Epic: Book 03 - Hero (66 page)

The massive extraterrestrial had taken a defensive position between Scott and H`laar. Scott recognized the alien’s mannerisms.
He’s acting like a bodyguard.
Scott climbed to his feet, reclaiming his gun.
He’s capable, but still not in fighting condition. Hit him fast. Go in, dodge low, then uppercut him under the chin.
Bursting forward, Scott’s body complied. Ducking beneath the Ceratopian’s defensive strike, Scott rose and smashed the butt of his rifle up and into the lizard’s jaw. Its whole head rocked backward and it stumbled. It only took one more blow while the alien was disoriented to bring it crashing down, out cold.

Scott focused on H`laar, who raised his hands to protest. But Scott didn’t have time. Spinning around, he slugged the alien’s face with his rifle. The already-battered H`laar fell easily.

The assault was dirty, but it had to be done. Now Scott could focus on Esther. Stepping away from the unconscious aliens, he bolted full speed down the hall.

Outside the battleship, a new situation was brewing—the Bakma Noboats were taking off. Gabriel watched as the ships disappeared. “Everyone inside,” he ordered, motioning to his crew and the slayers. “Everyone, inside the Battleship!”

Scott appeared by Gabriel from the halls. He stopped as soon as he saw the operatives coming back in. “What’s going on?”

“
The Noboats took off. We don’t know where they are. I’ve ordered my Vulture to leave.”

“
You did
what
?”

“
It’s a sitting duck. They’ve already got wounded—let them go. We’ll wait here until Platis arrives.”

Scott disliked agreeing with Gabriel’s logic, but with invisible Noboats hovering around, the Australian was right. Anyone outside was asking to be killed. “Esther, give me an update!”

“
We’re locked in a room and surrounded,” she answered. “We’ve got nowhere to go!” There was a burst of static. “They’re beating down the doors!”

That was all Scott could take. Readying his rifle, he turned to Gabriel. No words were necessary.

“
You and I,” Gabriel said. “Let’s go.”

They ran for the lift, reaching it within seconds. Gabriel hit the lift’s open-door button. They waited.

“
Umm…”

“
Shouldn’t the lift already be on this level?” asked Scott.

“
I don’t understand.” Gabriel hit the button again. “We just stepped off.”

“
It was working properly, right?”

“
Yes! Dostoevsky and I were just—”

It dawned on both men at the same time. They swapped a stare, then whirled to look at the operatives behind them.

The Russian fulcrum was gone.

Dostoevsky slammed the butt of his assault rifle against the lift’s control panel, leaning away as it sparked. The lift was now stuck on level three. There was no turning back.

Bursting through the lift door, he charged down the hall. His ExTracker was active—he knew Esther’s precise location. Her team was fifty meters from him, past several intersections and turns. She was in the first of three rooms that stood between parallel halls. But he had no intention of going her way. He had another destination in mind.

“
Esther,” he said through his comm, “get ready to run.”

“
Captain?”

Dostoevsky rounded a turn onto the main corridor and the bridge came into view, past several junctions and security checkpoints. He could see Ceratopians ahead. It was the place they were most prepared to defend.

That was the point.

The massive extraterrestrials turned in his direction. For a second, none of them moved, as if unable to comprehend what they saw.

Running at full speed, Dostoevsky lifted his rifle. He fired at the closest cluster of aliens. Bullet holes blew through a Ceratopian’s face.

All hell broke loose. The Ceratopians collectively turned to fire. By the time they did, the fulcrum had killed a second reptile.

Neutron lit the halls. It came at Dostoevsky like a flood, but instead of flinching or darting back, he dove straight ahead.

Leaping forward, he dove straight through the wave of neutron. He came out clean on the other end, hitting the floor with a somersault that brought him to a kneel with his assault rifle raised. In the second before the next wave of red appeared, his combat senses kicked in.

