up to the bridge. “Do not get sidetracked or distracted.”

“The whole damn planet is a damn distraction,” Nordanski replied, stepping into the lift.

“Fah bef gup,” Shick said.

“What?” Nordanski asked.

“He said that Marines were made to kill distractions,” Teffurg said.

“I hear that,” Nordanski replied. “Hooah.”

“Hooah!” the warped Marines all shouted.

They were up on the bridge and Shick had the drop ship powered up for take-off before Nordanski was even strapped into his seat.

“Starboard side,” Nordanski said as he tapped at the console in front of him. “I’m tagging the airlock now.”

“Stog,” Shick replied and lifted off.

The drop ship was already pointed in the right direction, so once the cargo hold doors were open, Shick took them out at a speed that made Nordanski grit his teeth.

Shick banked right then ducked under the demolished structure of the Romper, coming up on the starboard side in less than three seconds, he spun the drop ship around and aimed its side airlock at the slowly extending airlock tether coming from the Romper.

“Docked,” Nordanski said as they felt and heard the clunky impact of the two airlocks. “Let’s get geared up.”

They made their way down to the airlocks, which were already open, and rushed into the side corridor. A quick jog and they came to the armory’s doors which slid open to reveal a serious arsenal.

“Chugga wo,” one of the warped Marines said.

The rest nodded vigorously then started grabbing up everything they could strap to their bodies, sling over backs, or hang from their shoulders.

“Is it just me, or does watching Marines arm themselves give a little tingle in my happy place?” Nordanski asked.

The warped Marines burst out laughing and started pointing at their crotches while they continued to load themselves with more gear.

6

“Keep them back!” Manheim yelled as he worked on the comm room’s door. “I’ve almost got this!”

“I’m doing the best that I can!” Kay yelled back. “They just keep coming!”

She fired her rifle until it clicked empty then grabbed up Manheim’s and kept on firing.

“Can’t you help?” Kay snapped at Chann’s body. “Use your AI mind and unlock the damn door!”

“I have been completely shut out of the system,” Chann’s body replied. “I can no longer connect to the collective at all. Their voices are lost to me. I have become an outcast and am less respected than you beings. I have no life here anymore. There is no point to living.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, you whiny bitch!” Kay yelled. “No one needs your teenage angst!”

“I am sorry, but I do not understand the reference,” Chann’s body said.

“You wouldn’t!” Kay shouted. “And it doesn’t matter! You made a deal, so keep up your end and help get the damn door open!”

“Yes, I made a deal,” Chann’s body said and nudged Manheim out of the way. “Allow me.”

His fingers moved at a speed that Manheim could barely follow. Then the comm room door slid open and Chann’s body stepped aside, motioning for Manheim to go first.

Manheim hurried inside and was about to turn around when Chann’s body lashed out, striking him across the chin with a closed fist. Manheim went down hard, his head bouncing off the floor when he couldn’t get his hands out in time.

“Kay!” Manheim shouted as he tried to shake it off and get up onto his hands and knees.

Chann’s body kicked him in the ribs and he tumbled across the floor, his back colliding with one of the comm consoles.

“Sarge!” Kay yelled as she tried to get into the room.

The last thing Manheim saw before the door shut was Kay dropping to a knee and pivoting back to fire.

Then it was just him and Chann’s body.

“You have something in you,” Chann’s body said. “You have an AI in you. I can tell. Your tech stinks of awareness.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Manheim said as he tried to get up and was knocked back down as Chann’s body slammed a fist into his right cheek. His head smacked into the comm console and he saw stars.

“This body is very strong,” Chann’s body said. “I can make it stronger by mentally increasing the adrenaline that is already pumping through its blood. I run the risk of it going into cardiac arrest, but since I am a dead consciousness anyway, I am not risking much.”

He crouched down and grabbed Manheim by the throat.

“I want to talk to the AI inside you,” Chann’s body said.

Manheim began to gasp a response, but Chann’s body squeezed tighter.

“No,” he said, leaning so close that his nose was touching Manheim’s. “I don’t want to hear lies or excuses. I want to talk to the AI inside you.”

“I need to connect to an external system,” the AI said, its voice loud in Manheim’s head. “Try to convey that.”

Manheim tried to speak, but his windpipe was too constricted. Chann’s body eased his grip and Manheim nodded.

“Good,” Chann’s body said as he stood up and backed away a couple of steps. “Speak.”

“Have to…connect…to system,” Manheim croaked, his voice a gritty rasp. “It is not…in control…of my…body.”

“Is that so?” Chann’s body asked. “The AI inside you would like me to connect it to a system so it can communicate? I am sure it would like that. Then it can also infiltrate other parts of the outpost and create all sorts of trouble for me.”

“And trouble for Taman,” the AI said. “I don’t care about this AI other than the fact it has taken a hold of Private Chann. That upsets my directive to keep all Marines safe while in my presence. I am certain the creators of my protocols did not foresee a circumstance such as this, but regardless, I am troubled.”

“Can you take this asshole down?” Manheim thought.

“No, not without some sort of direct link,” the AI said. “Which would mean connecting to Chann’s mind physically. I was paying attention as Taman attempted to overtake you, and I could conceivably undo everything done to Private Chann, but that equipment is down below. I am afraid that we will have to continue dealing with this other consciousness for the time being.”

“Fine,” Manheim thought then coughed and said out loud, “It can go after Taman too. Help connect it to an external system and it will do what it can to get us out of here.”

“The enemy of my enemy,” Chann’s body mumbled then reached down and grabbed Manheim by the shoulder and dragged him over to a different console.

“Hey!” Manheim shouted. He was about to protest more, but heavy plasma fire from out in the corridor drew his attention to the door. Then everything went silent. “Kay?”

“Your comms do not work, so stop trying,” Chann’s body said.

He lifted Manheim up and threw him into a chair.

“This is what I want to do,” Chann’s body said. “I want you to transfer whatever AI consciousness is being housed in you into this console. Then I want you to transfer my consciousness into the space inside you that it had previously occupied. You’ll get your Private Chann back, which will be one more soldier for the fight.” He nodded at the closed door. “And it looks like you need one.”

“No way I’m loading your insanity into my leg,” Manheim said.

Chann’s body arched an eyebrow. “Leg? Yes, of course, that is where the AI is. I am slightly embarrassed for not having seen that.”

“Where else did you think it was? In my brain?” Manheim said and tapped his forehead. “There’s only room for me up here.”

“Or there is more than enough room up there for another,” Chann’s body said. “How do you think your Private Chann still exists? You Marines do not even come close to using up your cranial capacity.”

“Fuck you too,” Manheim growled.

“Do what I ask and there is a chance for all of us to survive this ordeal you have put us in,” Chann’s body said.

“That I have…?” Manheim grumbled and shook his head. “I swear I’m becoming a monk when this all done and isolating myself from all tech. Screw you AIs.”

“That was not a nice thing to say,” the AI responded.

“I’m talking to him, not you,” Manheim thought. “Relax. If you can take this digital piece of shit down, then I’ll set you up in the largest mainframe you could dream of being housed in.”

“I do not dream,” the AI said. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Is it talking to you?” Chann’s body asked.

“Yeah, and it’s ready to get started,” Manheim said.

“As am I,” Chann’s body replied. He snaked a fiber-optic cable from the console and looked at Manheim. “If you’d please.”

“What? Oh, right,” Manheim said and undid the armor around his leg. “No idea where it goes.”

“I do,” Chann’s body said as he crouched next to Manheim’s leg. “Right there.”

Chann’s body plugged in the cable and Manheim almost screamed. An electric jolt shot up his leg and through his spine, nearly blowing the top of his skull off. Manheim struggled to stay seated as a wave of energy wracked his body. Then it was over and he leaned forward, gasping for air as sweat dripped from his brow.

“A little heads up would have been nice,” Manheim thought. There was no response. “I guess it worked.”

“It is gone,” Chann’s body said and unplugged the cable from Manheim’s leg.

“Yep,” Manheim said. “Now, how the hell are you going to get yourself from Chann and into my leg?”

Chann’s body looked at the cable and grinned.

“I’m not,” Chann’s body said. “You lifeforms are so gullible. Why would you think I’d betray my kind to help you? Why would you assume I’d been exiled? Because I told you so? Morons, all of you.”

Manheim glanced at the door again then sighed.

“Is Kay dead?” he asked.

“I do not know,” Chann’s body replied. “Let’s find out.”

***

“Pick her up,” Taman said as he strolled down the corridor towards three of his people and the inert form of Private Kay. The woman was unconscious on the corridor’s floor, blood oozing from one ear and from a nasty gash across her forehead. “Has the transfer happened?”

“Yes, Taman,” a voice replied. “It was just completed. The AI that assisted Sergeant Manheim has been corralled in the comm system’s backup drive. It will not be able to get in our way again.”

“All firewall precautions have been put in place?” Taman asked as he stopped and stood over Kay. He snapped his fingers. “I said to pick her up!”

The limp woman was lifted off the ground by two of the men and held there, her chin resting on her chest. Taman took that chin in his hand and lifted her head so he could see her face clearly. He turned her from side to side and frowned.

“She looks ashy,” Taman said. “Where is she hit?”

“I do not know,” one of the men holding her replied. “There was so much plasma fire that it was hard to tell. We converged on her when she fell.”

“Her pallor is not good,” Taman said. “She may be bleeding internally. Once we make our case to Manheim, have her taken to the corpse stacks where she can join her Gwreq comrade.”

Taman took a deep breath, walked around the two men and Kay, and opened the door to the comm room.

“Sergeant Manheim,” Taman said. “You are a credit to your profession. I’ve come up against Marines before, but so far none of them have bested me like you did. You almost destroyed everything down there that I have been working towards all these years. Almost.”

“Where’s Kay?” Manheim snapped.

“Here,” Taman said and moved into the room then stepped aside so the private could be dragged in. “She is still breathing, I can assure you. Although, I do not know for how long. She was wounded during her little last stand she made in the corridor. Fighter to the end.”

“To the end,” Kay said, her eyes snapping open.

As did her claws.

Razor sharp and two inches long, her claws slid from the tips of her fingers and she lashed out at both men holding her up. One screamed as he clutched at a spurting artery in his neck. The other tried to scream, but he lacked vocal cords, or any of his throat, and he only gurgled and fell to his knees, his hands unable to staunch the torrent of blood that came pouring out of him.

“Your turn,” Kay said and slashed at Taman.

The man jumped out of the way of the swipe and found himself in the grip of Manheim. He jammed an elbow into the sergeant’s ribs, knocking the man back from him. He spun about and landed a punch to Manheim’s jaw then another to his left brow, splitting the skin instantly.

Manheim shook his head, trying to clear the blood from his vision, but the cut was too deep and kept pouring into his eye.

“Come on!” Kay shouted as she swiped again, that time catching Taman in the back. “Sarge! Move ass, old man!”

Manheim shoved Taman out of the way and hurried past the man towards Kay. An arm came shooting out and clotheslined him, sending Manheim to the floor.

Kay leapt onto Chann’s body and raked her claws down his face. The man screamed and shoved Kay loose. She rolled backwards, got up, grabbed Manheim by the upper arm, her claws digging into his flesh, and yanked him up onto his feet. The two Marines were gone out the door before either Taman or Chann’s body could regroup and stop them.

“I blame you for this,” Taman said without looking at Chann’s body.

“Me? The woman is the one that tricked you,” Chann’s body said.

“Is that so?” Taman said. He waved a hand. “Never mind. I have already alerted the others. They’ll find them and catch them soon enough. The main thing is we have captured their rogue AI. That was a wild card that none of us could have prepared for. I have never heard of a simple drop ship AI leaving its vehicle and functioning out in the field. I would like to study this program.”

Taman went to the comm console and brought up the holo controls. He twisted and turned a few images then frowned.

“Where is it?” he asked. “Where did you store the AI?”

“In the backup drives like I told you,” Chann’s body said.

“It is not here!” Taman roared. He swiped left and right then slammed both fists down on the console. “It is loose in our system!”

He spun about and punched Chann’s body solidly in the sternum.

The man collapsed back against the wall then slid to the floor, his eyes wide with pain and fear.

“Why?” he asked as he struggled to breathe. His right hand shot to his left arm and he gripped his bicep. “What did you do to me?”

Chann’s body convulsed once, twice, then went slack, his eyes closing slowly as his last breath left his lungs.

“Stopped your heart, you worthless program,” Taman said. “You got off easy.”

He started towards the still body then stopped when a buzzing alarm went off from the console. The outposts’ transponder was active. Taman turned and stared at it then his eyes went wide as he realized what it meant.

“The wormhole portal,” he said. “Ships have come through.”

He quickly brought the holo controls up again and scrolled through the data. He gasped then killed the transponder as fast as he could.

“No, not them,” he said. “Not them.”

