Death Drop (18 page)

“A sedative,” chimed a familiar voice as Otto’s feet touched uneasily down on the cold floor. He looked up and was surprised to see Dr. Artemus Blink standing there in a pristine white lab coat looking pleasantly at him from behind spotless half-moon spectacles.

“Artie, you startled me.”

“The biomachines in the Haleonex bandages needed time to do their work, and although you were unconscious, you were moving quite erratically in your sleep. Bad dreams, I think. I had to make certain the top portion of your arm was set before I applied the dressing or it would have healed incorrectly and we would have had to break it again and start over. I didn’t think you would’ve enjoyed that, so I gave you something to put you into a more restful state.”

“How long ‘til it wears off?”

“The drowsiness should subside in a few minutes now that you’re awake.”

Otto took a few deep breaths, and just as Blink had said he would, he felt the grogginess begin to fade. As clarity returned to his mind and body, he became keenly aware that he was standing in the middle of a ship’s infirmary wearing nothing but his fur. Otto felt the chill of the air around him and he flushed with modesty.

“Where’s my uniform?” he asked as casually as possible.

“It was ruined,” said Blink plainly. “It had rather large holes through the front and back near the right shoulder, one tear where a bullet grazed your stomach just above your right hip, and plenty of blood made it unsalvageable, I’m afraid.”

Otto sighed heavily at the thought of raising a salute to Admiral Rilek completely naked.
“Say goodbye to any respect from Rilek or his crew, pal,”
he thought gloomily as he fingered the hardened square patch over his right collarbone. It looked like a miniature swatch cut from the wrap that encased all of Malo’s left arm—it even had the blinking green light. His webbed hand skimmed lightly across the similar material above his hip, and although he was grateful that the technology probably saved his life and allowed a speedier recovery, he frowned.

“Artie, why not just wrap our soldiers in this stuff from head to toe and march them into battle against the Durax? They’d be unstoppable.”

“Ah, yes. You soldiers always tend to think along the same lines,” Blink said amusedly. “Unfortunately, the chemical reaction that makes the Haleonex work requires the nanomachines to encounter damage—the outer shell will only solidify to the extent there is something to repair in the body. Malo’s arm was severely injured and that’s why the wrap solidified all the way to the shoulder. You have to be able to diagnose the amount of damage and apply the appropriate amount of Haleonex to the patient. It’s a science, and that’s why we doctors treat injuries and majors in the Dissension Army do not.” Sarcasm wasn’t Blink’s forte, but in this case, it came across loud and clear. “Majors in the Dissension Army are better suited for other duties.”

Otto chuckled at Blink’s dry attempt at humor, which still had the distinct air of a lecture to it. The thought of the other duties Blink had mentioned brought him back to Rilek and the next phase of the mission. “Where’s Malo? We have to contact Rilek and tell him the situation. We have to set up the run through Fellini on Trillis.” He was running down the checklist in his head in a proficient military manner and it was Blink’s turn to laugh.

“I told you the sedative would pass quickly once you were up and moving. Back to your old self, I see,” said Blink as he smiled at Otto. “Everything has been arranged,” he continued academically. “We contacted Fellini and made arrangements for the run.”

Otto scrunched his features and Blink saw the concern that weighed down his furrowed brow.

“I wasn’t sure how long you would stay under, and Malo agreed we shouldn’t waste any time getting things in motion. We set up the run and made sure to use a shipment weight heavy enough to need several ships and imply a possible Dissension connection—just like Colonel Abalias suggested.”

“How much weight?” Otto asked curiously.

“We told Fellini one hundred wileks, figuring he would split that evenly among five ships,” Blink said, speaking enthusiastically of his very first incursion into military strategy and tactics. The look on Otto’s face relaxed just enough for Blink to infer some measure of satisfaction, and he took it as a signal to proceed with his debriefing, but before he could continue, Otto cut him off.

“What are we giving as cargo for the runners to transport?”

“Ah, yes. I was just getting to that. We also took it upon ourselves to contact Admiral Rilek and explain the situation. He was more than eager to help and said he had a large shipment of armored panels and spare parts from several decommissioned ships he was going to receive from the Dissension brigade on Flanagar. He will have them deliver the cargo to the pick-up point for the run.”

