Steel World (42 page)

I didn’t even know his name. That made me feel bad as I watched him die. I thought, in a strange, accelerated-time-sense sort of way, that a man
should
know who is fighting and dying next to him. Sure, I’d only been assigned to this squad a few hours ago, but I still felt I should know the guy’s name.

The jugger was a midnight blue female as big as a truck. Probably, her vast size had gotten her here faster, ahead of the pack. In triumph, she ate the nameless trooper next to me, taking the upper torso and the head into her mouth and crunching down. Legs dangled and blood ran. I heard a triumphant, burbling sound of pleasure coming from the vast throat.

Then the jugger was blasted apart. Borges had gotten his big tube around and aligned. Hit point-blank, the blue giant died on her feet. The beam was so violent at this close range, part of the lizard’s skull was missing.

Before the jugger’s body hit the ground, however, more of them came charging in after her. They seemed endless. Behind them, like excited cattle dogs, came the smaller lizards we’d routed earlier. They hid behind their bigger cousins. At least I knew that they respected our firepower.

The battle went from bad to worse. I’d been overrun before, and I can say a man fights differently in the final moments, when he knows he’s going to die. Intellectually, you might know that you’re going to be revived later, that you’re going to come back live another day. Even in my case, where my odds were iffy after having personally pissed off every bio aboard
Corvus
, I still had that possible ace in the hole.

But when you’re about to be eaten, it just doesn’t matter. The basic, more primitive mind inside all of us takes hold. You scream, you roar at the top of your lungs and curse and possibly wet yourself. But you don’t even know it’s happening because you’re too busy laying out every ounce of firepower into every soft alien belly you see in front of you.

That’s what I did. I would like to say I did some kind of genius move, something no one had foreseen. Something I didn’t think of until this final, fateful moment. But I didn’t. I was on my knees, my weapon in my hands, chattering out every sliver of metal it could until the magazine ran dry. After it was empty, I kept the trigger down and the cylinder kept obediently whirling around, never jamming but firing dry. I was spraying nothing but spit which ran down my chin inside my helmet.

I could barely see when I finally figured out I was empty. My helmet had fogged up a little on the inside. Had my AC quit again? It didn’t matter.

Three of the big lizards were down, as were most of my squaddies. Only Borges and I were still in one piece, and the world was full of giant lizards.

For a few seconds, the battle broke around us and the lizards frenzied on other bunkers. Maybe we’d been too hard of a nut to crack. Or maybe, they’d seen another one overwhelmed and were anxious to get in on the finish. I looked right and left. Bunker Five was ancient history. Seven and Nine were nothing but a churning mass of scaly flesh. Raised tails whipped excitedly over the defeated team strongholds like victorious flags.

I watched the lizards run around in circles looking for a way into the press to feed. The way their legs pumped, casting up dust and blood behind them, was amazing to see. They came at you with such singularity of purpose, with a berserker rage in their hearts and eyes. I knew it was different for them—they only had one life to live. If I’d had more time to think, I might have admired them for their perfect savagery. They weren’t animals—they knew what they were doing. They were going to kill us or die trying.

Then, I saw
the one
. The crimson jugger. I’d seen a few red ones before him, and I’d reflexively checked, but I’d never seen the telltale scar on the belly.

This one had the color, and the scar. He was nearby, trying to get a spot to eat at the smorgasbord that had once been Bunker Nine.

I had the clarity of mind to turn on my suit recorder and aim it at the big red bastard, but I only got a glimpse of him before he disappeared in the pack.

“Only…one…chance,” Borges said. He stood next to me, panting and in pain. He held his right arm oddly, and I surmised he’d been injured.

I’d expected him to call a retreat. I fully expected to be ordered to slither down into the tunnels.

“Down the chute?” I asked hopefully.

He shook his head. “No good. Officers said…it’s no good down there.”

I felt a chill, despite the blistering heat. If the enemy was down in the tunnels—well, this was over. We’d lost the battle.

“I’ve got to shorten up the focus on my projector, McGill,” he said, pausing to gulp air. “You have to help me.”

It took me a second to figure out what he was trying to do. He wanted to dial the tube to a shorter burst range. Up close the belcher would be like a cannon loaded with grapeshot. Turned upon rioters it didn’t do as much damage, but it couldn’t miss and it could hit everything at once.

Then I saw why he needed my help. His right arm wasn’t just injured—it was missing. At some point, one of the monsters had run off with it as a trophy. His suit had automatically sealed the wound so he wouldn’t bleed out, but he wasn’t able to adjust his weapon.

I wriggled close to him and let go of my rifle. I began turning the big circular ring on the outside of the tube. It was hard to move, and I was surprised at the grunting strength I had to apply.

“Hurry up,” Borges said, “they’re running out of food over there.”

I worked harder, and soon it clicked.

“That’s as far as it goes,” I said.

He nodded, moving stiffly and slowly. He was in shock, probably, but still in the game.

“Going to aim high. Can’t kill them on this setting, but I can blind them.”

I liked the idea of that. It sounded like an excellent last-ditch tactic.

We didn’t have to wait long to try it out. As if a signal had been sounded—and perhaps it had—the team milling around Bunker Nine turned as a group and charged our way.

I fired my rifle, having reloaded in the meantime, but it had no noticeable effect. The enemy was soon swarming around us, and Borges got to his feet and let loose. He lifted that heavy tube with one arm, and I was impressed.

“Down, McGill!” he screamed.

I flattened myself in the darkest gouge I could find in the bunker while Borges burned them. He aimed high, just like he said he would, and the monsters were caught in a flare of wide-angled radiation.

They howled and raged, thundering around us in instant confusion. Some fell and thrashed, eyes welded shut. Others went mad, snapping and biting their fellows in their agony.

