Pain Bringer (The Constant War Book 2), page 42
It was the exact reaction Char had been hoping for. Unfortunately, she had never seen the Sindarhe steel rings charge so quickly. A beam the width of a skyscraper split every atom between the ring and its target.
Unfortunately, she was its target.
She felt heat from the beam prickle her skin, registering through the Painbringer’s sensors, milliseconds before it reached her. Without time for conscious thought, the positioning thrusters joined main propulsion, attempting to move out of the way.
But the Painbringer was hit.
It happened so fast that she didn’t have time to assess damage, or even determine whether she had survived, which she assumed she had, considering she was still, ya know, making semi-conscious decisions. He was on her. On them. His fists channeled white energy from the ring, crackling around his body like holy lightning.
That was new.
Damage reports flooded into her cerebral cortex. Bad news, of course. Positioning thrusters were fried. The armor plating looked like Swiss cheese. Power reserves were at an all-time low. But all of that would have to wait.
Char managed to wrangle Dr. Scott in front of her so that they were face to face, but there was no ridding herself of him completely. He wouldn’t allow it. His stupid squid alien strength. The stupid steel ring that he channeled with his weird newfound divinity.
“I have one question for you,” said Char. Dr. Scott wasn’t in a talkative mood. But that didn’t matter. Char didn’t need a setup for this punchline. “Do you still need to breathe?”
“Do I what?”
Char cut power to the engines. The Painbringer plummeted into the harbor, taking Dr. Scott along with it.
Bubbles rushed past in streaks of murky green. Underwater, limbs clashed, flesh against composite alloy. Dr. Scott thrashed, but the water slowed his movement. The Painbringer made solid contact with Dr. Scott’s abdomen. Heaven’s mecha were made for battle in all types of atmosphere and environments. The alien steel ring—not so much.
Abandoning the steel ring, Dr. Scott swam for the surface, but Char grabbed him and yanked him back into the depths. The Painbringer wrapped a hand around his neck, cinching down. Water seeped in through cracks in the canopy glass. The damage to the Painbringer’s back had taken its toll. Power readings were low. It couldn’t maintain operation underwater for much longer.
But if the expression on Dr. Scott’s face was any indicator, neither could he. He flailed, eyes bulging, arms at his neck prying for release from her grip. Then, his body went limp.
The Painbringer burst forth from the bay, an explosion of water showering droplets in concentric circles.
Diagnostic readouts flashed in her face. The Painbringer’s wireframe systems display was lit up in warm colors, mostly harsh reds. Even without the ability to speak, the Painbringer was doing a great job telling her, ‘They needed to get the hell outta there!’
“I know, I know! What do you think, I’m doing?” She punched the throttle, and the Painbringer hunched over in a jerky runner’s stance, and the twin-mounted engines on its back tossed fuel in full burn. Beneath her, salt water instantly vaporized as she shot into the air.
Red lights flashed, a bleating noise, matching the echo in her head.
“I’m doing it, we’re heading for space, what else do you want?!” she shouted at the Painbringer.
In the dead center of the canopy, a display popped up. A soaking wet Dr. Scott burst out of the bay, riding the steel ring, and closing distance.
“Oh.”
Before she could react, he collided with the Painbringer, ramming it from behind. The impact sent shooting pain up her spine. She could feel him on the Painbringer’s backside, once again scraping and clawing at the armor plating. Then, she felt something inhuman, a sensation completely foreign to her. He was yanking on her back. There was no human corollary to the sensation. It felt as if a struggling child was using dangling flaps of skin on her back as a makeshift rope ladder. Of course, there was no flesh on the mecha. Only exposed wires and circuitry. Not that that technicality changed how it felt.
The display readjusted, getting a better angle of Dr. Scott. He grabbed at exposed wires, took a handful, and wrapped them around his steel ring.
And then, the pain relented.
As the agony subsided, Char reached out with the Painbringer’s sensors, scanning for his presence.
