Silent Star, page 24
“Bring the shuttles back,” General Knox ordered. “Get all the wounded to escape capsules.”
Evacuating most of the surviving crew, General Knox reduced the demand on the remaining life support systems. Surveying what was left of his module, General Knox now noticed all the bodies, most floating from tethers. Turning to Colonel Colson, he pulled the Colonel in and then rotated his body, pulling up the flap covering his oxygen supply on his back. Colonel Colson’s life support system was still pumping oxygen, despite the fact the suit was punctured. Half of the oxygen was gone. General Knox closed the valve, and then disconnected the bottle, pulling it from the backpack.
“Strip the oxygen canisters from the dead,” General Knox said into his radio.
Checking his own oxygen supply, General Knox estimated how long he had before he would have to change bottles. Given the speed of the incoming UNOB, what he had should be enough. Then one way or another, it would be all over.
Chapter 43: Dismembered
Alien Warship
Approaching Earth Orbit
Link writhed in pain, clutching the stump of his left arm. Only partially cauterized by the laser, the stump bled despite Link’s efforts to squeeze off the flow. Rocking back and forth, Link fought off shock, trying not to look at the stump but inexorably pulled to the horror that was what was left of his left arm. Link knew pain, Link lived with pain, but this was like nothing before. Even worse than the pain, was the violation of his body. They had a right to kill him, a solider understood that, even torture him, under some circumstances, but dismemberment violated Link’s warrior code.
Using the nugget of rage generated by the deliberate maiming, Link pushed at the mountain of pain, moving it bit by bit, clearing space for that anger to grow. Slowly, he regained control, a modicum of rationality returning and with it an overwhelming desire for revenge. Partitioning his mind, he pushed much of the pain behind a thin wall. It was like walling in an octopus, tentacles of pain lashing in all directions. Still, it was enough, and he could plot again, seeking an opportunity to kill another alien before they sliced off his other arm.
Strangely, after slicing off pieces of Link, the aliens now ignored him, their focus on the visual blizzard displayed on the walls. A disharmony of clicks, whistles and hisses accompanied the activity in the room, most centered on one curving row of consoles. Link rolled onto his belly, releasing the stump, letting it bleed. He was dead anyway. Lying there he felt vibrations and became aware of a rhythmic hum. Clearly, the ship and crew were engaged in some kind of action and distracted. Slowly, Link pulled his legs underneath his body, ready to lunge for another weapon. Oblivious, the clump of soldier-aliens around Link remained fixed on the displays. Until now, the constant click and hiss of insect-alien speech filled the domed room, but suddenly the insect-aliens fell silent, all eyes on the displays. Then, as if of one mind, the aliens braced. Some gripped seats, some consoles, a few interlocked limbs. Tense seconds passed, then the ship rocked, as if buffeted by a gust of wind.
Lights dimmed, then brightened as the ship vibrated violently. Link fell to his side, landing on the stump, stifling a scream. The aliens ignored him. Regaining awareness, Link realized the ship was listing. Clicking and hissing, the commander gave orders. The control room became a beehive of activity. The ship rocked again, listing further. Pushing the avalanche of pain back behind its barrier, Link rolled to his knees, still ignored. A cacophony of insect speech erupted. Link knew panic when he saw it. A dull thump quieted the room, the aliens looking to the ceiling. Then in quick succession, a series of thumps, bangs, and slams.
The muffled scream of escaping atmosphere could be heard, the damage somewhere distant. Then the banging stopped, the insect-aliens listening, waiting. Seconds passed, the distant scream subsided, then stopped. Only the background stew of moving air and humming power systems could be heard. Suddenly the ship rang from a blizzard of bangs and something tore through the wall, pulverizing a console and cutting and insect-alien in half. Fragments injured two more, and others whistled in terror. Link wanted to cheer.