Borges was howling too—with laughter. He spun around, spraying out heat and pain toward any lizard who dared to come close enough.

The attack broke. They staggered away, tripping and falling. Borges still laughed and coughed, then laughed again.

But suddenly, he stiffened. I saw it in his eyes, even before I registered the spray of pellets that had ripped through his body. He’d been standing all this time, exposed. At least ten rounds had torn through his body and come out the far side. They’d finally taken him down.

He fell with his eyes open in disbelief, but a grin was still frozen on his face.

I realized I was alone. Everyone else was dead.

So much for being a bad grow
, I thought to myself.
I’ve outlived them all.

-32-

When Borges dropped his weapon, it had rolled out into the open. I grabbed at the tube, snagging the strap and reeling it back into the bunker. I fumbled with it. My snap-rifle was ineffective anyway and almost out of ammo. Borges’ tube was all I had left.

Clamping the tube between my knees, I used both hands to wrench at the focusing dial. It was stiff and would barely move. Something in the mechanism was broken, or the designers hadn’t wanted operators to fool with the range settings unless they really wanted to.

Outside, I could see the lizards milling, taking cover. Some had fled, but I could tell a few were rallying. I couldn’t see any more tails or hear the chatter of human weapons. Only a few places were actively firing, and that was sporadic. I tried to talk to whoever might be in charge, but I didn’t get any response on my com link. That was a very, very bad sign.

I tried not to think about the rest of the cohort. This was about me and the last double-wave of angry reptiles. I told myself that if I killed them all or drove them off, I’d worry about the rest of my unit afterward.

I considered slipping down into the tunnels—but I knew that wasn’t going to work. I’d already seen them down there, flittering by in the dark. They were trotting to and fro probably looking for holdouts and survivors.

No, I didn’t want to die in the trenches. Out here, I had a clear field of fire, and at least I’d meet my end under an open sky. I wasn’t sure if the bio specialists up on
Corvus
would revive me, anyway. If they got another chance to correct the error many thought my continued existence to be, I figured they might take it.

I cranked on the tube, getting the focusing dial to move, but slowly. I cursed and growled in frustration. Maybe on the world where this damned weapon was made, everyone had three hundred pounds of torque in their hands or claws. I had no idea why it was so hard to move, but I was impressed by the weaponeers that used them. No wonder they were mostly big guys with powerful arms.

I heard the telltale click as it snapped into position at last. Configured for longer range, I immediately employed the tube by heaving it onto my shoulder and sighting in the direction of the surviving juggers. I saw a tail sticking out from behind a broken column, and I depressed the firing stud.

The results shocked me. The tube rocked in my hands. I hadn’t expected recoil. But I knew that the most powerful of lasers and particle beam weapons gave a small kick. Anything that hurled mass and energy out of one end pushed in the opposite direction.

The tail was only scorched, but it was withdrawn quickly. I smiled and went hunting for the sniper who had killed Borges.

He found me first, spraying a shower of bullets my way. I ducked and waited, counting to three. Then I popped up again and sighted quickly.

Just as I’d hoped, the saurian had risen up, coming out of cover to get a better shot. Maybe he’d thought he’d hit me. Whatever the case, I caught him full in the chest with a focused beam of energy. He did a backflip and came down in three smoking pieces.

I was ready for the recoil this time, and I had my arms wrapped around the unwieldy tube. The weapon felt like it wasn’t built for humans to operate, and I understood
that more clearly every time I tried to use it.

Once I had control of the tube again, I looked up and my jaw dropped. A shape loomed over me. A jugger had come up out of nowhere—probably from behind me while I was firing toward the sniper.

I knew right off I was screwed. I was lying in a shallow scratch in the pockmarked courtyard, totally exposed to the teeth of the giant that closed in for the kill. Compounding my sense of shock and dismay, I saw that this jugger was special—the ridged scar on his belly was unmistakable. This was my mystery lizard, back to fight me once again.

My first instinct was to attempt to wriggle down a hole. I got my boots in—but I could tell right away I wasn’t moving fast enough.

I lifted the heavy tube and interposed it between me and the jugger. This didn’t impress him. He lunged and those huge jaws came down. I saw the wet flesh inside. The mouth was so huge! I was about to be swallowed.

But the jugger’s snapping jaws came up short. The tube had hit the back of his throat. Instinctively, he shut those massive jaws. My hands were almost chomped along with the tube.

I had no idea what the tube was made of, but it didn’t buckle. It didn’t even dent. Instead, a dozen four-inch fangs snapped and blood gushed over me—the jugger’s blood.

My fingers sought the firing stud, but I couldn’t find it. I realized in horror that the trigger mechanism was inside the jugger’s mouth, enclosed with countless snaggled teeth. A roar washed over me, and I knew the big lizard wasn’t happy.

Then he jerked up his head and I felt the tube being torn from my hands. I scrambled to hold on. It was hard, because there was a hot slurry of spit and blood all over that tube and nothing much to hold onto. But somehow I managed to get one hand wrapped up in the strap and the other hooked on the adjustment knobs.

The jugger reared up, lifting the tube high, and I went with it. I found myself dangling about fifteen feet up and looking down at a beast which was eager to finish its meal.

I knew what was going to happen next, and it did: the jugger opened its mouth. I felt myself sliding into the teeth, following the tube which was two thirds of the way down into that gaping maw.

I only had one split-second chance, and I took it: I reached my hands farther along the tube and touched the firing stud.

Fortunately, the weapon had been primed and charged. At my touch, it shot a gout of energy directly down the throat of the jugger.

He’d gotten more than he’d bargained for, I suspected. Dead on his feet, the monster swayed and toppled. His guts were a steaming mess on the ground.