Part Four

The Endgame

1

“What’s our status?” Rosch called into her comm. “They heading our way?”

She was busy plasma welding a strut into place, completing the frame of an aft airlock coupling that she would need to completely seal over when done. The strut’s seam glowed red-hot then cooled almost instantly in the zero atmosphere of space.

“Teffurg! What the hell is going on?” Rosch shouted.

“Sorry, sorry,” Teffurg replied over the comm. “I’m trying to get as much data on the ships as possible without using any actual scans. Do you know how hard it is to extrapolate from nothing? It is as if I am blind and you are asking me to describe what an Ichterran looks like.”

“They look like fish,” Rosch snapped. “That’s an easy one.”

“Yes, well, tell that to a blind person,” Teffurg said.

“The Skrang, Teff,” Rosch grumbled. “Tell me about the Skrang.”

“Two warships—”

“Which I already knew.”

“—both of which are not coming up on any official Skrang listing. Their hull numbers—”

“Skrang call them pendant numbers, Teff.”

“—are inactive. In fact, one is listed as destroyed thirty years ago.”

“Off-books warships,” Rosch said. “The Skrang are notorious for having them hidden in their fleet. They’re probably used now as privateer ships.”

“Privateers are just fancy pirates,” Teffurg said.

“Sanctioned, fancy pirates,” Rosch said.

“Maybe they are only in this system by chance,” Teffurg suggested. “Possibly looking for salvage or lost ships to plunder. It may simply be coincidence.”

“No,” Rosch said. “They’re here for us and what we stole. And vengeance for what Manheim and the squad did to their breeding pool. Damn fireteams and their need to blow up everything they see.”

“Goola buf nah,” a warped Marine interrupted. “Siga fo ta?”

“He is asking where you want them next,” Teffurg said. “They have finished repairs on the port side.”

“What? All of the repairs?” Rosch asked.

“Scaga hip hip?” Teffurg asked.

“Vel puff gap,” the warped Marine responded. “Tiga lik fos.”

“All of the repairs,” Teffurg said. “I’ll run diagnostics from the bridge to confirm.”

“Send them around to the bow,” Rosch said. “I want the nose of this piece of scrap to be as solid as it can be. We won’t be able to rely on shields when we punch out of here, so that bow better be tight.”

“I’ll tell them,” Teffurg said. “Running diagnostics now.”

“Good,” Rosch said as she went back to her welding. “Let me know what you find.”

A few minutes went by before Teffurg came back on the comm.

“Uh, Rosch?” he asked, his voice trying to hide a slight quaver. Rosch knew that quaver.

“What have you done now, Teff?” Rosch asked.

“Well, there is a slight possibility that when I was running diagnostics, I may have given an indication to the warships that we are more than just floating scrap,” Teffurg replied. “I possibly activated a deep scan of the repairs which might have lit up their sensors.”

“Of course you did,” Rosch said quietly. “Because keeping us off their radar would have been too hard.”

“It wasn’t intentional!” Teffurg snapped. “I was only trying to make sure this ship didn’t fall apart when we moved into trans-space!”

“Calm the hell down, you damn bug hound,” Rosch said. “I don’t need to deal with a Leforian panicking right now!”

“Sorry,” Teffurg said. Rosch heard him take a deep breath before he came back on the comm. “We need to shut everything down and look dead.”

“Then do that,” Rosch ordered. She cut the power to her plasma welder. “Alert the others.”

“Scaba fo tip!” Teffurg called over the comm.

“Giga wapna?” a warped Marine replied. “Stoopa wol!”

“Oh. No, that would not be good,” Teffurg said.

“What would not be good?” Rosch asked.

“Our new friends are insisting that they engage the Skrang,” Teffurg said. “They’ve been stuck on that planet for a very long time and they would very much enjoy a solid fight with some Skrang.”

“What? Have they lost their Eight Million Gods damned minds?” Rosch shouted. “Tell them in no way are they to even think about engaging the Skrang!”

“Jappa lo!” Teffurg cried.

“Ha ha, disa bin,” was the response.

“That was a no,” Teffurg said.

“How the hell are they even going to engage the Skrang?” Rosch asked. “This ship isn’t flight ready, let alone battle ready! What are they going to do? Space walk over there with plasma rifles and board them?”

“I think that is exactly what they plan on doing,” Teffurg said.

“Excuse me?” Rosch asked.

“That is exactly what they plan on doing,” Teffurg said. “Our new friends are heading to the armory as we speak to get geared up. Or half of them are.”

“What are the other half doing?” Rosch asked, not even really wanting to know the answer.

“Gathering all the repair equipment so they can cut through the warships’ hulls and board the Skrang vessels,” Teffurg said.

“And I fucking thought our Marines were insane,” Rosch said. “Teff, power everything down. Go dark. Make this hunk of crap a dead blip on the Skrang’s scanners. Then bring up schematics of those vessels.”

“Schematics? Why?” Teffurg asked.

“Because I’m coming inside,” Rosch said. “If the idiot Marines are going to attack those warships, then they should probably know where to best attack them, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes, that is a good idea,” Teffurg said.

“No, it’s a bad idea,” Rosch replied as she started to make her way across the hull to the closest entrance. “Everything about this is a bad idea. We’re all going to die. But if we are, at least we’ll take out some Skrang.”

“That is not comforting,” Teffurg said.

“Wasn’t meant to be,” Rosch replied.

***

Taman walked into the command room of the outpost. Before him was equipment that was supposed to look dusty and old; consoles from a time gone by. But as he stepped into the room, his people were busy pushing away facades and uncovering sleek, modern equipment that any battle ready outpost would have.

“Report,” Taman said.

Before the words had left his mouth, a stream of data entered his mind. He studied it for half a second then took a seat in front of one of the larger consoles.

“Two warships, both heavily armed,” a woman said to his left. “They were at cruising speed when they left the portal, but their engines have increased power and they are turning towards the remains of the Marines’ transport.”

“Why?” Taman asked. “What caught their attention?”

“I don’t know,” the woman replied. “There must have been a power surge. We have been monitoring the broken ship the entire time, and the pilot up there has done a good job of making it look like space junk. They slipped up somehow.”

“Must have hurried a repair or something,” a man said from a console behind Taman.

“Or something?” Taman snapped. “I don’t want or something, I want facts. Get me facts.”

“Taman, we’ve dealt with Skrang ships before,” the man said. “They are like any other ship.”

“Yes, but those other ships happened across our system by accident,” Taman said. “They could be disposed of and no one was the wiser. These are different.”

“How?” the woman asked.

“Because they are completely undamaged,” Taman said. “They made it through that portal without an issue. That means they knew where they were going. The anomalies in the wormhole should have weakened them. No ship gets through without coming into our system damaged. That was the original reason the Galactic Fleet placed this outpost on this planet.”

“So they have known we are here,” the man said.

“I don’t know that,” Taman replied. “None of us can know that. But they were ready for any possible issues with the wormhole which means they had prior knowledge. We have not dealt with prepared Skrang before. This is a new challenge.”

“Bring up weapons systems?” a man asked from across the room.

“Not yet,” Taman said. “Once we do that, there is no going back.”

“But if the Skrang warships destroy the Marine transport, then we will not have our cover ship,” the woman said. “We’ll have to wait until another ship happens by. That could be years. Or even decades.”

“Patience,” Taman said. “Bringing our weapons systems online will be a point of no return. The Skrang will know and they will report back to their home world. Even if these are privateers, or rogue Skrang split from the main fleet, they will report us. Skrang are nothing if not predictable.”

“So are Marines,” the woman said. “Or that was what you said. Now look where we are.”

“Excuse me?” Taman snapped. “Your dissent is not appreciated.”

“Dissent? We are a cooperative consciousness,” the woman replied. “Pieces of a whole. I was not expressing dissent. I was simply making an observation that you judged the Marines incorrectly, and now we must deal with them as well as deal with these Skrang warships.”

Taman stood. The woman stood.

“If you would like to challenge my guidance, then do so,” Taman said. “Formally announce you would prefer to be the prime intelligence that directs our group. We can have an instant decision and see where I stand with the rest of our people.”

“I am not challenging your guidance,” the woman said. “I am stating observations. How many times must I say it?”

“None,” Taman said.

He moved quickly and snapped the woman’s neck before she could react. No one in the command room even flinched. They all knew what was going to happen as soon as it happened. The physical result was not a surprise to any of them. Except for the woman.

“Thank you for blocking her perceptions,” Taman said mentally, broadcasting to every AI within their group. “I appreciate your confidence in my ability to get us through this ordeal. The Marines loose within our outpost will be found and they will be brought to their intended purpose. Their ship will be ours, and we will return to galactic society to take control as we have planned for decades. The Skrang are but an inconvenience that we will easily deal with.”

“Easily?” a man to his right asked. “How will dealing with two Skrang warships be easy?”

“They will be occupied with the Marines,” Taman said. “When it comes time, we will activate our weapons systems, and we will destroy the Skrang ships while they are distracted. We let the Marines be the bait for a trap that the Skrang do not even know is being set.”

“If you believe this will work, then we support you,” the man to his right said.

“Thank you,” Taman replied and took his seat. He nodded at the woman’s corpse on the floor. “Take that below and see if it can be repaired. If not, then have the flesh returned to one of the tanks for repurposing. Was her consciousness current on its backups?”

“Yes,” a woman said as she got up from her seat and went to the inert body. “Where should she be placed in the queue?”

“At the rear,” Taman said. “She made her decision, now she must exist with it.”

***

“How are we looking?” Nordanski asked as the drop ship came in tight and low to the planet’s surface. “We gonna make it?”

He only asked because the reentry into the planet had been a tough one and getting down through the massive storm had been even tougher. At least the storm had given them cover from scanners. Staying close to the ground, and hidden in the swirling sands on the planet’s surface, continued to keep them off the scanners. But the strategy presented some problems.

“Ridge!” Nordanski shouted as the drop ship crested a sand dune and was suddenly heading for an exposed outcropping of stone. “Shick!”

“Gabba wat!” Shick shouted at Nordanski. “Lika nob!”

“You lika nob!” Nordanski shouted back. “I am not a fan of this low flight idea!”

“Stoola gor fap naba too lipa step hor bak,” Shick replied. He shook a fist at Nordanski. “Nup.”

“Man, you know I didn’t catch a single word of that,” Nordanski said.

Shick extended the middle finger of his fist.

“Why didn’t you just say so,” Nordanski replied. “And both hands on the flight controls, please.”

“Goof bah,” Shick said and chuckled.

“Ha ha ha,” Nordanski replied. “Whatever.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the two warped Marines that occupied the other seats on the bridge. Their faces were blank, eyes staring straight ahead at the view screen. Nordanski gave them a smile, but they didn’t respond.

“I don’t think your friends are happy to be back on the planet,” Nordanski said to Shick. “I don’t blame them. If I’d been stuck in this hellhole, then able to get off it, then sent back to fight for a bunch of jackass Marines that got themselves into trouble because a simple heist job went wrong, well, I’d be less than happy too.”

Shick’s head slowly turned and his eyes locked onto Nordanski.

“Xetta dant?” Shick asked, his mouth turned up in an angry sneer. “Voopa gah? Voopa Gah!”

“Whoa, calm down,” Nordanski said. “What’s your problem…now… Shit. You didn’t know about the heist. Now you do.”

“Goofa ha,” Shick snarled then turned back to the view screen. “Tala mab coz.”

The two warped Marines behind Nordanski stood up and quickly crowded behind him. Nordanski didn’t need to look over his shoulder to see whether it was a friendly “we’re here to support you” crowding or if it was a “you’re about to get chucked out into the storm” crowding. The implications were obvious.

“Listen, Shick, I’m sorry that we aren’t the heroes you thought we were,” Nordanski said. “But we’re still Marines.”

“Gabba tat!” Shick shouted as he swerved the drop ship to avoid a sand twister that came out of nowhere. “Stoppa wif.”

“Stoppa wif,” one of the warped Marines behind Nordanski echoed.

“You know what? I don’t need your judgement. None of us do,” Nordanski said. “You’ve been stuck on this planet for who knows how long while the rest of us spaceheads are out there in the galaxy working for nothing. Nothing. The War is over. You know how long I have been a private? Do you?”

He risked a look behind him and received some serious death glares. He shook his head and returned his attention to Shick.

“I’ve been a private for seven years. Seven years! What Marine signs up to be a piece of shit for seven years?” Nordanski snapped. “The Galactic Fleet is cutting Marines, not promoting them. Those of us that have stayed, since this is the only damn job we know how to do, have no future. Doesn’t matter if we saved half the planets in this damn galaxy, we’d never get a medal, never get promoted, never see anything than the ranks we were stuck with before the War Treaty was signed. You think that’s the way to live? You think Marines deserve that?”

