Burnt Worlds (15 page)

“Aye aye, sir.”

Dillon, Saparun and their two armed crewmembers started out toward the distant settlement, their boots kicking up bronze dust that swirled around them.

-----

The sun was further across the sky.
 
It had been a long, dusty walk back from the merchant district.
 

Dillon glanced over at Saparun.
 
“Who the hell uses one-twenty-one-millimetre mass drivers, anyway?”

The Mechanic shrugged inside his cloak.
 
“I don’t know.
 
I suspect the ammunition came from the cruiser hulk.
 
With the new fabricator material, I should be able to make sabots for them in a few hours.
 
They should fire through our main armament without a problem.”

The gusting breeze threw up dust in their faces, and Dillon spat some of it out.
 
He turned to look back at the wheeled cargo mover that followed them, the first of two heavily-laden robotic vehicles that were keeping pace.
 
O’Neil and Graham were keeping a watch all around, occasionally walking backward for a few paces to observe activity behind them.

“It’s a good find,” said the Captain.
 
“Seventeen shots could make the difference.
 
And the fabricator matter looks good.”

“I think it’s Uta,” said Saparun.
 
“High quality.”

“What was that other thing you bought, Sap?
 
You said it was a souvenir, which is
pakteta
, but I didn’t ask.
 
I figured you’d found something that was more valuable than the merchant knew.”

“This?” asked the Dosh, pulling a small metal object from his pocket.
 
He rolled it over in his red-skinned hands.
 
It was intricately cut, and fit neatly in his palm.
 
“It is actually a Dosh engine part, Captain.”

“No kidding?
 
Out here?
 
What does it do?”

“It is an injector from a plasma shaper.
 
From a design of engine that my people developed and then abandoned.
 
Terribly inefficient.”

The Head Mechanic held it up between his finger and thumb, pointing at its ends with his other hand.
 
“I will attempt to fabricate conduit extensions here and here.
 
If it works, I will need to scan the design and then fabricate two hundred and eight more of them.”

The Captain looked at the Dosh’s face, hidden within his cloak.
 
“Two hundred and eight?
 
What will you do with that?
 
Give everyone souvenirs?”

“No, Captain.
 
If it works, I will repair the jump drive.”

Dillon missed a step.
 
“What?
 
Are you sure?”

Saparun’s cloak moved as the Mechanic shook his head.
 
“No, I am not sure.
 
I am not even slightly sure.
 
The mere idea violates ten or more of my people’s quality-control standards.”

“Fine with me.
 
Violate away, Sap.”

“It is not that easy, Captain.
 
There are procedures, safety protocols.
 
I must conduct hundreds of tests to ensure success.”

“Then violate more standards, Sap.”

“I know you value results over procedure, Captain.
 
But my Guild does not.
 
They will not approve.
 
Though…”

“Though what?”

“Though I confess I am intrigued by the notion of trying some human-style engineering.”

“What, you mean ‘reckless self-endangerment’?”

“I do not know if I would put it quite like that, Captain.
 
But yes, a more improvisational approach might be—”

“Write up something that says I’ve ordered you to violate your standards.
 
I’ll sign it.
 
It’ll be my responsibility.
 
I want to get everyone home.”

“Yes, Captain.
 
The Guild will be outraged, but will not sanction me.”

Dillon was about to speak, when O’Neil’s tense voice came from behind them.
 
The tension was evident in her voice.
 
“Captain.
 
The mercenaries have moved.
 
There are two more than there were before.
 
The dog thing is now unchained.
 
More of them are armed.
 
I don’t like it, sir.”

The Captain fell silent, peering out at the groups of aliens around the other landed ships.
 
Their own shuttle was just beyond, and he could see his crewmembers waiting for them.
 
“Damn well done, O’Neil.
 
Good eye.
 
You’re hired.”

He put his hand up to his earpiece.
 
“Lee,
Borealis
: Dillon here.
 
You receiving?”

“Lee to Dillon,” came the PO’s voice.
 
“Loud and clear.
 
I see you.”

After a moment, Atwell’s voice came through as well.
 
“Atwell to Dillon.
 
Receiving.”

“Okay, I’m not liking this.
 
The mercs aren’t being as quiet as I’d like.
 
I think they might be looking to steal our supplies.
 
Lee, wake your people up.
 
Uncover if you want.”

He heard two clicks of static, an acknowledgement from Lee.
 

“Atwell,” he continued, “bring the ship down here.
 
Warm up the secondary guns, we might need fire support.
 
How’s your aim?”

“On our way, sir.
 
Two minutes or so.
 
Arming secondary guns, but we need to get closer.
 
And my aim is shit, sir, but the computer’s is pretty good.”

They were a hundred metres from the shuttle.
 
Up ahead, Lee and his team had spread out, and their hands were on their weapons.
 
Several of them had pulled back their hoods.

Out of the corner of his eye, the Captain saw one of the mercenaries stand up.
 

O’Neil’s shout shattered the quiet.
 
“Ambush behind!”

Dillon pivoted to his right to look behind them.
 
His right hand drew his pistol while his left threw back his hood.
 
He felt something streak past his head.

O’Neil was behind him, raising her carbine to fire at a target Dillon couldn’t see.
 
Her head suddenly jerked, and Dillon felt something warm and wet spatter across his face and in his eyes.
 
O’Neil’s knees buckled, and she began to crumple to the ground.

Dillon brought up his pistol and fired, sending three hypervelocity slugs toward the mercenary beyond O’Neil’s limp form.
 
Bright orange specks sparkled as incoming rounds zipped past him, too quick for his eyes to track.
 
