Relic Tech (Crax War Chronicles) (65 page)

“Here,” said McAllister, holding out a .357 round. “This is what they expect you to use on the Crax. You’ve already proven to have advanced equipment, so this shouldn’t raise too much of a lizard brow.”

I forced a smile at her humor. “One shot?”

“That’s right. With your archaic equipment, that’s all the time you should have anyway.”

“I can live with that,” I said, taking the bullet. “Umbelgarri alloy?”

“It’ll penetrate.”

“Is this Crax hunting alone?” I loaded the Umbelgarri round and spun it into position.

“No, he’ll have company. Witnesses?”

“Until I waste him. Then—”

“Then you use these.” She shoved two micro explosives into my hand. “Similar to what you used on the quarantine planet. Set for three seconds. Anything except the armored Crax will be taken out in a fifteen-foot radius.” She hesitated in thought. “Correction. Will weaken, but won’t take down a Crax shield. Not if it’s above thirty percent charged.”

I looked the micro explosives over. “Good to know.” I tested the cover that prevented accidental activation. “I’ll push the red button and toss it over their heads. Looks like your handiwork.”

“Might give you a chance.”

“Appreciated. Any wire cutters for the fence?”

“I understand it’s taken care of.”

“What’s the situation, if I make it to New Birmingham?”

“Fighting is still going on,” said McAllister. “They control eighty percent of the city.”

I offered her my hand. She took it. “Learn all you can from the Phi—Umbelgarri.” Her shake was limp. “Ask the Bahklack to demonstrate a proper handshake. With its claws it ought to be firm.”

“You’re a jerk, Keesay.”

“I’m going out there, calling trump on a queen and ten.” I patted my belt pouch where I’d stowed the two detonators. “Thanks for the off-suit ace.”

“Saying thanks an awful lot,” accused McAllister.

“You’re right, I’m stalling.” I handed her my sterile mask and then lifted my leg and pulled my backup .38. “If you see Tahgs again, give her this relic. If you can’t find her, keep it yourself.” I held up a hand. “Or sell it. I’m going to have to be fast on my feet.” I grabbed my shotgun. “No more stalling.” I jogged up the stairs.

My penlight helped me find the door and avoid tripping over the wires. Several new ones ran under the door. I avoided them, crawled out the hole and replaced the tire. I crawled toward the fence. To the right of two poles, a three-by-three foot section had been weakened. I tested. A little pressure and the metal fractured. The chemically-induced fault was barely noticeable.

Movement caught my eye. I crawled back behind a broken axle that supported a heap of twisted sheet metal. It was the elite Crax, and a partner! So much for Umbelgarri intel. Behind trailed a dozen Stegmar and a Gar-Crax leader.

They’d searched most of the quarry and made it to this side. The sun would set in an hour. Their armor surely had advanced optics and night vision. No sense giving them a greater advantage. Sliding the action, readying a slug round, attracted their attention. I took aim and fired.

The first slug hit a Stegmar square in the chest. Not bad for a hundred-twenty yard shot. The Mantis soldiers hit the dirt before I could get a clean second shot. My third nailed one on the ground. They returned fire. Needles clinked off the scrap metal and rusted equipment.

One of the elites swung his arm and the firing stopped. Both elites advanced. One stalked with a limp.

May as well make this look good. I fired another slug into the limping one. “Back for more?” I shouted. “Come on in here and get me. If you dare!”

The limping one raised its halberd and continued its approach. The other remained forty yards back. That’d be a tough shot. “I see you have a translator. Is your partner afraid of getting too near combat?” I fixed my bayonet and backed farther into the yard. The second didn’t move. “Thought so. Why don’t you just stay there. Won’t see anything, but you’ll be far enough to run away when things get violent.”

The second elite strode forward, halving the distance while the first sliced through the fence with its halberd. It knew right where I was. I moved around a huge fractured backhoe shovel. His gurgling hiss had to be laughter.

“He who laughs last doesn’t get the joke,” I said, hoping to confuse it.