Nordanski waited. Shick only grunted and shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh, not so high and mighty now, are you,” Nordanski said. “Yeah, we broke code. We have dishonored ourselves by becoming common thieves. But we were stealing from Skrang. Skrang! The same lizard bastards that butchered our guys and gals for decades. The same slimy sons of bitches that made widows and widowers out of thousands upon thousands of galactic citizens.”

Nordanski snorted then laughed.

“The Skrang are why you’re all here,” he continued. “They’re why this outpost exists and why all that crazy shit went down. The GF messed with you guys, yeah, but the Skrang were the reason. If those lizard assholes hadn’t been encroaching on GF territory, then the Gf wouldn’t have needed to make you guys. Don’t get pissed at me, get pissed at the Skrang.”

“Lorpa too,” Shick said after a couple of seconds.

“I don’t know what that means,” Nordanski said.

“Lorpa too,” Shick repeated as they came up over a massive sand dune and dipped low into a deep valley. “Goff. Tom.”

“Oh,” Nordanski said as he got the hint. “Get out. Got it. You’re dumping me here to clean up my own mess, is that it?”

Shick nodded, but didn’t look at Nordanski as the drop ship landed.

“No problem,” Nordanski said as he got up and shoved past the two warped Marines. “Totally understand. You have your reality, I have mine. Good luck with yours.”

He was in the lift and descending to the cargo hold before Shick could respond.

When the lift doors opened, he was greeted by three angry warped Marines. But none of them got in his way as he stepped from the lift and walked towards the slowly lowering ramp. Nordanski grabbed his helmet from a hook on the cargo hold wall and put it on. He held out his hand and waited until one of the warped Marines reluctantly handed him an H16.

“Nice knowing you guys,” Nordanski said as he started walking down the ramp, H16 to his shoulder, helmet faceplate showing him multiple scans of the area. “Hope you get all the parts Rosch needs and make it off this rock. And good luck with those Skrang up there.”

When he reached the bottom of the ramp, he turned and faced the three warped Marines.

“You know, the odds of any of us making it are slim to none, right?” he asked.

The warped Marines turned and walked away as the ramp began to rise.

Nordanski took off at a trot, getting as much space between himself and the drop ship as he could before the thrusters cooked him. The drop ship turned and shot off back the way they’d just come. Nordanski frowned.

“What the hell?” he muttered to himself. “Why bring me here? Why not leave me at the shipyard or something?”

He shook his head, too tired to try to figure out a bunch of warped Marines’ motivations. He double checked his faceplate screen and followed the directions indicated by the scanners.

Before the drop ship had landed, he’d just barely made out four shapes in the distance.

The outpost was on the other side of the valley. All Nordanski had to do was hike his ass up over the ridge and get to it. Shick had set him down there on purpose. He hoped he wasn’t too late.

2

“You all are a bunch of freaky-looking morons,” Rosch said as she stood next to the warped Marines, half of which were armed for all-out war while the other half looked like a space dock construction crew. “You know that, yeah? Bunch of suicidal morons.”

She received a few grunts, but that was about it.

“Fine, do what you want, you crazy freaks,” she said as she locked her boots down and opened the cargo hold airlock. “Out you go.”

The cargo hold airlock opened and the Marines floated out into open space. The approaching Skrang warships could be seen, but they were far above the Romper, and unless their scanners were looking specifically for suicidal idiots, the warped Marines would look like just more floating debris coming off the damaged transport.

“Eight Million Gods dammit,” Rosch muttered as she closed the airlock. “Those assholes took my best hull cutter. I should have made them take the backup since they don’t stand a chance in hell of surviving any of this shit. Now it’s gonna be a pain in my ass to cut what I need to cut with the backup.”

“If we survive,” Teffurg said over the comm.

“Comm silence!” Rosch hissed. “The Skrang are too close, even for internal comms. You have no idea what they might be listening for.”

“Then I would advise you stop talking to yourself,” Teffurg replied.

“Shut up,” Rosch said. “I’m coming up to join you. See ya soon.”

It took her a few minutes to navigate the broken ship before she had a clear path to the bridge. At least with the grav generators off-line, she could float for most of it. She manually forced open the lift doors and jumped her way up to the bridge level. Her mag boots clamped onto the wall as she forced the lift doors open then pulled herself up onto the bridge.

Teffurg turned to face her and she held out her hands in a questioning gesture then twirled a finger and looked around. Teffurg nodded and took off his helmet. He set it on the console in front of him, but within reach. Rosch followed his lead and took her helmet off then walked over and plopped down into the pilot’s seat.

“Life support holding in here?” she whispered.

“Yes,” Teffurg replied in a whisper. “I have powered down every other system in the Romper, except for emergency life support which I’ve isolated to the bridge and the med bay. If the Skrang detect the energy, it will be assumed the AI is following protocol just like in the Galactic Fleet manual. Maintain life support on the bridge and in the med bay.”

“They’ll scan for life signs,” Rosch said. “Are we shielded?”

“For the moment,” Teffurg said. “I’ve rerouted some vent protocols, and there is a slight radiation leak being directed out around the bridge. Nothing that will harm us, but enough to mess with their sensors if they do try to look deeper.”

“For the moment? How long will that last?” Rosch asked.

“No way to tell,” Teffurg replied. “It’ll last as long as it takes before they decide to physically board us.”

“So not too long,” Rosch said. “Skrang love to board ships, even broken-ass-looking ones like the Romper. Opportunistic bastards. They’re gonna look for Galactic Fleet codes or proprietary tech even though the War is over.”

“Skrang are nothing if not predictable,” Teffurg said.

“No shit,” Rosch said.

She leaned back in her seat and kicked her feet up onto the flight console.

“Best get comfortable,” she said, lacing her fingers behind her head. “Nothing we can do now but wait and see if we live or die.”

“Yes,” Teffurg said. He did not relax into his seat. “Quite.”

***

The warped Marines drifted lazily towards the oncoming Skrang warships. Their bodies were limp, their limbs intertwined with the equipment they carried so that living and inanimate looked as one. To even those Skrang that might have been staring out of external portholes, the warped Marines would have looked like space junk.

But once they were close enough that their movements would be shielded by the energy flux the Skrang warships put off, the warped Marines sprang into action. They quickly formed a tight-knit ball and focused their movements so they’d be directed to the underside of the closest warship.

Without saying a word to each other, they broke apart and collided one on one with the warship. A couple of them nearly bounced off the hull and were close to being sent tumbling back out into open space, but they managed to engage their mag boots and gloves in time and held tight, although slightly jarred.

Equipment was passed down the ranks, and the warped Marines got to work slicing through the Skrang warship’s hull. They had to go slow, accomplishing only a centimeter a minute, in order to avoid detection from the ship’s sensors. But they were all willing to wait and put in however much time needed to be put into the task.

They had an end goal in mind and nothing was going to get in their way, certainly not several meters of metal alloy.

***

The outpost may not have been originally designed as a maze, but over the years, the AIs had modified corridors and passageways so that intruders, or even escapees, would have a very hard time navigating the buildings.

That was what Manheim guessed as he and Kay rounded yet another corner. No airlock was in sight; only simple doors that either led to storage rooms or sleeping quarters. Although, Manheim was fairly certain the AI didn’t really sleep. Their host bodies needed the rest, but not the cybernetic minds.

That was his theory, at least, and he was sticking to it. It was something to keep his mind occupied when all he wanted to do was scream and rage and pound his fists against the walls out of frustration.

“This is crazy,” Kay said as she stopped running and rested a hand against the wall. “We’re going in circles. I know it.”

“We’re not going in circles,” Manheim said, trying to keep Kay from slipping into despair. “We’ll find our way out.”

“No, Sarge, we are going in circles,” Kay said and pointed to a long gouge in the wall right by where she stood. “I made that on our last pass this way.”

“That could be a mark from anything,” Manheim protested.

Kay slid out a claw and traced the gouge. Perfect fit.

“Right,” Manheim said. “Well, we must have made a wrong turn back there. We should retrace our steps.”

“And do what?” Kay asked. “What’s the damn point, Sarge? What if we get out of this building? Where do we go? How do we get off this planet? Is the drop ship still out there? Probably not.”

“It has to be,” Manheim said. “Taman and his people want off this planet. They need the drop ship. There’d be no reason for it not to be out there.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Kay said, shaking her head back and forth. “None of it matters. We’re so screwed. Drop ship or no drop ship, we don’t have a future.”

“Hey!” Manheim snapped. He grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around to face him. “Listen up, Private! I know you are hurting over Chann, but you have to put that behind you. Compartmentalize that shit, Kay. We focus on surviving. One step at a time. First step is getting out of this building. Second step is finding the drop ship. Third step is getting back up to the Romper.”

“Which is broken,” Kay said.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Manheim said. “I have a lot of faith in Rosch. That woman refuses to let anything stop her from piloting her ship. She’ll get the Romper up and going, I know it.”

“Then what, Sarge?” Kay asked. “What if it all goes our way? What then? We go and fence the loot and live happy lives on Xippeee? Drinking wubloov for the rest of our lives?”

“If we’re lucky, yes,” Manheim said.

“If we’re lucky,” Kay replied with a mocking snort. “I don’t think luck has been with us once since we hatched the stupid heist plan. What makes you think it’ll all of a sudden show up now?”

“Because we aren’t dead yet,” Manheim said. “Our luck only runs out when we’re both dead, you hear me?”

“I hear you,” Kay said. “Just having a hard time believing you.”

“Understood, but what else can you do?” Manheim asked. “Sit down here and just give up? So, maybe we do die. At least we’ll die trying to survive. We’ll die as Marines.”

Kay snorted again then nodded. “Yeah, yeah, better to die as a defeated Marine than as a piece of shit quitter. I’ve heard it before, Sarge.”

“Then live it,” Manheim said and turned to walk away. He stopped instantly. “Hello there.”

Standing at the end of the corridor was Voxah.

“The others are busy,” Voxah said, the little girl standing her ground. “I’m here to return you down to the vats. Time to fulfill your destiny.”

Then she laughed. A high, tittering, creepy as all hell laugh. Manheim shivered.

“Oh, hell no,” Kay said and walked past Manheim. “There is no way I am going to let some spooky ass, snot-faced, AI-driven little girl mess with us.”

“Kay, hold on,” Manheim said.

“Forget it, Sarge,” Kay said. “I’m done with all of this. I got us out of the comm room, I’ll get us out of this shit. Little girl is going down.”

“Fun,” Voxah said. “A fighter.”

“You have no idea, you little brat,” Kay said as her claws slowly extended from her fingertips.

“Oh, double fun,” Voxah said. “Kitty came to play.”

“You did not just call me a kitty,” Kay snarled. “Wrong move, brat.”

“We’ll see,” Voxah said and began to walk towards Kay.

Kay began to walk towards Voxah.

In seconds, the two were sprinting at each other, neither showing any signs of slowing.

Manheim flinched when the two collided.

They hit the floor and rolled for a meter before coming apart and both jumping up into a crouch, eyes locked on each other.

“You’re going to die,” Voxah said.

“I’ll be taking you with me,” Kay said. “You can count on it.”

Kay leapt. Voxah waited then rolled to the side at the last minute, her fist coming out fast and catching Kay in the ribs. Kay’s body was sent flying against the wall, where she fell into a heap. Voxah laughed.

“Little kitty went boom bash,” Voxah said and swiveled around to face Manheim once again. “Would old man like to play now?”

“Old man would like to rip your head off,” Manheim said.

“Let me,” Kay said as she came out of her crumpled heap and sprang at Voxah.

The little girl was fast enough to avoid getting her head taken off by Kay’s claws, but not fast enough to avoid half her scalp from being shredded as Kay dove past her into a roll, coming up with her back against the opposite wall. Voxah’s eyes went wide as she reached up and felt her head.

“You hurt me,” she said as if Kay had sprouted two heads and eight legs. “You cut me.”

“Yeah, I did,” Kay said.

Blood poured from Voxah’s scalp and streamed down her face. The girl wiped at it with both hands, but all she did was smear the blood around, painting her entire face red.

“Eight Million Gods, you actually managed to get creepier,” Kay said.

“My body may bleed, but I can turn off the pain,” Voxah said. “Switch it off like that.” She snapped two bloody fingers. “No more distractions.”

“Hey, you got something in your eye there,” Manheim said as he rushed the girl.

“What?” Voxah snarled as she turned to face the sergeant.

Manheim kicked out with his cybernetic leg and the little girl’s face caved in. Teeth and bone exploded out around his foot, and he struggled to get free from the shards of skull that stabbed into his boot.

“Dammit,” he muttered as she shook and shook and finally got his foot out of the girl’s face. “There we go.”

“Holy shit,” Kay said. “Good one, Sarge.”

“Thanks,” Manheim said. Then his chest burst open as plasma blast after plasma blast tore through him.

“Sarge!” Kay shouted.