Saparun was to his right somewhere, and Graham was moving backward in a crouch, sending carefully-aimed shots at another group of Crimson Banner mercs.
 
Dillon threw himself toward O’Neil.

As soon as he touched her arm, he saw the mess that was the side of her head.
 
With his other hand he grabbed her leg and pulled her body over his shoulder, pushing off in the direction of the shuttle.

Saparun and Graham were on either side, letting off a constant stream of fire as they moved backward alongside him.
 
Beyond were Lee and the other team, crouched behind crates, trading fire with mercenaries to the left and right.
 

The Head Mechanic suddenly dropped his pistol, blood dribbling from his hand.
 
Without saying a word he bent over, picked up the weapon with his other hand, and resumed firing.

They were forty metres from the shuttle, and Dillon became aware of the noise all around him.
 
The staccato cracks of slugs tearing the air apart as they passed, the patter of the weapons firing, and Lee’s voice barking through his earpiece.

He grunted as something punched hard into his back, and then again.
 
Sudden panic rose in his stomach as he realised rounds were striking O’Neil’s body.
 
Ahead of him, one of Lee’s marines jumped as a round hit the crate he crouched behind, sending a sharp fragment of metal slicing across his cheek.

Twenty metres to go.
 
For fuck’s sake, Atwell, where are you?
 
Dillon pushed himself harder for the last sprint to the shuttle’s open hatch.
 
He was almost even with Lee’s group, and ahead of him he could see the Tassali leaning out from the edge of the hatch.
 
In her hand was a small sidearm he’d never seen before, and she was calmly taking single shots at targets behind him.
 

Lee shouted something as Dillon got near, and he could see the petty officer and two of the marines switching targets, pointing their weapons at something very close behind him.
 
He turned to look.

A gaping mouth filled with massive fangs was mere feet from his face; two clawed forelegs slashed down at him from above.
 
Dillon twisted to get out of the way and keep O’Neil’s body behind him, but lost his grip as the claw raked across his chest armour.
 
The spine-hound’s body crashed into his, and he fell to the ground beneath it.

He lunged out, grabbing for his dropped pistol.
 
As he wrapped his hand around its grip, vicelike pressure shoved against the front and back plates protecting his abdomen.
 
The spine-hound’s breath was hot and reeked of rotting meat, blowing in his face as its jaws closed around his body, shoving his armour together and forcing the breath from him.
 
Dillon felt his front plate crack, and watched wide-eyed as the animal’s upper fangs sunk into his stomach until they touched his back armour.
 
Searing hot pain fired through him as the beast began to shake its head back and forth.

The massive hound was twitching as dozens of slugs slammed into its body, but it kept focused on the human in its mouth.
 
Dillon reached up and grabbed one of the spines on the creature’s head to steady himself against the violent shaking, then raised his pistol.
 
Jamming the muzzle of the weapon into the animal’s eye, he squeezed the trigger.

With a shrieking yelp, the hound snapped its head back, throwing the human clear.
 
It recoiled several steps, its body continuing to shudder from the impacts of projectiles from the human weapons.

Dillon tried to get to his feet, but was unable to draw breath.
 
He felt hot blood flowing from his abdomen, and more spat from his mouth as he coughed weakly.
 
Someone grabbed the back of his collar.

His world went white.
 
The brightness of a thousand suns flared in his eyes, and the front of his body was bathed in a flash of furnace-like heat.
 
He brought his hand up to shield his face as the hound abruptly erupted in flames and just as quickly burned to ash.
 
The air screamed in protest as the brilliant beam of light scoured across the ground, incinerating a group of mercenaries as it passed over them.

There was a great pull on the collar of his armour, and he fought again to draw breath as his head lolled back.
 
Above him was Saparun, pulling him toward the shuttle.
 
Beyond the shuttle, in the air above, loomed the vast bulk of the
Borealis
, searing white beams erupting from its laser batteries.
 
Dillon tried to speak, to say something to the Mechanic, but only made a wet gurgle as blood foamed into his mouth.
 
He couldn’t see Saparun, but heard the Dosh’s rasping voice, telling him not to speak.
 
More sets of unseen hands grabbed his legs, and he felt himself being lifted up into the shuttle.
 
As his vision began to darken at the edges, he saw the ceiling of the shuttle overhead as he was laid on the deck.
 
Marines crouched nearby, firing rapidly out the hatch as the sky lurched past outside.
 
Lee glanced down at him, his face filled with worry.

A new face appeared.
 
A bone-white face, surrounded by brilliant blue hair, leaned into view as the Tassali knelt down at his side.
 
With quick, smooth movements, she pulled off her long white gloves and tucked them into her belt.
 
As she looked into his eyes, she rubbed her delicate hands together, whispering something in Palani; after a few moments, her palms and fingers looked wet.
 

She leaned in closer.
 
“Captain, I am going to tend to you.
 
Can you hear me?”

His vision was growing darker at the edges.
 
There were other people nearby, and he could feel a great pressure lift from his stomach as the caved-in armour plate was removed and his clothing cut open.
 
He gasped for breath, but felt like he was drowning.

The Tassali’s breath was cool on his face, and smelled slightly of citrus. “You are going to be fine, Captain.
 
Please relax if you can.
 
We are on our way up to the ship, and will be there shortly.
 
The rest of the crew are here.”

As she spoke, Dillon felt his world drawing slowly inward.
 
Sights and sounds began to fade from his awareness until all that remained was the face above him, the harmonic voice, and the bright blue eyes.
 
Somewhere, far away, he felt cold fingertips on the back of his neck, feeling along his spine.
 
As a tingling sensation began to seep through his body, coldness slid into the wounds in his abdomen, delicately probing, spreading an icy numbness that pushed the pain away.