It only motivated the elite as its gurgle evolved to a growling hiss. It bounded forward and landed opposite the shovel, swinging its weapon menacingly. It brought the blade across the steel shovel and sliced a sliver off before lopping off a corner with a controlled backstroke.

The elite moved right, I followed suit. It stopped. I stopped. I guessed what was next. As soon as the elite leapt I fired a slug into its leg and dashed for the fence. I must have connected, and knocked it off balance because I didn’t get cut in two. I tossed one of the detonators a few yards ahead of me. I ran straight over it toward the other elite Crax.

The micro explosive’s concussion knocked me forward. I kept my feet and barreled through the weakened fence. The waiting Crax watched as I rolled to a prone position with my revolver cocked. The observing elite’s split-second indecision gave me the time I needed to aim for a headshot.

The elite outside hadn’t collapsed when the ground reverberated. Gravel and bits of metal flew up and rained down. Nothing large hit me while I struggled to regain my wind.

I spotted the other elite soldier picking itself up off the ground twenty feet away. I reached into my pocket and slid a flare round and pumped my shotgun. Not in time. The elite Crax was finished fooling around. It took aim. I rolled onto one knee and fired.

Two caustic rounds took me in the chest. They immediately ate through my outer uniform and worked on the lower half of my breastplate. I’d never get it off in time.

The elite wiped the flaring mass from its faceplate. I charged, feeling the burning going through my vest armor, attacking my skin. The pain almost doubled me over. I thrust, but my momentum and strength faltered. My bayonet only scarred the armor across its chest.

With one hand it slammed me aside. I screamed. Each breath brought in the odor of dissolving flesh. I struggled to regain composure. My layers of armor must have dissipated the acid. I realized I was going to die. Just not yet.

The Crax stared down, laughing. I couldn’t even muster spit. Fiery, sizzling pain emanated from my core, reaching for my extremities. The acid was in my blood. I looked up again to see the Crax ignoring me, waving its gauntleted arm, giving orders.

I struggled to reach my belt, found McAllister’s second micro explosive. My hand shook as I flipped the cover. I pressed the red button, and then placed the device between the Gar-Crax’s armored toes.

“
Nemo me impune lacessit
,” I said, struggling to roll away. The second time my stomach touched I screamed again. I was sure the elite was laughing. Why I rolled away? I’m not sure. Did an explosion follow? I don’t remember.

I floated to consciousness. Pain meds coursed through my veins. I was alive? Nearby, small cooling fans and the hum of lights. My head and neck hurt with a dull burning ache, but nothing else did. Maybe the pain meds made it tolerable. Bright light penetrated my eyelids.

I replayed my actions up until the micro explosive’s detonation. There must’ve been one. Now, I was lying horizontal, indoors, receiving medical care.

I tried to move and couldn’t. My arms weren’t strapped. I just couldn’t move them. Same with my legs. There was a new sound, footsteps approaching.

“Security Specialist Keesay,” said a nasal voice. “Right on time.”

No sense feigning unconsciousness. Monitoring equipment reported otherwise. I opened my eyes and tilted my head. My vision was blurry. Even my eyeballs ached. They responded slowly to the light. It even hurt to shut my eyelids.

“I was assured your vision, hearing, and voice are intact.”

“Water,” I asked in a raspy voice.

“Not a good idea at the moment,” said the nasal voice. “Maybe later.”

I opened my eyes again and licked my dry, cracked lips. “Sponge my lips.”

“A moment on that.” A shadowy form moved from sight. His deliberate speech emphasized the nasal tone. “May the patient have moisture applied to his lips and tongue?” There was a pause. “Negative, not a drink to reach his digestive track. Moisture so he can speak.” More pausing. “No, it is not vital, but it would be convenient.” Pausing. “Understood. Thank you.” The man left the room.

I opened my eyes again and tried to focus. It was easier this time though no less painful. The overhead lights told me I was in an operating room. I could only move my head left and right and lift it. I couldn’t arch my neck to see anything else. Each muscle contraction burned.