“Where’s that, exactly?” Otto said.

“Luxon in the Trinity Straits.”

“Hmmm…” Otto mused. He twisted the whiskers on the right side of his nose together as he thought about every possible hole in the plan up to this point—and that gave him quite a bit to think about. “Luxon’s a tough city, but we’re as well equipped as anyone to fend off thieves.” He spoke aloud but didn’t direct the statement at anyone in particular. Otto sat silently, going over the plan and visualizing every detail he could think of. He thought about the logistics involved and the number of ships that would have to operate in complete synchronicity to track the Mewlatai without him becoming aware of a trap, let alone to somehow subdue him and get him to talk about why he wants to destroy the Serum. Otto’s eyes glossed over as he thought about the sheer danger to every Dissension ship, officer, and crew member that this mission represented—the peril was staggering.

After what felt to Blink like an eternity of silent whisker twisting, Otto finally spoke. “Where’s the shipment headed?”

“Thulabane on the planet Enor,” Blink replied eagerly, still hoping for a clear indication of Otto’s outright approval for his part in setting the plan into action. “Rilek will have three more ships orbiting Enor; he can use them to pick up the cargo and provide combat support if necessary.”

“The latter is probably more like it,” Otto said darkly as his mind kept revisiting the lethal skills of their foe. “Two hundred and thirty wins and he picked Malo apart without so much as a stick in his hand. This Mewlatai is as dangerous as they come.” Otto’s expression was grim and Blink’s face registered the faintest flicker of fear as the major sighed heavily. “I hope Rilek is as good as they say. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”

“The Hellion came well stocked with supplies,” said Blink optimistically, trying to change the topic to something more light-hearted. “I think you’ll find
that
closet contains items you might find useful.” Blink smiled as he gestured towards two doors behind Otto and to his left.

The major padded over and gripped each of the silvery, round handles on the wardrobe and pulled back gently. The cabinet opened with a soft click, revealing the most beautiful sight Otto had seen in a very long time. There, lying in neatly folded piles, were several Dissension Army uniforms of various sizes. Each of the crisp, new outfits smelled fresh from the laundry. Otto took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He opened them again and carefully checked for his size, starting at the top and meticulously inspecting each one. His furry hands touched a familiar texture, and he let out a small exclamation of unexpected delight.

“Ha! You have to appreciate the colonel’s insistence on organization and preparation,” Otto said happily as he unfurled the folded bundle in his hands. The garment dropped open and Blink could see now that it was different than the others which still lay folded neatly in the compartment behind the major. The material looked smooth and shiny under the lights in the infirmary, and Blink crinkled his forehead in interest.

“What’ve you got there?”

“This, my dear doctor, is a uniform designed specifically for the Aquatics Brigade,” Otto said with a hint of pride swelling his chest. “It’s specially insulated, and when used with a hood, boots, and gloves, it allows a diver to stay submerged in what would otherwise be lethally cold waters. Mine was in the laundry back at the base on Sitiri 9 when the Berzerkers attacked, otherwise I would’ve been wearing it.”

“And it would have gotten ruined just the same,” Blink said curtly.

“That’s true. These uniforms’ll keep you warm, but we haven’t figured out how to make ‘em stop bullets yet!” Otto chuckled lightly as he slipped into the dark suit. “Did you happen to pick my revolver up from the ridge?” he asked as he zipped the front of his new attire up around his neck.

“I believe Malo has it in the cockpit,” Blink said forlornly, and the sad tone of his voice immediately brought Otto’s memory back to their narrow escape. He remembered Malo saving his life with two well-placed shots from
The Guardian
and then he knew the reason for Blink’s sorrow. So much had happened on the ridge and his mind was so used to putting the mission first that he forgot about Blink’s feelings.

“What happened to Bertie?” Otto asked as compassionately as he could and then waited, not knowing exactly how the doctor would react to losing his best assistant and possibly more. Blink let out a pained breath, as though someone had punched him in the stomach and the wind was knocked out of him.