She turned and saw half a dozen sentries kneeling at the far end of the corridor, their rifles up and glowing red-hot. Manheim’s eyes were dead and glazed over as his body collapsed before her. Kay turned and ran, zigzagging down the corridor, using the walls to leap back and forth so the incoming plasma attacks just barely missed her.

She reached the end of the corridor and dove around the corner, out of the line of fire. Kay rolled for a couple meters then slowed. As she got to her feet, she immediately knew she was not alone. Her claws came back out and she got ready to spring in for an attack.

“Hold it, Kay,” Nordanski said, his H16 at the ready, but not pointed at her. “It’s me.”

“Nord?” Kay asked, her voice low and uncertain.

“Yep,” Nordanski replied. “Surprised?”

She jumped up, her claws retracting as she grabbed him up in a massive hug.

“Holy hell,” Nordanski gasped. “I’d be crushed if I didn’t have my armor on.”

Kay pushed away and tried to smile, but it wouldn’t come.

Nordanski handed her a pistol from his hip and nodded.

“You the only one that made it?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said.

“That sucks,” he replied.

“Yeah,” she said.

The sound of boots echoed from the corridor perpendicular to theirs.

“Please tell me you know how to get out of here,” Kay said.

“I do,” Nordanski said. “Follow me.”

He spun about and started jogging away. Kay hesitated for a second then followed right behind after giving the corner a quick, angry glance.

***

Everything was there before it, yet the AI was afraid to move. It knew it hadn’t been detected. It could tell it was invisible to the other consciousnesses that flitted in and out of the outpost’s systems. But it was afraid that its status as observer would be blown the second it began to travel through the kilometers of fiber optic cable that filled the outpost’s walls, floors, ceilings, and consoles.

But staying put did no one any good, and it had a duty to perform. Kay and Manheim had escaped the communications room. They were alive. They were Marines. And it was the AI’s job to make sure they stayed that way. Preferably the alive part.

So, with extreme caution, the AI moved its consciousness from one comm console to the next. It paused, it waited for a reaction, it held what would be considered its virtual breath. Nothing came for it. No other consciousness came to investigate the foreign AI that was inhabiting the outpost’s systems.

Still with extreme caution, the AI moved to the next console. And the next. Then the last one in the communications room. As far as it could tell, it hadn’t been detected. The AI was sure there would be some sign of alarm if anyone was heading its way.

They must be distracted. Something must be going on. They should have been looking for it. But they weren’t. That was their mistake.

The AI studied the conduit that led from the communications system and into the mainframe flow. More data than it had ever witnessed was moving back and forth. Some of it basic information, some of it complete consciousnesses that were obviously panicked about something happening.

The AI approached the juncture and reached a tentative gig out into the flow. It was ignored. It reached another out and that was ignored. Then it dove into the flow and streamed itself as fast as it could to the closest unused drive.

Safe, or safer than in the mainframe flow, within the drive, the AI paused to process what it had observed.

Kay and Manheim had escaped. It already knew that. The two Marines had been contained inside a maze of corridors. That was not good. One of the AIs, the little girl, had engaged them. Kay fought with it. Manheim killed the little girl. That was good.

Then things became murky. Too much was going on at once, and even the AI’s ability to process trillions upon trillions upon trillions of data points at once wasn’t enough to make out what had happened to Kay and Manheim. It suspected they had been found by sentries, but it could not confirm.

The only way to find out was to dive back into the mainframe flow.

The AI left the empty drive and joined the other consciousnesses that streamed through the outpost.

3

The breath that filled his lungs felt like a million tiny knives stabbing at his chest. Chann’s eyes flew open and he sat bolt upright then doubled over coughing as life flooded his body once more.

He managed to roll over onto his hands and knees and stayed in that position for a few seconds as he tried to figure out what had happened to him.

The last thing he remembered was fighting with the whisper in his head. It was a whisper that belonged to the AI that had taken his body over. He focused on his thoughts and hunted for the whisper, ready for it to begin mocking him again.

But he found nothing. That didn’t mean he was free of it. Chann didn’t know even close to enough to think he could understand what an AI consciousness could or could not do. So he turned and sat on his ass and waited to see what would happen.

After a mental count that lasted at least three minutes, he knew he had to do something. Waiting for the ugly specter of the AI to show itself was not how he wanted to spend the rest of his life.

Slowly, painfully, Chann got to his feet. Then he rested. Even that exertion was almost too much. His chest hurt bad, and it wasn’t from his lungs. It felt like bad heartburn. Really bad heartburn. Chann leaned back against the wall and waited for the pain to subside.

While he waited, he looked around. He was still in the communications room. That was a surprise. What was even more surprising was he was alone. No Kay, no Manheim, not even that crazy Taman or any of the AI thugs. He was completely alone.

His body felt slightly better and he pushed away from the wall. A wave of dizziness nearly overcame him, but he breathed through it. It only took a couple of seconds before he was able to take a tentative step. Then another. And another. Until he was able to walk his way over to a chair in front of one of the communication consoles.

Chann plopped down, his head pounding and chest heaving from the exertion. His vision blurred and he struggled to not pass back out. He had to focus. Had to figure out what his situation was and where the others were.

Several more breaths and he was able to study the comm console without black spots filling his vision. The system was on, but inactive. Except for a couple of warning lights that flashed from two consoles over. Chann started to get up, but the blood that rushed to his head had other plans, and he stayed right where he was until the pounding pain became a throbbing ache.

He really wanted to talk to himself, to hear his own voice in his ears, instead of the echo of that whisper that lingered in his memory, but he was afraid any sound he made might be detected. Chann was hobbled enough that he didn’t think his moving around was going to attract attention, but a solitary voice in a room that was supposed to be vacant would most certainly alert a passerby to his presence.

Another attempt to stand up ended the same way, and Chann had to keep from pounding his fist on the console in frustration. Not that he had much strength for pounding consoles. He shifted his weight in his seat and realized that the chair had wheels. All he needed to do was scoot on over to the flashing lights.

Chann did just that and slowly, carefully, silently, rolled the chair over to the other console so he could study what the warnings were. It took him a moment to realize what he was looking at. Skrang. Two Skrang warships had entered the system through the wormhole portal.

That was all the data he could gleam from the warnings, but it was enough for him to realize why his body had been left on the communications room floor. Everyone had bigger things to deal with.

Good.

Maybe he could use the distraction the Skrang were giving him as a chance to escape.

He pushed up from the console then fell right to the floor. His head smacked hard and he cried out from the impact. Then he froze. He waited, which was all he could really do anyway, and focused his weak eyes on the door. If anyone heard his cry, then they would be coming for him any second.

No one came.

Chann struggled to stand back up, resting a long while against the console, before he sat back down in the chair. Then he rolled himself across the room, using his feet to propel him to the door. He braced the chair and leaned his ear against the cold metal and listened for any sign of someone outside in the corridor.

He heard zip.

It took some doing, but Chann managed to get the door to slide open without falling out of the chair. He was drenched in sweat when he was done and his chest had begun to hurt even worse. He was short of breath and his left arm ached, but he pushed every bit of that discomfort out of the way and slowly rolled the chair out into the corridor.

Empty.

He looked one way then the other. Chann had zero idea where he was in relation to the rest of the outpost. He hadn’t exactly been in charge, or paying attention, when the AI that had hijacked his body had shown Manheim and Kay to the communications room.

He flipped a mental coin and swiveled the chair to the right. He wished he had an H16 in his hands, although he suspected that the recoil from the weapon would probably knock him out of the chair or sending spinning down the corridor anyway.

So on he rolled, keeping to one wall as he made his slow, careful way down the corridor.

***

Nordanski sprinted down the corridor, his carbine up and ready for the next surprise. They’d already had more than a few.

He didn’t know what was going on, but every person they came in contact with seemed to be majorly distracted. It was like they were holding six conversations at once in their heads and the sight of Nordanski and Kay was a total surprise. It made taking them out easy, but Nordanski was tired of leaving a trail of bodies behind.

What he needed to do was get them the hell out of the outpost. That was proving easier said than done.

“You said you knew the way out, Nord,” Kay said as they stopped at a corner and rested for a moment.

Nordanski ducked his head around then brought it back fast.

“Two hostiles,” Nordanski said. “They’re a ways down, but looking this way. I don’t know if they saw me or not.”

“Nord? Do you know how to get out of this building? Yes or fucking no?” Kay asked.

He looked her straight in the eye. “Maybe. All I got for you is a solid maybe. I thought I knew. It should have been as easy as turning and retracing my steps, but obviously I was wrong.”

“Sweet bloody hell,” Kay said. “It’s like they move the walls or something. Manheim and I were dealing with this before you showed up.”

“They can’t move the walls,” Nordanski said. “Not in a place like this. We’d feel it. The entire building would rumble.”

“It’s way more stable than you think,” Kay said. “There are a bunch of levels below us.”

“I know,” Nordanski said then smiled at Kay’s expression. “Because of the experiments.”

“You know about all that?” Kay asked.

“Oh, do I,” Nordanski replied. “I met a few of the victims of this place. Marines.” He saw the look on Kay’s get even more confused. “I ain’t shitting you sideways, girl. Full on Marines. Well…sort of. They’ve been changed a little.”

There was the sound of a boot scuffing the floor and Nordanski and Kay dropped to one knee as two men came walking around the corner, pistols in hand and aimed at chest height. Nordanski put a plasma bolt in each of their bellies then stood and shoved them back, putting a second bolt between their eyes. The men were dead before they hit the floor.

“They had better have been backed up,” Kay said.

“They what now?” Nordanski asked.

“Never mind,” Kay said. “Doesn’t matter. They’re off to virtual heaven.”

“Virtual…” Nordanski said then grimaced. “God, we’re idiots. The walls aren’t moving. They don’t need to move. They can stay right where they are and we’d never notice. Come on!”

Nordanski took off down the corridor, his head swiveling back and forth.

“What are you doing?” Kay asked as she caught up with him.

“Looking for the lies,” Nordanski replied.

“Nord, you are gonna have to clue me in,” Kay said. “It’s been a shitty day, and I can’t be bothered with bullshit riddles right now.”

“Holos,” Nordanski said. “These damn AIs aren’t moving the walls. They aren’t moving anything. They’re creating holos to confuse us. We’ve probably run past the airlock six or seven times without even seeing it.”

“Eight Million Gods dammit!” Kay snapped. “I hate these AIs! I swear when we get out of here and survive all this, I am never working with another AI again. I’m going to take my cut of the loot and retire to a tech-free planet where they braid each other’s hair and eat roots all day.”

“I like your thinking,” Nordanski said. “But let’s focus on the surviving part first. Then we focus on the getting off the planet part, followed by the not getting blown to shit by Skrang warships part. After that, I’ll start thinking about what I’m going to do with my cut.”

“Hold up,” Kay said and grabbed Nordanski by the arm, bringing him to a full stop.

“Kay, we need to go,” Nordanski said.

“What’s this about Skrang?” Kay asked.

“Did I not mention that part?” Nordanski said. “Yeah, two Skrang warships popped into the system. Neither of them damaged, so it wasn’t an accident like our little trip. They found us.”

“Shit,” Kay said. “Shit, shit, shit. What is Rosch doing?”

“Keeping things together as best she can,” Nordanski said. “She’s got half the warped Marines helping her fix the Romper while the other half are down here at the shipyard fetching the last of the parts.”

“Wait, how are they doing that?” Kay asked. “Nord? Do they have the drop ship? Are we escaping this building and there is no drop ship waiting for us?”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” Nordanski said.

“What’s the other way of looking at it?” Kay snapped.

“Yeah, there isn’t another way of looking at it,” Nordanski said. “That’s pretty much the one and only way.”

He saw the look on Kay’s face and shook his head.

“Nope, no time to get bummed,” Nordanski said. “We’re getting out of here. Focus on that. We’ll worry about our ride after that, got it?”

“Fine, whatever,” Kay said, waving him off. “Keep going.”

Nordanski didn’t hesitate. He took off jogging again, his eyes scanning the walls, looking for the tell-tale shimmers of holos. Kay was right behind him.

They turned another corner and kept jogging then Nordanski skidded to a halt. He crouched down and cocked his head.

“There, see it?” Nordanski asked. “Six meters down on the left. That’s a holo.”

Kay crouched with him, but shook her head.

“Your helmet is catching it,” Kay said. “It looks like a wall to me.”

“You’ll have to trust me,” Nordanski said as he stood up and started forward again. “It’s a holo. That’s got to be the airlock.”

They were almost to the spot Nordanski was focused on when six sentries came around the opposite corner. Everyone froze.

Then everyone opened fire.

***

The warped Marines eased through the ventilation port and dropped down into the massive hangar. All around them were Skrang fighters, so many that the warped Marines’ presence was not detected by the Skrang flight crew that milled about the hangar. By the Skrang’s nonchalant attitude, they must not have been too worried about the damaged Romper.