No hum of engines.
Not on a ship, not in condensed space. The walls and ceiling were white, painted concrete. Metal conduit ran wires to a bank of computers along the left wall. They appeared idle. I was still planetside.

A white curtain was stretched five inches below my chin. It extended several feet beyond my bed. I tried to move my fingers to determine bed or table. No movement, no sensation. I wondered if the explosion broke my back.

The man returned. I guessed he was average height for an I-Tech, with a round face and slicked-back, blonde hair. He wore a business suit and sported a yellow tie, only about a third of which was covered with black rectangles.

“Why the frown?” said the lawyer. “I’ve brought you some water.” He dipped a stick topped by a small yellow sponge into a cup. He then gently applied it to my lips and tongue. As he leaned over I saw a CGIG tie tack. I considered spitting, but figured to save my strength and determine his intentions.

He repeated the procedure twice. “Is that better?” he asked. “Can you talk?”

The water was cool and eased some of the pain in my throat. “Depends on what you want me to say.” The effort to speak burned just as it did when I moved my neck. But it wasn’t as intense.

“I’m Mr. Heartwell. I’m here to interview you. I was told you’d be a tough case, Specialist Keesay. This can go fast and easy, or long and difficult. We’ll get the information we desire.”

“Ask,” I said. “You appear to be in a hurry.”

“Why would you say that, Specialist?”

“Most lawyers don’t question people in an operating room.”

“Observant,” he said. “There are few rooms available. Overflow of patients. You’re third on my list of interviews today and you just happened to be available.”

“Is that why you were waiting on me?”

“Trust me on this. Your surgeons are extremely knowledgeable. I knew of your availability within a thirty-second time frame
and
I happened to finish my second interview early.”

He pulled up a stool. “Actually, you are quite fortunate the Capital Galactic Investment Group has taken an interest. The Crax are very interested in taking possession of you, especially a particular crippled Crax. If you’re cooperative, he may no longer be planetside when you become available.”

He watched my eyes, my facial expression. I tried to keep a straight face, but the pain meds and headache made it difficult.

“Yes, we are aware of your activities on Selandune. Rest assured, the little rebellion you precipitated was put down.” He leaned closer. “You’re quite an irritant, but one we are willing to work with.”

“Work with you?”

“Yes, you owe CGIG a great debt, but you could repay it.” His voice became cheery. “I’m your representative, Mr. Jerden Heartwell.”

Good lawyer name, I thought, before asking, “What debt?”

“The damage to the research facilities on Selandune. Compensation to the company for loss of property and personnel.”

“Compensation for a corporation aiding and abetting the enemy?”

“Depends on who you deem the enemy.”

“Isn’t that obvious,” I said, ignoring my throat’s burning. “I don’t switch sides.”

“Even if yours is destined to lose?”

“I’m not a traitor to the human race. We won’t lose.”

“I’m no soldier or military expert.” Mr. Heartwell chuckled. “But I’ve not heard of one victory for your side.”

“This isn’t the best we have,” I said. “Nine out of ten are untrained conscripts.”

“Like you?” He stood and paced a little, before looking behind the curtain. “The Crax sent second-line combat units with obsolete equipment. The first-line troops and equipment smashed through the Felgans and are overrunning Umbelgarri space.” He nodded approval. “Although I do believe the Crax underestimated human combat abilities.” Mr. Heartwell returned to the stool. “I’ve heard a little of your prowess as a killer. Took out several Gar-Crax on the
Kalavar
.” He folded his arms, then placed a finger on his cheek. “And you kill humans, too. On the Mavinrom Space Dock?”

“Two of our crew had been abducted. My duty called for it.” He seemed pretty talkative for an interrogator. “Probably your operatives.”

“Saved a certain Representative Vorishnov?”

I feigned ignorance. “Who?”

“Nice try, Specialist Keesay. Look, I want two things from you. One, verification of the location of Maximar Drizdon Jr. Two, you to sign on with Capital Galactic.”