“He had no back-up power left when we finally hoisted him on the ship. I placed him in the cargo hold and hooked him to a charger but I’m not quite sure why. He doesn’t respond to any external commands or prompts inputted directly into his main terminal. He’s gone.” Blink was turning a syringe over in his small hands and staring past it onto the floor in a daze. It was obvious now that Bertie was more than just an assistant to Blink—he was a friend.

“I’m sorry, Artie. I’m damn sorry. Bertie saved us all more than once back there.” Otto put his right hand on Blink’s shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I think so. I’ve got some organizing to do in here, which should help keep my mind occupied.” Blink turned out of Otto’s grasp and got to work organizing the various drawers of supplies and equipment in the small room. Otto stared after him briefly and then turned on his heel and walked quietly out of the infirmary. Once the door slid closed behind him, he headed for the cargo hold.

Otto had to stand on his toes to peer into the round port window in the cargo hatch. The entire interior was black except for a random blink of green or red in the total darkness. Otto touched the sensor to open the door, and the light from the corridor cast a murky, gray hue on the inside of the room. Otto didn’t cross the threshold; instead, he stood solemnly at the entrance, staring in as if looking into a tomb. He could just make out a set of tracks and one badly damaged arm in the dim light and he felt the onset of tears begin to tingle in his whiskers and sting his nose.

He stepped quietly into the room and turned on the lights as the portal slid closed behind him. He stood silently and looked at the medical machine for a long time. Bertie was leaning to the right—a byproduct of Otto shooting his primary cog from its mount. The coil of tread and the big toothy gear were lashed to the deck next to Bertie. His table was laid flat and three of his arms, two scratched and gouged, one crushed, all dangled lifelessly at his sides. His fourth arm had an expanse of chain running from its wrist; its links piled onto the floor in big looping turns ending with Bertie’s hand, which was placed ceremoniously on top. These, too, were secured to the floor with care. Otto moved within touching distance of the remaining hand on Bertie’s left side, pursed his lips in sadness, and touched the two smallest fingers lightly with his thumb and forefinger.

“I’m so sorry, Bertie. I thought I could repay the gift you gave me. I thought I could save you.” Otto had seen enough death to last ten lifetimes and the pain never really went away, it just retreated to its cold, dark roost in Otto’s heart long enough for him to do his duty, but the loss of a good soldier—flesh and blood or gears and pins—called it out from its stolen nest. He glanced toward the back of the room and could just make out the shrouded cryolech that entombed yet another fallen comrade—Talfus lay cold and dead just beyond the shadows. Tears blurred Otto’s vision and he sniffed heavily as he turned his eyes back to Bertie and spoke a eulogy in the darkness. “I want you to know you were one of the bravest soldiers I’ve had the honor to fight alongside, and I’ll never forget what you did for us down in the mine and on the ridge. I’ll never forget you, Bertie.” Otto’s tears flowed freely down his cheeks, darkening the fur on his face as they streaked toward the deck. He hung his head for a moment before letting go of Bertie’s fingers and wiping the tears away with the back of his hand. He straightened his uniform and stood as proudly as he could and then snapped a salute worthy of a general at the hunk of metal that was once Bertie the medical machine.

Otto lowered his arm and let his gaze fall to the floor once more, and as his eyes passed over Bertie’s hand one last time, he thought he saw something. He could have sworn he saw the slightest flick of Bertie’s finger.
“So what?”
the little voice in Otto’s mind argued.
“What if you did see his finger move? What does that mean, huh? It could be residual power exiting his power core and making him twitch.”
He moved in closer, unconvinced. “Bertie?” he questioned hopefully—almost too hopefully—just as he had when Malo was in the vent shaft. But Otto didn’t care, he wanted Bertie to live, he wanted his friend back. But the medical machine didn’t move. “Bertie?” he asked more forcefully and just before the little voice could chastise him again, he saw it. The first finger on Bertie’s hand straightened just a fraction before relaxing again. Otto couldn’t tell if this was some sort of residual reflex of Bertie’s power system or if he was responding to Otto’s voice. He moved in closer and spoke softly. “Bertie, if you can hear me, I need you to flex your finger two times if you can.”