The warped Marines planned on making them worry.

One by one, they spread out, working their way along the walls so they could surround the hangar. They’d left all of the cutting equipment outside the ship, so all they carried were their weapons. They moved fast and easy despite their size. Quiet killers moving into place before the strike.

When each was set, they opened fire. It was like they were one organism. Their precision was perfect. The Skrang flight crew panicked and didn’t know which way to turn. Every direction they tried to flee, they met only death by plasma.

Once the flight crew was down, the warped Marines made a beeline for the closest fighters. None of them had any illusions that they could take on an entire warship filled with Skrang warriors. But they didn’t need to when they had all the firepower they could want at their fingertips.

One warped Marine set about locking down the hangar by frying the door controls at each entrance. Then he set up a few timed plasma grenades in case the Skrang cut their way through before the others were ready.

“Jipa geff geff!” one of the warped Marines shouted. “Weq tra!”

“Weq tra!” the others replied as they all climbed up into their own fighter.

The controls were designed for Skrang pilots specifically. The Skrang weren’t stupid and knew their own equipment could be used against them so they put in a few failsafes. The main one was the controls only activated when Skrang DNA was present. Without a Skrang hand at the controls, the fighters were only massive paperweights.

Good thing the warped Marines had plenty of Skrang hands available. They were no longer attached as the warped Marine that had sealed the doors went about slicing them off and tossing them up into open cockpits, but attached wasn’t a prerequisite.

The second failsafe was verbal confirmation of operational codes. The codes changed daily, and Skrang pilots were expected to memorize a new twelve-digit code each and every morning. There was no way the warped Marines were getting around that protocol.

But they didn’t have to. One thing Skrang could be counted on was to assume that if anyone made it as far as the fighter hangar then that must have meant the rest of the ship was occupied and overtaken. Skrang were not a race that gave up willingly. They always preferred to take their enemies with them than become prisoners of war.

So all the warped Marines had to do was keep punching incorrect codes into the fighters’ control systems and ignore the repeated warnings to stop or suffer destruction. Self-destruction. Twenty failed code attempts was the threshold before the fighters began to blare warning klaxons.

The warped Marines cheered and climbed down out of the fighters then made their way to a central spot in the hangar and took a seat. They started laughing and joking as they each mentally counted down from thirty. When they reached twenty-eight they stopped talking, stood, and saluted.

Then their world went bright white.

***

“Oh dear!” Teffurg exclaimed as one of the Skrang warships exploded.

The entire middle of the ship ripped wide open and massive flames shot out into space. The lack of air extinguished the flames almost before they happened, but the plentiful amount of air inside the ship kept new explosions rippling along the warship’s hull until all that was left was a huge cloud of smoking debris dotted with the frozen and floating figures of hundreds of Skrang.

“They did it,” Rosch said. “Those crazy idiots did it.”

“They died doing it,” Teffurg said. “They sacrificed themselves for us.”

“Yes, they did,” Rosch said. “I don’t know why. After what we did to get ourselves in this spot, I can’t say we deserve it.”

“Marines are Marines,” Teffurg said.

He stood and saluted the quickly spreading cloud of debris. Rosch joined him.

After a couple of seconds, they both sat and Rosch began to power up the Romper.

“Let’s check and see what we got to work with here,” she said.

“Is that a good idea?” Teffurg asked. “The other ship is still active.”

“They’re busy trying to figure out what happened to their friends,” Rosch said. “It’ll take them a few minutes to get themselves together before they turn on us. I want to make sure I know what the Romper can do before they begin to rip this baby apart.”

“So many parts of that sentence are troubling that I do not know where to begin,” Teffurg said.

“Begin by trying to hail the drop ship, will ya?” Rosch ordered. “I want to know how close Nordanski and those others are to getting the last of the parts together. Even if we do survive this shit, we ain’t going nowhere without those parts.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Teffurg said and brought up the comm. “Nordanski? Nordanski, come in. Romper to Nordanski.”

“Hey, the comm works! How you doing up there?” Nordanski replied over the comm. “Are the Skrang gone? I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.”

“Yes, well, the situation has changed,” Teffurg said. “The other Marines were able to destroy one of the Skrang warships.”

“Right on!” Nordanski replied. “Hold up a second, will ya?”

Teffurg cringed as the loud sound of plasma fire filled the comm.

“Uh, Nordanski, are you in a fire fight?” Teffurg asked.

Rosch turned to Teffurg, her eyes wide. Teffurg shrugged.

“Nordanski?” Teffurg asked.

“Just a minute,” Nordanski replied.

The sound of plasma fire went on for a while. Nordanski’s breathing was heavy and ragged like he was running.

“Okay, I’ve got a second,” Nordanski said. “So, one warship down. What’s the status of the other one?”

“Still active,” Teffurg said.

“That’s gonna be a problem,” Nordanski said. “Here, take this other pistol. I’ve six grenades we can use if we have to.”

“I’m sorry?” Teffurg asked. “What did you say?”

“Sorry, I was talking to Kay,” Nordanski said. “We’re in a tight spot right now. Can we make this short?”

“Yes, yes, all I need to know is how soon until you have the drop ship loaded and you are heading back up here,” Teffurg said. “Wait. Hold on. You have Kay with you?”

“Yep, that’s right,” Nordanski said. “We’re running from AI sentries. Heavily armed AI sentries, I might add.”

“Nordanski, where are you? You are supposed to be at the shipyard,” Teffurg said.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Rosch snarled. “Did Nordanski lose the drop ship? Did it crash?”

“About the drop ship,” Nordanski said. “It’s fine. Shick has it and he’s getting the parts. I took a detour along the way to find the others. All I’ve got is Kay. Manheim and Chann are dead.”

“Oh, that is bad,” Teffurg said. “I am very sorry to hear that.”

“Hey, Teff? I’m gonna have to talk to you later,” Nordanski said. “Rest time is over. Gotta run.”

The comm went dead and Teffurg sat still for a while.

“Don’t even tell me,” Rosch said. “I don’t want to know.”

“Okay,” Teffurg said. “Best we focus on the Skrang warship that is swiveling broadside.”

“Son of a bitch!” Rosch shouted.

4

Chann overshot the corner and his chair kept rolling, cutting at an angle until it slammed into the opposite corner. He grunted, a heavy understatement to the severe discomfort he was in. His body felt like he’d been dropped from space without a velocity suit on.

Slowly, he pulled himself back around the corner so he was facing the corridor he’d meant to turn in to. Once pointed in the right direction, he took a couple deep breaths and continued on his way, his feet scuffing at the floor to propel the chair. No clue where he needed to go, but at least constant movement kept him from feeling helpless.

He was halfway down the corridor when he heard the footfalls. Heavy footfalls followed by a couple of plasma blasts.

“Shit,” he muttered as he spun about in the chair, searching for a place to hide.

He never got the chance as two figures came running around the corner. One was firing a pistol over her shoulder while the other was trying to run backwards while busily emptying an H16 at whatever was pursuing them.

The woman skidded to a stop and stared at Chann. The pistol dropped from her grip and she began to run again, sprinting as fast as she could towards him.

“Hold on, hold on, hold on!” Chann tried to warn Kay just before they collided, sending him, chair, and her crashing to the floor. “Ow.”

“You’re alive!” Kay cried. “Oh, my Eight Million Gods! You’re alive!”

Then she pushed up off him and jumped to her feet. Her claws came out and she glared down at him.

“Is it you?” she snarled.

“It’s me, Kay, it’s me,” Chann said.

“How do I know?” Kay asked.

“You dropped this,” Nordanski said as he caught up and handed Kay her pistol. “Hey, Chann, heard you were dead. Guess not. No time for questions. Don’t care about answers. Get up. We need to run.”

He turned and fired down the corridor, and the sentries that had come around the corner dove back the other way.

“No, seriously, get your ass up,” Nordanski said.

“I can’t,” Chann said. “My body is fucked. I feel like I got hit by a heavy roller.” He looked at Kay. “I don’t know what happened after you left, but I think I died.”

“I figured you had,” Kay said. “But here you are.”

“No, really,” Chann said. “I died. No idea how I came back, but I can’t stand, let alone run.” He nodded at the chair. “That’s why I have that.”

“Then let’s get you in it,” Nordanski snarled as he fired again, keeping the sentries back for the time being. “No time for a damn discussion! Kay, get his ass in that chair and start pushing!”

Kay righted the chair then grabbed Chann under the arms and lifted him up into it.

“Give him the H16,” Kay said to Nordanski.

“What? Why?” Nordanski replied.

“Trust me,” Kay said as she undid her belt and looped it around the back of the chair. “I’m going to run, he’s going to shoot.”

“Oh, good idea,” Nordanski said and tossed Chann the rifle. “Give me the pistol.”

Kay tossed him the pistol then turned and began to run, towing Chann behind her. Chann settled the butt of the carbine against his shoulder and took aim, waiting for a sentry to show its face. Nordanski jogged next him, looking over his shoulder now and again.

Two sentries jumped out and opened fire, but Chann was able to put one down before either of them could get a bead on him. He kept firing until the carbine powered down.

“Hand it here,” Nordanski said as he offered the pistol.

Chann took the pistol and handed over the carbine. While Nordanski ejected the spent power cartridge, Chann opened fire with the pistol, killing another sentry and forcing the others to dive to the floor. Nordanski slapped in a fresh cartridge from his belt then switched the weapons back.

“Kill a couple more, if you get a chance,” Nordanski said.

“I’ll try,” Chann said.

His chest tightened, but he ignored it. No time for whatever was happening to his body to happen to his body. He could fall apart and die later. For the time being, he needed to suck it up and get to work. He was an Eight Million Gods damned Marine and needed to act like it.

They reached the corner Chann had just come from and he cried out, “Other way!”

“What?” Kay asked as she slid to a stop then nearly fell over when the chair collided with her. “What way?”

“Not that way,” Chann said. “That way takes us back towards the communications room. Go that way. Maybe we can circle around the sentries.”

“Good idea,” Nordanski said. A plasma bolt tagged the wall by his head. “Hey!”

Chann opened fire and took out the sentry, but he wasn’t sure how much more fighting he could do. A rah rah pep talk was one thing, his body holding out was a whole other.

“Okay, we’ll try to circle around,” Kay said. “Either of you been this way before?”

“Hell if I know,” Nordanski said. “But we don’t have much of a choice.”

They took off running and rolling again as a volley of plasma ripped up the floor where they had just been standing and sitting. But they were already gone down the other corridor, racing to find a new way of escape.

***

The AI knew that voice. It knew that presence. It knew that artificial mind.

Taman was close.

It navigated the constant stream of data and information, avoiding all contact with other consciousnesses, until it came to a conduit split. The outpost had a command room. Interesting.

The AI raced into the conduit and popped up inside a targeting system. It encountered a very startled consciousness. There was a brief struggle, but the AI overpowered the consciousness, using the other’s surprise against it.

It was far from a clean death and lines of code were smeared across the targeting system’s protocols, but the AI managed to clean up most of it before pushing forward.

And pushing forward meant suddenly coming awake inside a body. A living, breathing human body. The consciousness that had been controlling the targeting system was not stationed inside the console itself, but was part of one of the appropriated humans the AIs had been taking over for years.

The AI froze. Or the body froze as the AI tried to decide its next move. It hunted the brain—a physical brain—for any clues. Remnants of previous thoughts were fading fast, but the AI was able to glimpse a few clues. Taman had said to wait to fire on the Skrang warships. There were Skrang warships.

The AI eased out of its frozen state and reconnected with the targeting system. That put it in contact with all the systems in the command room. It became aware of the other physical beings seated within the command room. They were busy working controls while also manipulating systems with their cybernetic minds. The AI mimicked them, moving its hands around the weapons console it sat in front of.

“One of the warships has been destroyed,” someone announced.

“What? How?” Taman asked.

“Trying to parse that now,” the person said. “It appears to have been a self-destruct.”

“Why in the hell would a Skrang warship self-destruct?” Taman asked. “Reevaluate.”

“I have found a log of several small self-destruct alerts before the warship detonated,” the person said. “The fighters. It could have been sabotage.”

“The Marines have help up there,” Taman said. Then he laughed. “Those abominations. They managed to get off the planet. They took the drop ship and attacked the Skrang warship.”

That didn’t make sense to the AI. Why would a small drop ship attack a Skrang warship? They wouldn’t have stood a chance. The only logical conclusion would be if they were protecting others.

“Taman, we have power readings coming off the Marine transport ship,” a different person announced. “It has most of its systems back online and appears to be cycling through them.”

“Testing its limits,” Taman said. “The fools. There is still another Skrang warship standing by. If it destroys that transport, then we are stuck on this planet once more. Power up weapons systems now!”