The roar of escaping atmosphere drowned out the screeching of injured aliens. Taking some pleasure in their pain, Link found new strength, standing. Rediscovered by his guards, one clubbed him from behind. Link fell, twisting to protect the stump. The headache from the blow was insignificant, a teaspoon full in the ocean that flowed from his arm. The ship lurched, ringing from another impact. The lights failed, then gravity. Link floated toward the ceiling, floundering, his soldier-guards floated nearby. Then another object pierced the ceiling, atmosphere rushing to the hole. Pushed with the rushing atmosphere, Link floated toward the hole. The room filled with bodies and debris, all drifting toward the same spot.
Light panels still glowed, and as Link’s retina adapted, he saw aliens floating nearby, felt them bump into his behind. Link grabbed at a weapon, his arm swatted away. The rush of atmosphere stopped, Link drifting randomly two meters off the floor. Gravity returned, Link falling face-first. It was a low gee tug, but the impact caused his stump to send out new waves of pain and he blacked out.
Link came to with a blast of pain. Someone was handling the stump of his arm. Wanting to push the alien away, Link found his right arm pinned. Strips of tape wrapped his body, holding his good arm flat to his side. Helpless, Link looked to see the whiskered snout of a rodent-alien wrapping his stump in tape or gauze. With each circuit, his arm hurt less, slowly becoming anesthetized. Link did not know if the tape was infused with an anesthetic or whether the alien had given him something but he felt grateful.
Around him, rodents and aliens worked, some on the injured, most on the damaged equipment. Other rodents hung from the ceiling, working on the punctures. A new rodent appeared next to Link with a large bag. Lifting Link’s legs, the two rodents slid Link into the bag, working it up to his neck. Pausing, they rolled Link to his side, examining the back of his head where he had been struck. With the pain in his stump fading, Link realized how bad his head ached. Link heard the whisper voices of the rodent-aliens discussing his wound, then the gentle touch of slender fingers. Now they looped a strap over Link’s head and rolled him gently onto his right side. Something stiff was shoved behind his head and down his back. Rolling him back they taped his head to it. Immobilized, Link struggled ineffectually, slowly gaining strength as the pain subsided.
Then, with little effort, the rodent-aliens dragged Link across the floor, the bag gliding easily across the surface as if it were frictionless. Link was placed in a row of insect-aliens, similarly immobilized. Bagged and strapped, Link could only see where his head pointed, but from the corner of his eye, he saw the insect-alien next to him studying Link with multifaceted eyes. Then Link was pulled again, lifted, tilted, and dropped into a rodent tunnel. His face only inches from the duct, Link could see nothing but a blur of metal as he glided through the tunnel. At junctions they maneuvered him around corners, and then finally pointed him head up as he was pulled vertically. Finally, they laid him flat, Link only half-conscious, dimly aware he was in a rodent warren. Pulling him from the bag, they stripped away his clothing. Tethers were attached to his body and they suspended him in a chamber. One rodent worked on his injured arm while he felt another doing something to his head. A warm loveliness filled Link and though part of him knew his stump was being scrubbed and tissues and bone trimmed, the horror and anger were gone. Filled with the dreamy pleasure of narcotics, Link wished the moment could go on forever.
“You’re going to be all right, Captain,” Link heard, the voice vaguely familiar.
Reluctantly, Link concentrated on the voice, Westbrook’s face coming into focus.
“They’ll take good care of you, sir,” Westbrook said. “You’ll be feeling better soon.”
Link smiled, because he had never felt better in his life. Then Link drifted away on a chemical sea of happiness.
Chapter 44: Recovery
Alien Warship
Approaching Earth Orbit
Link had never used drugs but for the first time in his life he understood the addict. Leaving behind his narcotic high was like being torn from heaven. Link dug deep in his mind, trying to find the warm safe place where he had been, agonizing with every lingering taste. The aftertaste faded, however, and Link came back to the world frustrated and depressed. Two rodents hovered over him, and then one pressed something to the back of his neck. Slowly, the depression faded, Link’s strength returning, his heart beating strong and regular.
“Sir, can you hear me?” Westbrook said.
Link ignored him, closing his eyes and rooting in his mind for remnants of his high.
“Sir, we need to get to the hangar. The Interceptor is here. They came for us.”