“He stopped?” Char asked the Painbringer, as if it wasn’t already scrambling to provide her with all the information at its disposal. “Why would he do that?”
No, wait.
Dr. Scott did more than stop. He had turned around. On the display, he held his arms wide, as if riding a bicycle without hands, and shouted, “Take me!”
It took Char a second as she watched the behemother lurch forward and ingest the plummeting Dr. Scott, as two conflicting emotions arose.
Disgust—cuz Ew!
And panic.
“No! Wait!” she yelled at the behemother, as if that would accomplish anything.
Instantly, all systems in the Painbringer went to full power. Char raced for clear skies, aiming for atmosphere, trying to make as much distance as possible.
The behemother took one swift bite and swallowed Dr. Scott whole. The makeshift tether of wires and exposed tubing whipped taut, yanking the Painbringer backward like a paddleball on a string.
Char lurched forward against the harness, nearly faceplanting into canopy glass. “Holy mother!” She craned her neck over her shoulder, trying to get a better view of the monster slurping her up like spaghetti.
“Oh my God, Jason, you complete and total piece of shit! Even in death you are the galaxy’s biggest asshole!”
In the back of her head, there was one silver thread lining this thunderhead. As far as relationships went, this was only the second worst breakup she’d been through.
Chapter Forty-Three
Aside from a few stray squiddies near the initial scuffle that quickly gave up chase when she outpaced them, Fairhaven’s departure from Earth proved uneventful. Hardesty and the other Marines had remained on the surface, keeping them distracted, mostly with munitions and energy blasts, ensuring a safe escape for their captain. At some point in her journey home, the sky had slipped from blue, to purple, dipping into the darker hues of vacuum, until all she could see was endless black, speckled by stars.
Behind her, Earth was radiant, reflecting sunlight. On its surface, specific detail was impossible to discern, but pockmarks of red particle blasts ignited, like alien lightning.
A soft cooing snapped her thoughts from the surface to the tin can she currently resided in. The noise was foreign; her first instinct was that something was wrong with the mecha. Perhaps, a seal had been damaged during the altercation on the surface or a fuel line had sprung a leak. But a second sound, like the licking of lips, drew her attention to her chest.
To the child, her child, wrapped in sweaty oversized Kevlar, shifting in a makeshift baby bjorn. It made the faintest of noises, extended a hand from its wrappings, and stretched tiny fingers. Its mouth opened wide, eyes clenched tight, and squeaked, as it sucked in what was simultaneously the world’s biggest and smallest yawn.
It nuzzled into her chest, instantly falling asleep.
She slid a finger under its chin, caressing gently, as to not disturb the infant.
Her body was finally settling, adrenaline subsiding from the battle, from giving birth, from everything, leaving her in a serene state, that somehow felt hollow.
She began noticing little things she never had before. Things so easy to overlook when focus was locked on combat and survival.
Like the fact that the Tigerclaw rattled in flight.
A lot.
The instrument panels shimmied in sync with the thrumming engines. Fairhaven reached out for a switch, only now realizing that it was impossible to hold her hand steady, an issue not of nerves, but due to the shaking mecha and entirely unnatural state of spaceflight.
In combat, she had never noticed it before, but now, with a newborn strapped to her chest, twisted into the straps of her harness, it was impossible to ignore every jiggle, rumble, sway, and shimmy of the mecha that would potentially disturb the peacefully slumbering creature pressing its warmth into her.
As she closed the distance on her destination, she could finally make out detail on Heaven. She could read the individual numbers on the docking bay doors. Heaven—humanity’s solitary speck of salvation in a sea of endless nothing. The angle also provided her with a view of Sindarhe, the god-planet, almost as large as Earth, and growing larger every second, blue flames burning bright across its surface, the alien deity eclipsing her home planet, which, until recently, had been the only celestial body in this particular orbital path.
Though she couldn’t see it with the naked eye, she knew that on both planets, Sindarhe and Earth alike, battle was taking place. Mayhem and carnage being carved out between opposing forces that would decide the fate of every living thing in the solar system.