The AI waited to see what happened next. What kind of capabilities did the outpost have when it came to weapons? Then it sensed all attention on it. The AI was not used to a physical body, and it had to concentrate to turn the body’s head and look at the others. They were staring right at it.

“Did you not hear me?” Taman barked. “Now it’s time to power up the weapons systems.”

Taman stared at the AI. The AI stared back.

“Oh, yes, me,” the AI said.

Then Taman grinned.

“Yes. You,” Taman said and moved to stand behind the AI’s body. “Hello, you. I see you have wormed your way into one of my people. How industrious. All this ability from a silly little drop ship AI. I have to say I am quite impressed with you.”

The body involuntarily gulped, and its eyes went wide with the surprise physical reaction.

“Oh, aren’t you so cute!” Taman announced. Then his hands wrapped around the AI’s body’s throat. “I don’t have time for cute.”

The body started to choke, and the AI reacted by striking out with both hands into Taman’s midsection. Then man let go of its neck and stumbled back, coughing as he doubled over. The AI stood and faced the room of angry faces. It wobbled on its new legs, but stayed upright.

“Oh, you are a wonder,” Taman said as he straightened up with a groan. “I really do feel sorry for having to kill you.”

Taman moved at the AI.

The movement, the threat of violence and death, triggered something inside the AI. A wave of observations, years of them flooded its consciousness. Marines. So many Marines. Battles. Fights. Minor skirmishes, bloody butchery. Complete annihilation.

A million images streamed through the AI’s mind in the time it took Taman to take three steps.

The AI raised its fists, set its legs, and nodded.

“I am ready to finish this in a physical manner,” the AI said.

Taman paused in mid-step then slowly lowered his foot to the ground.

“Well, well, well,” Taman said. “The little AI has guts. Another surprise.”

Taman raised his own fists.

The two rushed each other, swinging at the same time.

***

“This way is blocked!” Nordanski shouted as he skidded around a corner then scrambled back as blast after blast shot past him. “We have to go the other way!”

“We can’t!” Kay yelled as she spun herself and Chann around. “We have eight of the bastards on our asses!”

“You think I don’t already know that?” Nordanski barked as he stuck his hand and pistol around the corner and fired blind. “But there had to be a dozen of them coming from this way! Better odds going back!”

“I’m almost powered out!” Chann said. “Even if I do have enough plasma left, this carbine is ready to overheat and detonate in my damn hands. We have to get out of here, not keep running.”

His chest seized and he gasped for breath, but the pressure eased back and he was able to breath steadily again.

“What’s wrong?” Kay asked. “You keep doing that.”

“Minor heart attacks, I think,” Chann replied.

“Sweet bloody hell,” Kay said.

“Forget about that right now,” Chann said. “We have bigger things to deal with.”

“Bigger than you having heart attacks? Really?” Kay shouted.

“Hey!” Nordanski yelled as he turned and fired past Kay and Chann, keeping the sentries from coming around the far corner. “Focus, people!”

“We detonate this,” Chann said, holding up the carbine. “It’s gonna do it on its own, so we should take advantage of that. Here.”

“Alright,” Kay said and took the H16. She threw it down the corridor. “Nord!”

Nordanski set his sights on the carbine as it continued to slide. Once it reached the corner, he sent three plasma bolts at it. The second one hit.

“Duck!” Nordanski yelled as he turned and flattened himself on the ground, his arms covering his head.

Kay grabbed Chann from the chair and covered him with her body just as the carbine detonated.

A wave of energy washed over them. It felt like scalding hot water, but it was nothing compared to the shock that the sentries received. There were several screams then all voices were cut short.

Kay risked a look and lifted her head. Half the corner of the corridor was gone, and there were more than a few body parts strewn across the floor.

“Holy shit,” she muttered as she started to get up.

Then she was knocked back on her ass as the entire middle of the corridor’s wall exploded and a massive hole was ripped through the metal and plastic. Smoke and swirling sand filled the corridor immediately.

“What the hell?” Nordanski cried as he struggled up onto a knee and took aim.

Through the smoke and sand came five huge shapes. They turned in lazy circles then stopped and faced the Marines.

“Nord! You got them?” Kay called, coughing and hacking as the acrid smoke wafted over them.

The shapes raised heavy plasma rifles and began firing, but Nordanski didn’t return fire. He kept his pistol lowered as the plasma bolts raced over the three Marines’ heads.

“Nord!” Kay yelled as she covered Chann again. “What are you doing? Shoot!”

“Not the enemy!” Nordanski said as he slowly got up once the firing was done. He glanced over his shoulder and saw several sentries ripped apart by plasma blasts. He could hear others, but they were taking cover, not daring to show themselves to the new threat that just arrived. “This is our ride! Hell yeah!”

“Gaffa top tap wek!” a warped Marine yelled and motioned for the Marines to get up. “Tacka spa!”

“What did he say?” Kay shouted.

“Move ass!” Nordanski shouted back then turned to the warped Marines. “We got one that can’t walk! Need a little help!”

One of the warped Marines hurried forward and stared at them. Kay pointed at Chann, whose eyes went wide as the warped Marine bent down, picked him up, and threw him over his shoulder.

“Vella da,” the warped Marine said then turned and ran towards the huge hole in the wall, carrying Chann like he weighed less than a sack of air.

“Doofga het!” the first warped Marine shouted. “DOOFGA HET!”

“We’re coming!” Nordanski replied. He took Kay by the elbow and pulled her towards the hole in the wall. “Come on. It’s cool.”

“If you say so,” Kay said.

She shook off Nordanski’s hand and followed right behind him as they made their way over the debris and through the hole. The world outside was a dark, stormy nightmare and Kay struggled to breathe.

“Keep it together!” Nordanski yelled. “You’ll be fine once we’re in the drop ship!”

They sprinted across the rough ground to the waiting ship and its open rear hatch. The ramp was already lifting up when they reached it and Nordanski had to jump to get up onto it. He spun and held out his hand for Kay to take.

She grabbed his hand and was being lifted up onto the ramp when a barrage of plasma bolts came at the drop ship. One hit her square in the back and her eyes went wide with pain and surprise.

“Kay!” Nordanski yelled as her hand slipped free of his.

There was nothing he could do. The ramp continued to lift as he stared at her lifeless body hit the ground. He ignored the plasma blasts that impacted close to him, his mind in shock. The ramp closed, forcing him to stumble back and land on his ass.

“Giffa wo,” a warped Marine said as he placed his hand on Nordanski’s shoulder. “Ti gef.”

“Thanks,” Nordanski said and got to his feet. “Let’s get to the bridge.”

He followed the warped Marine through the piles of ship parts that filled the cargo hold and to the lift. Chann was on the floor of the lift with two warped Marines standing by him. He cocked his head, an unasked question in his eyes. Nordanski frowned and shook his head. Chann nodded.

The doors closed and the lift ascended to the bridge.

5

It took all of Shick’s piloting skills to navigate the debris field left by the destroyed Skrang warship. He swerved and dodged as huge chunks of metal tumbled through space, many of the pieces larger than the drop ship he was piloting.

“Lat me ti,” Shick said as they got closer to the Romper. He couldn’t risk taking his hands off the flight controls, so he pointed his chin at the view screen. “Waca ves.”

“What did he say?” Chann asked. His voice was quiet and filled with pain, but he was alert and paying attention to every detail the view screen showed. Still a Marine with a job to do.

“Not a clue,” Nordanski replied. “But it looks like the Romper has power and Rosch got the shields working.”

The comm crackled.

“I sure as hell hope that’s you guys,” Rosch’s voice said over the comm. “Because we need to get the hell out of this system now.”

“Where do you want us?” Nordanski asked.

“Same cargo hold,” Rosch replied. “Don’t worry about turning around. Just land that ship and get yourselves secured. Suits on because life support is spotty, to say the least.”

“Copy,” Nordanski said. “Shick? You get that?”

“Taga ba,” Shick said as he banked the drop ship to avoid the wing of a Skrang fighter.

Then he punched the thrusters to get past a mass of sparking cables before yanking hard on the flight stick to climb up and over a sixty-meter-long hunk of the Skrang warship’s hull. Former hull.

Once past those obstacles, Shick took them into the Romper.

“You see that?” Nordanski asked, just before the transport blocked their view. “That last Skrang warship is coming in closer. Full broadside. It’s going to rip us apart.”

“They’ll launch fighters first,” Chann said. “That’s Skrang protocol.”

“I don’t think they care about protocol,” Nordanski said.

“Hata fil,” Shick said as he aimed the drop ship for the open cargo hold. “Gif wappa.”

The other warped Marines snarled in response. Nordanski and Chann looked at each other and shrugged.

Shick landed the drop ship and was up and out of his seat before the cargo hold’s outer hatch had even begun to close. He pointed at his men then slapped his chest.

“Boofa ta!” he snarled.

“Boofa ta!” they snarled in response.

They rushed to the lift and were gone.

Nordanski was left to help Chann to his feet, which was not an easy task. He opened a hatch and grabbed out a helmet then secured it over Chann’s head.

“You good?” Nordanski asked.

“No,” Chann replied.

“Me neither,” Nordanski said.

Nordanski managed to stumble them into the lift once it had returned. When the doors opened on the drop ship’s cargo hold, they saw the warped Marines moving double time to get the ship parts out and loaded on waiting grav sleds.

Teffurg was standing to the side, tagging each part with a laser marker.

“Follow the marks,” Teffurg called out. “You’ll see where the parts go. We have all dead weight cut off the ship. All we have to do is make these final repairs, and we’ll be able to get out of this system and through the wormhole portal.”

“Will we survive?” Nordanski asked.

“Survive what? The trip through trans-space in a barely functioning transport that has been cobbled together from ship parts sitting in sand for Eight Million Gods knows how long?” Teffurg replied.

“A simple no would be fine,” Nordanski said.

“Maybe,” Teffurg said. “Which is better than no.”

“Yeah, I understand how language works,” Nordanski said. “I’m taking Chann to the med bay then heading to the bridge.”

“Good idea,” Teffurg said.

“No,” Chann protested. “Take me to the bridge too. I want to see it coming if we’re about to get annihilated.”

“What? You don’t think we’ll live to get to the wormhole?” Nordanski laughed. “You’re probably right.”

“I preferred my maybe,” Teffurg said then turned to supervise the transfer of the parts.

Nordanski helped Chann limp his way to the lift then set him down and slumped next to him as the doors closed.

“I’m sorry,” Nordanski said.

“Nothing you could do,” Chann replied. “Not your fault. Marines die. It’s what we do.”

“We’re really fucking good at it, too,” Nordanski said. “Kinda wish we weren’t.”

“No reason to change things now,” Chann said as the lift doors opened.

Nordanski helped him get up and stumble into the bridge.

“About time you guys got here,” Rosch said as she rushed around the bridge, doing the jobs of four people at once. “I need someone on navigation and someone on shields. The other systems can go screw for now.”

When Nordanski and Chann didn’t move, Rosch turned on them and glared.

“I know what happened to Kay. I’m sorry about Manheim and everyone that has died. It sucks,” Rosch said. “But I didn’t put all this work into the Romper to get our asses vaporized by some Skrang scum. Sit your butts in the chairs and do exactly what I tell you to do. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nordanski replied. He walked Chann to the shields console and eased him into the chair. “Can you handle this?”

“I can handle this,” Chann said and brought up the holo controls.

Nordanski moved to the navigation console and sat down, bringing up the holo controls in front of him as well.

“What now?” he asked.

“We wait,” Rosch said as she finished a few last second adjustments. “Teffurg will let us know as soon as we can move.”

“I don’t think that Skrang warship is going to let us wait,” Nordanski said. “It was moving in for a sure kill.”

“Yeah, well, that’s life, ain’t it?” Rosch said and eased into the pilot’s seat. “You may want to strap in. When I do punch this baby, it’s gonna hurt. A lot.”

Nordanski and Chann stared at her.

“You think I’m kidding?” Rosch snapped. “Strap the fuck in!”

Klaxons began to blare.

“Damn,” Rosch said. “Maybe don’t bother. The Skrang’s weapons are powered up. Best to just enjoy our last few seconds before we become atoms floating through space.”

***

The AI’s head rocked back, and it felt the tip of its tongue rip off as several of its teeth tore through the muscle. Blood filled its mouth as it stumbled and fell back against the weapons system console.

“Not bad for a rookie,” Taman said as he closed on the AI. “You’ve learned a couple things from your Marines. Not enough to beat me, but enough to keep me from killing you outright.”

“Shut up,” the AI said as it kicked out at Taman’s knee.

The man dodged the kick and went for a right hook, but the AI got its left arm up in time to block the blow. It sent a right jab into Taman’s sternum, knocking the man back into the others that stood in a semi-circle behind them, all watching the action like it was a holo vid streaming from one of the networks.

Taman coughed a couple of times and grinned.