With a pang of regret, Link reluctantly gave up his quest for the warm place.
“What? Have they lost their minds? I’ll court martial Gains.”
Link’s mind was clearing quickly, becoming sharp and clear. Unusually sharp.
“You won’t get a chance to charge him if we don’t get going,” Westbrook said, pulling Link into a sitting position.
“I can do it,” Link said, trying to push Westbrook away with his left arm but finding only half an arm.
“Oh, right,” Link said, surprisingly calm. “They cut my arm off.”
Link’s arm terminated at his elbow, the joint gone. A silver metal ring capped the stump. Link bent trying to see inside the ring—it looked like a socket with holes in the end.
“What the hell did they do?” Link demanded.
“Sir, they saved your life. They could not save your arm.”
Link waved his stump, feeling no pain. Then he banged the stump on the deck. No pain.
“Sir, that’s probably not a good idea.”
Two red rodents squirmed when Link banged his stump, then swarmed in and examined where the ring attached to his arm.
“What did they do?” Link asked. “They must have blocked the nerves.”
“Sir, we have to get to the Interceptor.”
“I can’t go naked,” Link said, realizing his clothes were gone.
As if they understood English, one of the rodents disappeared, returning with Link’s clothes and body armor. They had been repaired and cleaned. Link looked at the left sleeve. It had been shortened to match his stump. There were no burn marks or blood.
“Tip them, will you Westbrook?” Link said. “My drycleaner can’t get lipstick out of my collars.”
Link laughed uproariously. Westbrook looked at him in alarm.
“What?” Link said. “That was funny.”
“Sir, I think you may be under the influence,” Westbrook said, helping Link into his clothes.
“I’ve always had a sense of humor,” Link said.
“Not that I’ve noticed,” Westbrook said.
Link thought about that, deciding Westbrook was right, but it was time for the men to see his other side—and one woman, of course.
“Whatever they gave me is good stuff,” Link said. “Part amphetamine, part analgesic. I feel combat ready.”
“One hundred percent goofball,” Westbrook said.
Link snorted and laughed.
“Goofball. Good one.”
Two gray rodents appeared, one carrying a hairy arm. Protuberances poked from the arm’s elbow. The arm consisted of a fat forearm that ended in a hand with five fat, brown, fingers, with dark brown pointed nails. Taking the arm, one of the red rodents fitted it into the ring on Link’s arm. Link’s arm tingled, then hurt, and then settled into an ache.
“What the hell is this?” Link asked.
“It looks like it is designed for the ape-aliens,” Westbrook said. “See if you can move it.”
“I have a forearm like Popeye,” Link said. “Well, I yam what I yam.”
After giggling at his own joke, Link looked at his new arm and thought about wiggling his fingers. Instead, the artificial arm folded at the elbow, the hairy hand slapping Link’s stomach.
“It works,” Westbrook said.
“I was trying to move my fingers,” Link said, and giggled.
Now Link thought of straightening his arm. His thumb extended instead.
“Did you mean to do that?” Westbrook asked.
“No. Now I’m thinking of giving you the finger,” Link said, snorting.
Link’s arm unfolded and rotated.
“You’ll get better with it, sir,” Westbrook said.
“I’m not dragging this useless thing around. I could try to scratch my ass and end up knocking my own teeth out.”
Link reached over trying to detach the arm. A red rodent hustled forward, showing Link how to rotate the silver ring and release the arm. Link tossed the arm aside.
“I know what I need,” Link said, turning to the red rodent.
Talking slowly, and loudly, with copious hand motions, sound effects, and finger tracings, Link explained to the red rodent. By the time he was done two red rodents and three gray rodents were huddled around Link, listening. Then the gray rodents scattered, disappearing into different tunnels.
“That’s it, sir,” we need to go.
Westbrook started to drag Link to his feet.
“I’m not an invalid,” Link said, remembering to push Westbrook away with his right hand.
“Not an invalid,” Link said, looked at his shortened arm, then snorting and taughing.
Link rolled right, pushed himself up with one hand, and then stood, running in place.