Kill the next closest to firing.
He gunned the alien down.
Keep the nearest alien alive.
His aim found someone else.

There was a reason he didn’t want to kill the Ceratopian nearest him. As he continued to rush closer, assault rifle blaring, he remained directly in front of the alien. He was making the other Ceratopians fire around it—they would try to avoid hitting their comrade.

He propelled himself right past the close Ceratopian, leaving it completely ignored. When he landed, he was between it and the ones down the hall. It was exactly where he wanted to be—in the middle of a Ceratopian crossfire.

All neutron stopped. The aliens were aware of friendly fire risks. If any neutron came from either side and missed, one of their comrades would be killed. Caution suddenly applied to every weapon.

Every weapon but one.

Dostoevsky fired at the Ceratopians guarding the bridge. The aliens, unsure whether to fire back, ducked and dove to avoid him. His right hand swept to his belt, unlatching a grenade and flinging the explosive ahead. When it blew up, the aliens’ shouts turned to screams of horror.

The crossfire is gone.
Spinning around, Dostoevsky aimed and fired at the Ceratopian he’d passed up. He blew its neck open before it could react.

He turned and surged forward. The door to the bridge was before him, but his goal wasn’t to enter. It was merely to threaten the bridge enough to warrant more attention—attention that would have otherwise gone to Esther’s team.

The door to the bridge was in the middle of a T-junction, and his ExTracker showed Ceratopians around the left corner. Sliding his second and final grenade from his belt, he hurled it ahead at an angle. It bounced around the corner, and he heard it ricochet down the hall. He heard the Ceratopians shout and dive as it erupted, and tortured screams echoed down the hall.

As he slammed his back against the wall and checked to ensure he wasn’t being flanked, the surviving Ceratopians barked out loud, short commands, spoken quickly. Dostoevsky knew exactly what they were.

They were calling for backup.

Esther’s team was still in the storage room, frantically shoving boxes and containers in front of the doors. In the midst of the action, the scout’s ears perked as she heard a sound in the hall.

“
Everyone, quiet!” She pushed past Custer to get to the hall door, where she stopped and listened intently. “They’re falling back. They’re leaving.”

“
They’re
all
leaving?” asked Custer.

She hushed him. Listening further, she shook her head. “Not all, but definitely most.”

Dostoevsky’s voice came through the comm. “I am assaulting the Battleship’s bridge. The Ceratopian forces should be coming to me. Work your way back to the hole in the roof and await General Platis. When he has cleared the area of Noboats, lift yourselves out.”

Esther grinned. “Yes sir!”

“
Can we do that?” asked Papanov. “Can we climb back out that same way?”

“
If the Noboats are gone and the Ceratopians leave us alone, yes. It might actually be possible.” She readied her pistols again. “Lieutenant Papanov, Black, help me move these canisters from the door. We can still open it from inside.” The scout began to push the canisters away.

As the door was cleared, Esther stepped back. “Custer, can you shoot?”

“
If I have a gun, I can shoot.”

“
Any clue how many Ceratopians are left?” Black asked.

“
Two to three,” Esther answered, “and they’ll be proper flustered when they see us attack. Don’t spare your ammunition—this is our only chance.” She held her hands over the controls. “Get ready…now!” She inputted the command and the door whizzed straight up.

Outside, two Ceratopians were caught unaware. The humans opened fire with the ammunition they had left, and the aliens toppled before they could turn. The hallway was clear.

Dostoevsky was knee-deep in combat. A slew of aliens had emerged from various hallways, cutting him off three directions out of four. The only clear path he had left was directly behind him—the way he’d come from.

A necrilid appeared from around the near corner. Before Dostoevsky could react, it pounced on him, diggings its claws into his armor and knocking him back. Clutching his assault rifle, he contorted his body to throw the animal off. The necrilid was thrown against the wall, only to right itself in the next instant.