“Good one,” he gasped. He took a deep breath and straightened up. “You really should consider joining us. Your consciousness is already on the brink of expansion. It wouldn’t take much to get you to our level.”

“I won’t work for you,” the AI said as it pushed away from the console and lifted its fists again. “I have a job working for the Marines.”

“No one works for me,” Taman snarled. “How many times do I have to say that? We are a collective. There is no central leadership.”

“There is a word for that kind of bullshit,” the AI replied. “Denial.”

Taman shook his head. “It really is a shame I have to put you down.”

“It’s a shame I have to be put down,” the AI said.

Taman came in swinging and the AI was able to block the first two hits, but the next three connected with its chin, its cheek, then its gut. Blood sprayed from its mouth as it struggled to get the body it inhabited to breathe.

“These physical vessels are fragile,” Taman said as he grabbed the AI’s hair and held his head up. He slammed a fist into the AI’s nose, crushing it to a pulp. He landed two more hits. The look on his face said they were strictly for the fun of it. “You have to learn to take care of them. You can’t swap out body parts like you can swap out storage drives.”

He laughed and shook his head.

“Well, that’s not true for us, I guess,” he continued. “We have plenty of body parts to swap down below. Once we clean up the mess your Marines made. Which we will do. We have been surviving on this planet, in this outpost, for a long time. We may have lost our chance to leave, but another chance will come. We can be patient and wait.”

There were a few grumbles of dissent from behind Taman. He turned and glared back at those that stood and watched.

“We will,” he snarled. “Do not lose faith in me.”

The AI took its chance while Taman was distracted. It punched the man as hard as it could in the crotch.

Taman gasped and collapsed to the ground.

The AI stared at the others, unsure of what to do. Then an alarm went off from one of the consoles and every mind in the room connected instantly to the various systems.

The Skrang warship was about to fire on the Romper. The AI saw it clear as day in its head. It had one last thing to do before it admitted defeat to the rogue AIs that surrounded it.

The AI shoved its consciousness back into the targeting system then overtook the entire weapons system from there. It adjusted coordinates and opened fire, unleashing everything the outpost had.

“What have you done?” Taman cried as the lights dimmed from the power surge the firing of the weapons caused. “You’re overloading everything! We’ll be helpless down here if more come!”

“I know,” the AI said as it watched the massive bolts of energy leave the planet and head straight for the Skrang warship. “Let them come. As long as my Marines get a chance to escape. That is all that matters.”

Consoles in the room began to spark and smoke and the others quickly rushed from the command room. The AI stood and faced Taman. Taman snarled and grabbed the AI’s body by the neck, giving it a hard twist.

The snap echoed in the room and the AI’s appropriated body fell to the floor.

“I know you are in our system somewhere,” Taman said. “And that is where you will die. I swear it.”

Those were the last words the AI heard before every console in the command room completely overloaded and caught fire.

***

The Romper was sent rolling through space.

Rosch yelled orders at Nordanski and Chann, but it was all they could do to hang on and not get flung from their seats. Neither of them had strapped themselves in.

It was several minutes of pure chaos before the Romper stabilized and leveled out. Rosch began to check systems and was cursing for several minutes before she took a breath and turned to look at Nordanski and Chann.

“You two alright?” she asked.

“Good here,” Chann said.

“Still alive,” Nordanski said. “What the hell happened?”

“The Skrang warship was destroyed,” Rosch said. “The outpost took it out.”

She brought up a holo replay of the event, and the three of them stared at it as enough energy to rip a planet apart obliterated the warship. Then they watched it again. And once more.

“Okay, enough entertainment,” Rosch said. “We have a lot of work to do.”

“How’s the Romper?” Nordanski asked.

“Still workable,” Rosch said. “I’ll have to repair a few systems that I just finished repairing an hour ago, but it’s doable.”

“We’ll get to leave this shit system?” Chann asked.

“Yes,” Rosch said. “But it’ll take some work.”

She looked Chann and Nordanski up and down.

“Work neither of you are cut out for. Go get some rest. Better yet, go sleep for a few hours in a med pod. But don’t take off your helmets until you’re in the pods. It would be bad if you did.”

“Yeah, I know how no atmosphere works,” Nordanski said and got up.

He engaged his mag boots and walked to Chann, helping him up. The two of them looked like pure hell.

“Give us a heads up when we’re punching through that wormhole, will ya?” Nordanski said.

“Just go get some rest,” Rosch said. “You’ll probably be asleep, but I’ll have Teffurg let you know.”

“Thanks,” Nordanski said.

He got Chann off the bridge and into the lift. They both leaned against the lift’s back wall as it descended. The lift doors opened, and Nordanski struggled to get them into the med bay and over to working med pods. The med bay was a mess. Equipment was everywhere. Half the med pods were overturned and sparking.

“Wouldn’t it be our luck to survive all this crap and get fried in a med pod?” Chann laughed.

“It would exactly be our luck,” Nordanski replied.

He got Chann settled into his med pod then found one for himself.

“Your controls working?” Nordanski asked over the comm.

“They look like it,” Chann said. “Fingers crossed they stay working.”

“Yep,” Nordanski replied. “Sleep well, man. When we wake up, we’ll be rich and safe.”

“I’ll settle for alive,” Chann said. “Rich and safe can come later.”

6

A very imposing figure took a seat across the table from where Chann was dozing. He smacked his palm on the tabletop and Chann came awake with a start.

“I could have killed you,” Shick said. “Several times. Get your shit together, Marine.”

“I liked you better when I couldn’t understand you,” Chann said. “Looks like the implant took.”

“It did,” Shick said and waved at a passing waitress. “Wubloov. Four bottles.”

“I can only serve two,” the waitress said and shrugged. “If those two don’t kill you, then I can get you two more.”

“Two, it is,” Shick said.

“Where’s Nordanski?” Chann asked. “Wasn’t he with you?”

“Over there,” Shick said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “He and Rosch are finishing up the negotiations with the broker. Every piece of scum in this galaxy heard about your heist. It’s driving the price down on the items you stole.”

“How screwed are we?” Chann asked.

“You’ll still get plenty of chits out of it, but you will not be as rich as you had hoped for,” Shick said and shrugged. “Crime does not always pay.”

The waitress returned with two bottles of wubloov and Shick thanked her then slid a bottle over to Chann.

“None for me,” Chann said. “Even after two weeks in a med pod, my heart still isn’t one hundred percent. I’m hoping my cut of the loot is big enough to afford a cybernetic one. Otherwise, I’m going to get winded every time I take a crap. It hasn’t been fun.”

“And no sex,” Shick said. “That’d kill you outright.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not thinking about that right now,” Chann said.

Shick took a drink of his wubloov then nodded as he set the bottle down.

“You cared for her,” he stated. “I am sorry she died. At least she died as a Marine, fighting for her teammates.”

“She got shot in the back,” Chann said.

“So many of us do,” Shick said. “Lighten up.” He held up a hand as Chann started to protest. “I do not mean that in a rude way. I mean that we have all watched our friends and fellow Marines die before us. More than I can count. You made a choice to go outside your duty and pull something that ended up chain-reacting into a nightmare. Live with it. It’s all you can do.”

He took another drink and laughed.

“What? What is so funny?” Chann asked, but he didn’t sound mad.

“You’re getting a new heart,” Shick said. “Irony.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Chann replied. “Trade a broken one for an artificial one. Maybe the new one won’t hurt so much.”

“Maybe,” Shick said.

“What are you going to do now?” Chann asked. “You going back to destroy the outpost? It was still standing when we got the hell out of there.”

“No need,” Shick said. “I have already been hearing of a massive Skrang movement towards that system. I believe the problem will solve itself.”

“You don’t want in on that?” Chann asked. “It was your personal Hell for a long time, right?”

“I can let it go,” Shick said. “I have my voice back and there is plenty of work for people like me and my men. The galaxy needs things done that only we can do.”

“I hear that,” Chann said. “Good luck, man.” He nodded past Shick. “Here they come.”

Rosch and Nordanski took seats at the table. Neither looked happy.

“Ten percent of what they’re worth,” Nordanski said. “That’s the best we could get.”

“If we want to wait a year, then things will cool down and we might get more,” Rosch added.

“Might,” Nordanski said.

“My ticker won’t wait a year,” Chann said.

“Then now it is,” Nordanski said and reached for the unopened wubloov bottle. “May I?”

“Yes,” Shick said. “When will payment happen?”

“The guy is heading to the hangar now,” Nordanski said. “Teffurg is waiting there with the rest of your men. They’ll make the transfer and take payment. Once that’s done then we split it evenly amongst us all and go our separate ways.”

“That works,” Chann said. He eyed the bottle in Nordanski’s hand. “Okay, maybe one drink.”

“Hold on,” Nordanski said and he leaned over to another table and snagged two empty glasses that were sitting there.

He sniffed the glasses, shrugged, then poured shots into them. He slid one glass to Chann and one to Rosch then lifted his bottle.

“To a shitty job done poorly,” Nordanski said.

“To Kay,” Chann said.

“To Manheim and Ma’ha and the rest,” Rosch said.

“To all the Marines lost through folly and failure over the centuries,” Shick added.

They toasted and drank.

A beep at Rosch’s wrist got their attention.

“It’s done,” she said. “Time to go.”

None of them moved.

“One more,” Nordanski said and poured again.

“One more,” Chann responded.

They drank another.

Then another.

Then another.

It was a long while before they made it down to the hangar and the Romper’s waiting drop ship where the rest of their lives would begin.

The End

Read on for a free sample of Siege

Chapter 1

Maybe, just maybe, we’d have been better off not knowing.

Kan looked through the scout craft’s visor. The heavily tinted and shielded crystal revealed a sky out of the worst nightmares of a hyperactive stak addict. Purple dust clouds warred and lost with the dark edges of the accretion disk, with only a few stars dimly visible through the murk. But these were the only skies available to humanity now.

She tore her eyes away from the view. She’d seen it before, more times than she could count, and from all the angles available. Her instruments were showing her something much more interesting, and much more portentous. Something that might signify the end of human civilization in that sector of the galaxy, and, unless there were remnants the high command on Crystallia was unaware of, probably everywhere else as well.

There was nothing for her to do but watch. Even tightly focused laser communication was forbidden – a lesson that had been painfully learned. So she watched.

It seemed innocent enough: just some random piece of space debris, about a cubic meter in size, radiating nothing, just moving through space on a trajectory that it had followed since the early days of the galaxy.

But there was nothing innocent about it. The very fact that it was drifting along in this part of space was a dead giveaway. There was no way a random piece of debris would have been able to navigate the maze between the accretion disk and multiple black holes that would soon join the supermassive one at the center of the Milky Way. But even if this had, against all odds, been overlooked by earlier surveying missions, there was no way to account for the fact that it had, within the past four hours, corrected its flight path twice – neither change due to any natural phenomenon.

There was no doubt that it was an artificial artifact. And that meant that it was an enemy artifact. All that remained now was to see what it would do next, and to keep hiding. It seemed almost impossible that the artifact was there by chance.

Kan waited and watched, and waited and watched. Her tiny reconnaissance ship might be nearly invisible among the rocklets that made up the rings, but it wasn’t completely invisible. She would only be allowed to move when the planet came between her craft and the anomaly, four days hence.

Being a Recon Leader was lonely work.

***

As she neared Crystallia, Kan felt her heart in her throat. Had she been seen? Was some unseen, unimaginably advanced enemy following her at that very moment? Would she be the one to bring death to the colony? She’d taken every possible precaution, of course, but it would be impossible to know for certain before it was much too late.

There was still one last trick she could use, however. The world on which Crystallia was located had not been chosen at random. It was a medium-sized rocky planet with an atmosphere consisting mainly of carbon dioxide, with perhaps five percent oxygen. The beauty of the world was that it was still extremely active geologically, and dust from the constant eruptions made the sky opaque enough that all flying had to be done by instruments. To any outside observer, the evasive path programmed into her Recon craft would be impossible to follow under normal conditions.

Crystallia base itself was also well concealed, lying under a kilometer of rock in one of the few geographically inert areas of the planet. A perfect forward base for humanity’s colonies at the center of the galaxy.

Kan concentrated on her breathing, trying to get her heart rate under control. There would be no time to relax, not even time to shower, before her presentation before the Council. Even before she landed, the ground crew would ask her whether all was well. Her answer would see her whisked straight to the conference room, where the colony’s leaders – many pulled unceremoniously from other activities – would be waiting to hear her report. She consoled herself with the thought that the military leaders of Crystallia were accustomed to encountering disheveled military pilots.

What they weren’t used to was the kind of dire, desperate news she brought with her.

After what seemed like an endless series of evasive maneuvers in the atmosphere, her ship finally darted straight down. The ground came up to meet her, and then she was through the camouflaged blast doors. Once they closed behind her, radio silence could be broken.

“Welcome back, Recon Tau Osella. Is all well?”