“Damn, I feel good,” Link said.
“Sir, this way,” Westbrook said, coaxing Link forward.
“What about my special order?” Link said, leaning over to put his face inches from one of the red rodents. “And don’t think of charging me an arm and a leg for it. I’ll only pay an arm.”
Link laughed until tears came to his eyes. Carefully, Westbrook took him by his remaining arm, leading him to the shaft.
“They deliver, Captain,” Westbrook said.
“Right,” Link said, starting forward, then turning to the red rodent who trailed. “But remember, get it here in thirty minutes or it’s free.”
Westbrook led the cackling Link to the shaft. When Link tried to sit, he forgot about his missing arm and fell onto his side, almost tumbling into the shaft.
“Something’s missing,” Link said in a sing-song voice, holding up his stump and laughing. Suddenly, Link stopped laughing and said, “Didn’t I order an arm?”
“Sir, please climb,” Westbrook said.
“Climb, yeah sure.”
Westbrook helped Link turn and place his legs on the rungs.
“Right, right, right.”
“Climb sir.”
A red rodent scuttled forward, touching an object to the back of Link’s neck”
“Hey,” Link said, slapping the rodent’s arm away. “I hardly know you.”
Laughing, Link started down, slowly at first, stopping every rung to wrap his half arm around the rail, then grab the next rung with his good arm. Developing a rhythm, Link picked up speed.
“Slowly, sir,” Westbrook said.
“Not bad for a one-armed man, eh?” Link said. “I can go faster than this. Just watch me.”
“Slow down for me, sir,” Westbrook said.
“Faster, faster.” Link said, and then suddenly stopped. “What happened to my arm?”
“The spider aliens, sir.” Westbrook asked.
Link looked up at Westbrook. “Yeah. I remember. Zapped it right off.” Link started down again. “Zapped it right off,” he said, then giggled.
Westbrook had his radio turned low, steady static the only sound he could pick up since the attack. Now he detected a voice. Turning up the volume he heard Ramirez calling his name.
Chapter 45: Flight of the Interceptor
Interceptor
Inside the UNOB
Approaching Earth Orbit
Back in the Interceptor, rodents scrambled to find the holes in the hull. Scooter and the others checked systems, giving life-support first attention, then weapons, then flight systems. Earth’s attack on the UNOB had been surprisingly effective. Scooter realized that if Earth had not been forced to target two ships, that the UNOB might have been destroyed. Instead, it was only damaged. Even now, rodents and a mix of aliens worked to repair systems. By opening the UNOB’s doors, Scooter had magnified the effectiveness of Earth’s attack. When the UNOB was punctured, all compartments were affected, atmospheric loss in most of the ship, delaying the attack on the Interceptor.
“We’re sealed again,” Gains said over the speaker. “You can take off your helmet.”
Gratefully, Scooter released the collar-lock and twisted and lifted. The air was cold and thin but breathable. Scooter had slaved the UNOB’s systems to the Interceptor and then installed as many barriers as he could in the UNOB’s code. At best, his malware would slow the aliens but it would not stop them. When Earth’s attack came, the UNOB depressurized, the human suits swelling as the air pressure fell. Aliens and rodents had scrambled into pressure suits, and then scurried about plugging holes and repairing critical systems. Wounded, but not dead, the UNOB was quickly coming back to life.
Scooter’s monitors on the Interceptor all functioned, showing activity all over the UNOB. Quickly, Scooter assessed the control room. Half the consoles were dark, including the one Scooter needed. Looking closely, Scooter did not see any obvious damage.
“We’re screwed,” Riley said from his place on the flight deck. “The transporter is dead.”
“Maybe not,” Scooter said, exploring the runes and icons representing the ship’s systems.
“They’re getting their shit together pretty damn quick,” Riley said.
Another scan of the monitors showed insect-aliens bunching outside the hangar door, some in armored suits and carrying heavy weapons. Scooter tapped icons, tracing power flows, looking for routing controls. Like a digital age Daniel Boone, Scooter could discern trails even in undeciphered runes. Finally, he found it.