She had spent her entire life being in the thick of it, dead-center of action. And now, all she could do was watch at such great distances that the last moments of humanity’s existence were a hidden secret.
Yet the infant, warm against her chest, managed to sleep.
His features were pink, nearly red. She stroked a tuft of fuzz on his head. He stirred and repositioned himself, nuzzling against her bosom.
Regardless of outcome between Heaven and Sindarhe, the clashing of opposing forces, her child would sleep through it all, oblivious to the struggles of the universe.
A metallic clang echoed through the hangar bay. Thrusters hissed, expelling exhaust, as the canopy raised. Fairhaven sucked in Heaven’s canned, recycled O2, a familiar breath inflating her lungs. It was nothing compared to the fullness from each sip of air on Earth, but it was satisfying in a way Earth could never be.
It felt like home.
In the hangar, only a handful of Tigerclaws remained on their recharging units. Most were empty. The operable mecha had been sent down to Earth or out to Sindarhe with the engineers as backup. The rest of the fleet was cotton-balled, tarped, or stripped down for training. Ever since they’d one-upped the alien invasion, there hadn’t been much need for mecha anymore. The empty hangar felt like a museum.
Fairhaven even considered tip-toeing across the vast empty space, as she set foot on the corrugated steel floor panels. She tugged at the Kevlar shirt wrapped around her, adjusting the position of her child awkwardly strapped to her, the slightest shifting of weight reverberating off the high walls.
Delicately placing one foot in front of the other, trying to minimize the echo of her footsteps, Fairhaven approached the exit. She paused at the thick steel doors leading into the recesses of Heaven. Turning, she gave the hangar a sorrowful once-over.
Much like these Tigerclaws put out to pasture, Fairhaven’s best days were behind her. She looked at the child attached to her bosom. From now on, her responsibilities were different. Gently, she stroked her child’s head. From now on, the only action she would see would be during training.
Before she could completely set this part of her life behind her, she had to try, at least one more time.
“You know, we don’t have to go back to our quarters?”
The child slumbered.
Had he even heard her question? Surely, he’d have to know what his options were before she left for good. It wouldn’t be fair, otherwise.
“I mean,” said Fairhaven, trying again. “I’d only be doing it for you. But if you don’t want to go back, I’d totally understand.”
The child still slumbered.
Fairhaven scowled. Surely, he’d make some sort of response, if he’d heard her. She pitched up her voice.
“After all, you are my child.” Her voice grew louder, as the child slumbered, thumb inserted, oblivious to the rest of the world. “And what bores me would certainly bore you. I’d totally understand if you’d rather go to the bridge and see what’s happening than doing nothing back in our quarters.”
The baby gurgled.
Fairhaven perked. Finally, a response.
“Is that a yes?”
The infant returned to his slumbering state.
She raised the pink fleshy slug, hanging by his armpits.
“C’mon, just gimmie a sign so I don’t feel like worst mother of the millennium.”
The infant slurped on its thumb.
“Is that…? I don’t…that’s not a sign. Is it?” She leaned forward, softly nudged his shoulder, and whispered, “Hey you. What do you say? Bridge? Action? Pew-pew?”
But now, the infant was comatose again, heavy breaths in and out, his full weight in her hands.
“Hey…” With her pointer finger, she jabbed the infant in the rib, grabbing its attention and much more than that. Instantly, it started crying.
Shit!
“I didn’t do it that hard!” Fairhaven panicked, trying to swaddle the baby back into the unraveling Kevlar. Honestly, she barely did anything, but in the back of her head, she was screaming, Fuck, fuck fuck.
“It’s okay. It’s okay. I’ll take you back to our quarters. I’m sorry I even asked. I’ll—”
But the infant screamed even louder over her capitulations.
“Shhh, shhh, shhh.” Desperately, Fairhaven shushed him, but his cries continued, endlessly. “It’s okay, it’s okay, you’ll be okay, please be okay.”