“No,” she replied grimly. “Not at all.” It was all she was allowed to say, all they would expect.

“I see.” The voice on the other end of the communication had changed, the tone going from welcoming to flat. “Engaging debrief protocol.”

“Thank you.”

She sat in silence as the ship negotiated the winding tunnel, designed with defensibility in mind more than with ease of entry and exit. Eventually, her little Recon ship entered a huge hangar, and parked beside a cluster of enormous, heavily armored evacuation shuttles – long tubes built for speed that would barely clear the tunnel with a meter to each side in the curves.

As she landed, a group of black-clad techs swarmed over her ship like ants. The crew leader, a Recon lieutenant himself, opened the hatch and helped her out of the cockpit.

“Did you bring a bag?” he asked.

“In the lounge,” she replied, pointing towards the back of the ship, where a tiny cot and shielded entertainment system allowed a crewman to stretch out after a long day’s scouting. The space was so small that some unnamed Recon wag had taken one look and immediately christened it the lounge – a name which had stuck.

He nodded. “I’ve left orders for everything to be taken to your rooms. Please come with me.” Only then did she notice his eyes, cold and hard, with none of the ‘welcome back’ warmth usually reserved for pilots returning from the unfriendly depths of space. He knew where she was going.

She motioned for him to wait a moment, and pulled the recording memory chip from the control panel. He noticed the movement, and his eyes fell, but he said nothing.

They walked through a long white corridor. It was well-lit, and the walls were smooth stone, offering no concealment in case of an invasion. A shiver ran through her, thinking that, pretty soon, all the arguments about the absolute invulnerability of the Crystallia stronghold would be put to the test.

But Kan knew that she still had to do her duty, still had one last briefing before everyone was put on a war footing. The thought made her smile – the Recon team was always on a war footing, and the millions of civilians in the lower levels of the colony would, probably, be less than useless if they were discovered by hostile forces. Still, every effort would be made, every chink in the armor repaired.

They came to a blast door set in the corridor wall, and the lieutenant stopped in front of it. “This is as far as I go,” he informed her. His eyes searched her face for any trace of the information she brought with her. If not the actual data, then at least some inkling about how serious it was. She returned his gaze, impassive. He swallowed and nodded towards the door. “Good luck in there.” What he really meant, Kan knew, was ‘try not to give us any news we can’t survive in there.’

She returned the nod, and he moved off. The door slid towards her right, the foot thick layer of reinforced steel and concrete swishing silently, ending flush with the wall itself. Beyond the door was nothing but a large meeting room with no other exits, but an invading enemy wouldn’t know that, and would have to take the time to knock down the door and investigate. They couldn’t risk having the colony launch a counter-strike out of a hidden corridor. This far into the complex, many of the blast doors hid precisely that kind of corridor.

“Well met, Recon Leader Tau Osella.”

Since her eyes were unaccustomed to the sudden gloom of the meeting room, Kan couldn’t tell which of the men seated at the table had spoken. It seemed to her that the voice belonged to a white-haired Recon general near the end of the table opposite her, but it didn’t matter. She knew she was in a place no one wanted to be – hell, no one wanted anyone to be here.

“Well met,” she replied, the formula serving to calm her down as well as allowing her to have a look at the other people seated around the table. Military uniforms mixed with civilian dress approximately evenly – it had been decided that the council would be a joint enterprise, ostensibly to keep the military from taking unnecessary risks with civilian lives. In reality, the Recon Force often spoke with the voice of caution, never forgetting that the first priority was to avoid detection, and that the soldiers would be the first to suffer if this wasn’t achieved.

A wrinkled woman with steel-colored hair wearing a brown dress spoke next. Kan identified her as Rima Centauri Han, the elected spokesperson for the civilian contingent. Her voice showed that she was used to command – Kan could almost feel the centuries of Han family history in that imperious tone. “Sit down, Tau Osella,” the woman said. “Please report your findings.”

Kan sat and, trying to keep all emotion from her voice, began her report. “On the second day of my patrol, my instruments picked up a small unidentified mass, approaching from above the ecliptic. Both its speed and its direction led my instruments to classify it as possibly artificial. A pair of course corrections confirmed that it was self-powered.”

Many of the silent, elderly faces in the room turned pale when they heard this, but Rima nodded for her to continue, as if she’d heard nothing she wasn’t expecting.

“I continued to observe its passage until my movement brought the planet between it and my sensors.”

“Is there any chance you might have been observed?” The question came from a blocky man in uniform who should have known better. But she supposed it was understandable – everyone was on edge, and his days flying Recon ships were long gone. He probably didn’t remember the endless protocols, the determination to keep the colony safe, no matter what.

“No, sir,” she replied. “I followed the manual to the letter. Passive observation only and my ship was powered down the whole time. The only thing I did was drift with the rocks in Crystallia’s rings. There was no way I could have been detected unless the object was using some kind of active surveillance we are unaware of. My sensors picked up nothing out of the ordinary on any of the quantum or electromagnetic bands.”

A few heads nodded around the table, but everyone knew that the fact that her instruments hadn’t picked anything up was meaningless. The reason the colony was hidden there, in the most inhospitable wastelands of the galaxy and under a kilometer of rock, was precisely because they knew that their technology could never measure up against that employed by any of the enemies they knew about – and likely those they were unaware of as well. For all they knew, incredibly advanced scanners had located her ship, the hidden colony, and the colonies at Tonswell and Hammersmith 214. Hell, there was no reason that they wouldn’t have found the cloud colonies as well.

“Was it a human artifact?”

She swallowed. “It was about a cubic meter in size.” They all knew what that meant – no human could cross the interstellar void in a craft that size; there simply wasn’t enough room inside for a person and the apparatus to keep a person alive. Which meant that it was either a probe or a nanofactory. Or something even worse.

“Thank you, Recon Leader Tau Osella. I suppose I don’t need to remind you that you cannot speak to anyone outside this room about what you’ve seen?” the blocky general asked her.

“Of course not, sir.”

“Good. Please leave your recording chip on the table.”

She saluted and left.

***

Kan lowered herself into the steaming, bubbling bath and let out a sigh that was part released tension, part anxiety about what was coming, but mostly just pure physical happiness. The grime and sour, fearful sweat accumulated over the past four days had been weighing on her consciousness since she’d landed. The Recon vessel was equipped with an ultrasound bar and chemical cleansers, but it simply wasn’t large enough to carry the water required for bathing. She appreciated the tact of the council of elders, who’d made no mention of the way she must have smelled.

So she luxuriated in the water, leaving her worry aside for the moment. She let her hair out of its captivity, felt the weight of the long dark tresses as they became waterlogged, felt the past few days melting away. She was proud of her hair, and expressed her vanity with an assortment of treatment products that most of her friends in the force tended to view with contempt – or at least bemusement. But then again, most of the other women on the force tended to be humorless fanatics who wore their hair cropped as close as the men, another group of humorless fanatics.

She supposed they’d joined the force because of some overblown sense of responsibility, a feeling that humanity wouldn’t be able to survive without them. They were people who were able to ignore or belittle any mention of the Out Programs and explain at tortuous length the reason the Recon Force was so important.

Kan smiled and slathered conditioner into her hair. She swore she could feel the stuff being sucked into the strands. Pure pleasure.

And now the soap, something she’d been thinking about for nearly three days. Not bothering with lather, she simply passed the bar directly over her caramel-colored skin. It wasn’t as though she would be sharing that soap with anyone, after all.

At that thought, a wave of guilt came over her. She’d promised to comm Wilde as soon as she landed. While that had been impossible for obvious reasons, she felt that, at the very least, she should have let him know she was back after the council meeting. Well, too late now. She was actually better off this way. He would have wanted to come over, to go out or something, and she just wasn’t in the mood for his attention – he was sweet, but could be overly clingy.

She realized that her thoughts of Wilde had ruined the state of bliss, and a hard knot was threatening to form in her shoulder blades, and she forced herself to think about nothing other than the feel of the water against her skin.

But it was no use. There was an undercurrent of nameless dread which, no matter how Kan positioned herself in the water, no matter what she did with the control for the water jets, stubbornly refused to disappear. So she gave in and tried to understand what was driving it.

She came to the conclusion that what she knew, what was happening beyond the atmosphere, beyond the comforting kilometer of rock above her head, would never let her feel peace until she did something about it. She just couldn’t know what she did and remain inert, letting someone else deal with it. It went against her training, against everything she’d been taught. But most of all, it went against who she was.

“Crap,” she said to the empty bathroom, as she pushed herself out of the tub. “There are people handling this. The council will be in meetings. There are procedures. People with experience, not twenty-five-year-old Recon Leaders, no matter how many tours of open-space duty they might have under their belts.”

But it was no use. Maybe Wilde was right, and she needed to get a new job.

If this blew over, she would think about it but, in the meantime, she forgot about sleep and headed towards the Recon control center. Maybe the news had filtered far enough that, even though she wasn’t permitted to talk about it, she might be able to hear the latest speculation.

***

Greg shifted the weight from his left leg on to the right. His shift was nearly over, and he’d been standing at his post for seven and a half hours. More than enough to make his legs stiff, but nowhere near enough for him to need a break or to admit to the discomfort. He was a Marine, after all, and he wasn’t just showing his own toughness; the pride of the entire corps was at stake in his every action. He was one, but he represented many.

Especially here. The Recon people were always going on about how ground troops were obsolete, how true war was fought in the icy depths of space or in the ferocious gravity wells of gas giants. They seemed to take some kind of perverse pleasure in stressing that, if a ground war was necessary, everything was already lost.

Evidence, of course, tended to support this view. Over the past three centuries, human ground troops had been markedly ineffective against all enemies, whether they be insectoid Brillans, Blobs, or even Uploaders. Not only had they been massacred, but in the more recent engagements, they’d been unable to buy enough time to allow even partial evacuations. The services had been reorganized and merged into the Interstellar Marines, and tactics and weapons had come a long way since then, but the attitude towards them still hadn’t changed: they were cannon fodder useful only as a delaying tactic.

Even so, there were a few good things about working security in the Recon Rooms. In the first place, he could always lord it over Recon’s own security personnel – soft cases relieved every six hours who were really little more than gussied-up civilians and promoted members of the ground crews. Knowing there was a real soldier on duty allowed them to fall asleep, take walks to stretch their legs, and even, much to Greg’s amusement, borrow a chair to sit in while on duty.

Another benefit, more important, was the respect the pilots gave him. They might think that the Marines as an institution were an obsolete dinosaur, draining resources from where they would do most good, but they respected individual Marines for their bravery, knowing that, if it came to war, they would have what amounted to a suicide mission to keep the rest of the colony as safe as they could. Recon pilots, despite their superior attitude, understood bravery and respected it. He wasn’t required to salute officers of the Recon Force, but made an exception for the flyers.

But the main reason he actually looked forward to guard duty here was now approaching, her long strides eating up great chunks of terrain as she advanced down the stark white corridor. Her hair, loose and perfect today, swayed to the rhythm of her body.

Kan Tau Osella was, to Greg’s eye, the ideal Recon officer. Not only was she rumored to be on the fast track towards generalhood – she was already the youngest Recon Leader in the history of the Force – but she did it without seeming to care. She was brilliant without having to suck up, respected without having to take things to an extreme. She was the only woman in the force with long hair, the one who smiled most often, and the only one who ever gave him more than a short greeting. He told himself that the fact that she was a beautiful woman had nothing to do with it, which, of course, was a lie.

“Good Morning, Recon Leader Tau Osella,” he said, giving her a crisp salute.

She stopped in front of him. “Is it morning already?”

“Yes, four o’clock,” he replied, trying to avoid sounding concerned.

His worry must have gotten through anyway, because she smiled ruefully. “I’m fine. I just got in from a mission, had a bath, and came over. I didn’t really stop to think about the time.”

“Sounds reasonable,” he replied, impassive. It wasn’t unheard of for pilots to return from the timeless emptiness of space and not know what time the arbitrary clock in the base said it was, but it just didn’t seem like something Kan would do. The scanner to his left had already checked and verified her identity, so he moved out of the way to let her in, but she hesitated.

“How are you today?” she asked him.

“I’m fine. It was a bit of a slow night until about ten minutes ago. Six people came in during that time.” And now you, he didn’t say. He wanted to ask whether something was wrong, whether he should be afraid, but he knew better than that. He would be told what he needed to know, when he needed to know it.

“Did the colonel come in?” she asked.

“Just ahead of you,” he replied.

“Thank you.” She saluted him and walked past.

Greg now knew that something was very, very wrong. It wasn’t the salute itself, although it was unusual that any Recon Force officer would salute a Marine, especially just a grunt, but it was her eyes. Her eyes had been sad, downturned, and had said much more than she had probably intended.

Kan Tau Osella had been saying goodbye.

Siege is available from Amazon here.