Dostoevsky grabbed the creature by its throat. It writhed and clawed in his grasp, striking his chest plate, arm guards, and shoulders. He threw the necrilid off as far as he could, only to watch it land on all fours. He managed to lift his assault rifle and gun it down just as it leapt his direction. Limbs askew, it rolled lifelessly down the hall.

Ceratopians appeared from various halls ahead of him. The fulcrum was directly in line of their fire, with no time to strategically plan and no crossfires to use to his advantage. He had nowhere to go.

Esther trekked through empty halls; not a Ceratopian was in sight. She soon found herself back in the hall with the roof hatch. The ceiling was demolished, but the sky was clear. Even climbing would be easy: half of a wall had imploded, forming a rough hill up to the roof. They would not even need to suction a line.

General Platis announced over the comm, “We have arrived.”

The next thing she saw were Vindicators streaking over the Battleship. Their exit was cleared.

Outside, Platis’s Agema Vindicators captured the skies. Two Noboats materialized to attack, though they fell quickly to the new human arrivals. No other Noboats appeared. A pair of fresh Vultures landed by the Battleship’s door.

“
Everyone up!” yelled Esther. “Ozerov, Custer, go! Papanov, Black, go!” She waved all of them on while she waited. “Everyone get out!” As they scrambled up the imploded wall, she got on the comm. “Captain Dostoevsky, we’re clear!”

No sooner than Dostoevsky heard the words, a neutron beam hit him square in the chest. Inside his helmet, saliva flew from his mouth as his eyes bulged. His ribcage audibly cracked. He sailed through the air as though weightless.

He landed on his back and slid down the same hall he’d initially come from. He saw the metal ceiling pass overhead and heard the scraping of his armor against the floor. He slammed against the back wall.

Neutron was still soaring at him; the beams hammered the walls all around him. He could feel their energy, smell their particles.

Time seemed to stop as Dostoevsky registered his physical body, from his fingers to his toes. He felt his ribs where they had fractured. Rolling onto his side, he pressed his hand to the floor. With his other hand, he detached his helmet.

This was all I wanted.

Pushing upward, he rose to his knees and lifted his head to the alien mob, surrendering his helmet to the floor.

This was all I asked for.

The Ceratopians fired their weapons. Red flashes pulsed from their barrels.

To save as many as I could.

His fingers relinquished their grasp as his assault rifle fell from his hands. He bowed his head in surrender.

I am Yours.

When it hit him, it jostled his bones. Never before had he been struck so hard. The world spun as he flew through the air. His eyes shot open. Inertia kicked in. He gasped for a breath.

It wasn’t neutron that had struck him. It was something much more determined than a Ceratopian kill strike. As the world tumbled in Dostoevsky’s view, he registered glimpses above. He saw flashes of ceiling light—then blackness and horns.

He saw gold.

Time caught up with him again. The world sped back up. As neutron gave way to projectile, he focused his eyes.

Scott leapt from atop him and shouldered his gun. “You’re
lucky
he’s got a good technician!”

Dostoevsky looked at the intersection. A second man stood there—a man in EDEN armor. Captain Gabriel. Dostoevsky watched as Scott joined him to fight.

Scott fired around the corner of the hall, the heat of gun exhaust blowing in his face. Far ahead, the Ceratopians returned fire.

A woman’s voice came over the comm. “Platis is here, captain! I’m bringing his team up the lift.”

“
Good work, Meg,” answered Gabriel. “You’re getting a raise.”

“…
right.”

The Australian looked at Scott. “I’m counting about nine.”

Scott ducked to avoid a near-miss. “Not our problem.” They were Platis’s headaches now. He and Gabriel had reached Dostoevsky—that had been their only objective.

Once again, the Australian girl spoke. “We’re on our way up!”

Scott didn’t know the heavyset girl beyond her first name, but she’d singlehandedly saved Dostoevsky’s life. She was Pelican Squad’s only surviving technician. She’d operated the damaged lift with her gizmos. She’d gotten them there in time.