She fought tears brimming at the corners of her eyes, and quickly lost that battle as they trickled down her cheeks. She sniffled, trying to keep snot from running down her nose, over her lip, into her mouth. This whole parenthood thing was disgusting. And overwhelming. And hitting her all at once.
She knew her life was going to be devoted to her child. She’d made the realization on the planet, but why did it have to be so sudden? Couldn’t she be eased into it?
But the infant’s cries gave her a clear answer to that question.
“I just—I get it, can you please, please be quiet. I understand. Back to our quarters. No pew-pew.”
Abruptly, the child stopped crying.
The silence happened so suddenly that all Fairhaven could hear was her own awkward panting. Heaving breaths, bouncing back metallic off the walls. Her own sniffling, a disgusting drawl of wet mucus sucked back into her sinuses.
“What? What is it?” she asked the child, nearly shaking it, but catching herself. “You’re quiet now. What did I say?”
But the infant scrunched his tiny features, returning to a pink mask of teary-eyed torment, his mouth dropping open, sucking in air, as he prepped for another bout of screams.
“The bridge?”
The infant stopped his pre-scream contraction and peeked an eyeball through a narrowly slit lid.
“Wait, that worked? The bridge?”
His eyes opened wide, locking on to her. But she could see, in the silence, she was losing his attention.
“Hey, hey, look, look, over here.” The infant tracked her movement. Fairhaven made finger guns, waggled them in the air, “Pew, pew, pew, is that what you want?”
The infant giggled.
“Pew-pew? That’s it? You want pew-pew?”
The infant cooed, reaching out for her finger guns, and giggling with glee.
Through tears, Fairhaven snorted and smiled. “Oh thank God.” She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and made several more pew-pew noises to her child’s delight.
“Okay, look, I need to do this so no one can accuse me of being a terrible mother.”
The child’s head rocked to its left shoulder.
She pitched her voice down to a mocking, disturbing tone. “Do you want to go back to the nasty old quarters?”
The infant stared at her, on the verge of tears again.
“Or—” Her voice pitched up to a sing-songy chirp, finger guns blazing. “Do you want to go to the bridge where we can see all the pew-pew-pew?”
The infant giggled, swatting the air at her finger guns.
She hugged him tight to her chest.
“That’s my boy.”
“Dr. Scott is—”
“We know,” said Einhorn.
“You know? But—”
“We have another problem.”
“Another?”
Fairhaven glanced up at Sindarhe, floating off her three o’clock shoulder. Heaven’s bridge was a rotating platform, mounted on gimbals, surrounded by a three-hundred-sixty degree domed viewscreen. Though it appeared as if the bridge was situated in the center of battle, it was lodged deep in the center of Heaven, protected from direct attack.
The platform had a central command console, which, to Fairhaven’s surprise, Einhorn currently manned. He wasn’t exactly what you’d call a tactician. In fact, of his many attributes and qualities, decisiveness, particularly under pressure, was not one of them. Typically Rousseau, or even Char’s father would be stationed there.
A cadet Fairhaven had never seen before manned the forward-right console. Heaven had the maneuverability of a bus in free-fall, but the station still needed someone to man the engines should anything out of the ordinary arise. A giant space deity appearing out of nowhere had seen to it that protocol became permanent. Three officers, with faces she could place, but names out of reach, flanked the weapons consoles. A half dozen ensigns and cadets manned diagnostics stations, ensuring that, should Heaven take damage, the response times, damage, and loss of life would be minimal.
Einhorn swiped across the command console, and the entire platform rotated so that Sindarhe was dead ahead. “The Fleet Admiral went to inspect H.S.S. ASHLEY and inquire as to why the engines’ trajectories were off.”
With a flick of forefinger and thumb, a portion of the viewscreen enlarged, zooming onto H.S.S. ASHLEY in Sindarhe’s orbit.
“The trajectories were off?” asked Fairhaven.
“Yes. And still are.”
“What’s that mean for us?”
Einhorn made eye contact, his brows making the shrug his shoulder wouldn’t.
