Bio-Weapon (Doom Star 2), page 23
He started crawling—carefully! He wasn’t that mad.
He avoided a huge laser-blast hole. It was deep and big. He glanced around. A lot of those holes dotted the shield. He bet some went almost all the way through.
Marten tried the comlink. It crackled horribly, and he heard many tinny voices.
“One-oh-one, report,” he said. He repeated it several times.
“Marten!”
“Here, Lance.”
“Where?”
Marten wasn’t about to raise an arm.
“Look around. Do you see any one-oh-one’s glowing?” he said.
“Oh, right,” said Lance. “We’re supposed to chin on the numbers. Just a minute.”
Marten swiveled his helmeted head. He saw a green 101 pop on thirty meters from him, on the other side of a laser pit.
“I see you,” Marten said. “Look across the pit.”
“Gotcha. Oh, yeah, there you are.”
“Let’s meet halfway,” Marten said. He started crawling.
Other maniples called in, and now more of the shock troopers showed their numbers. A few of the battlesuits didn’t move. Maybe their owners were too terrified. Most of the men crawled toward their maniple leaders.
As he crawled, Marten noticed how shot up the particle shield really was. It could break apart at any moment. That meant they had to get off it fast.
“Wu, here,” called a man. He was the mission’s second in charge.
“Kang, here, Wu.”
As the dreadful fear of the shield breaking up caused him to crawl faster, Marten also counted battlesuits. Maybe a hundred shock troopers had landed on this broken, battered particle shield. They all had to get off. A hundred was too many to lose. He dared to lift his hand and point his maniple where to go. He did it as he slid his right hand forward to crawl another inch.
No, they weren’t his maniple anymore. They were Kang’s. He laughed harshly. “Screw you, Lycon,” he said.
The others, close now, crawling together, peered at him. He’d had his comlink open when he’d said that. He could see their questioning eyes.
“We gotta move!” Marten said. “We gotta get off this particle shield.”
“Wu gives the orders,” Kang said.
“Neurostim yourselves,” Marten said. “From here on in, you’ll need anger, lots of it, to drown out the fear.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Kang said. “I’m in charge of the one-oh-one.”
“Stay if you want, Kang.” To the others, Marten said, “Follow me. The particle shield could break up at any time.”
“Wu,” Kang said via comlink.
Wu didn’t answer. Maybe he was out of range. Maybe he had other things on his mind.
“The particle shield could break up?” asked Lance.
“Have you taken a good look at the shield?” Marten asked. “There are too many laser holes for my tastes. What if one section of the shield crumbles?”
Vip cursed in fear.
“Neurostim yourselves to a two-dose level,” Marten said.
“No,” Kang said. “Only one dose, as per HB orders.”
Marten hissed, “You’re an idiot, Kang. It’s time to get mad. We gotta hustle off.”
“Three-oh-ninth leader here, Marten,” said a shock trooper. “What’s this about a crumbling shield?”
Marten told him. He told someone else. And so the word spread.
Marten, getting the hang of it now, crawled faster than before. The horrible tug always dragged at him, threatening to tear him off for good. But like a big mechanical baby, he had learned the crawling trick and had almost perfected it.
“Come back here,” Kang said.
“Everyone else is following me, Kang,” Marten said between gasps. Even with the battlesuit, it was hard moving fast under eight Gs. “I suggest you do likewise.”
Kang growled, but he started after them.
In time, Marten reached the edge of the particle shield. He poked his head between the gap of this shield and the one beside it. What if the people in the ship pressed the two shields together? Hamburger shock troopers, that’s what. He couldn’t see down to the ship. Six hundred meters, if he recalled this beamship’s specs right, that was the depth of the shields. He swallowed, and then he started “down.” Only it felt like “up.” One wrong move and they would fall down the cliff and out into space. It felt safer here, but that was an illusion, he knew. If he lost his grip, the eight Gs would simply rip him away and maybe knock others off as well.
What a way to make a living.
His rage against the HBs grew. But he was getting tired, too. All those days locked up in the G-suit without exercise was having its effect.
Keep moving, boy.
“Uh, oh,” said Lance.
“What is it?” Marten said.
“We lost another one.”
Marten said a short prayer for the hapless victim. Then, “Is everyone else following?”
“Seems like,” said Lance. “Omi, can you see?”
“They’re coming.”
Down or up, toward the ship Marten crawled. His breathing was harsh in his ears. He reached the inner edge of the particle shield, checked his HUD radar and saw giant pivoting struts attached to the inner beamship’s skin. He crawled under the shield, and now he could move faster because the Gs pushed him against the shield, like a sloping floor. Soon, he reached the nearest metal strut, a vast girder that moved the particle shield around to wherever it was needed.
Spikes wouldn’t work on the girder.
Marten cudgeled his wits, trying to think of something.
Suddenly, a man screamed. That cut through the static all right.
“PD cannon,” growled a shock trooper.
Marten peered at the inner armored surface. There! A cannon poked out the skin like an ancient pirate’s cannon on those old wooden ships. Balls of orange plasma from several battle-suits’ plasma cannons roiled toward the PD cannon that was shooting.
A moment later, the plasma washed over and melted the cannon.
“Ten dead,” said a shock trooper.
“Keep your eyes open for more PDs.”
“They know we’re here,” Marten said. Then he knew what he had to do. “Once you reach the girders put away your spikes.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Maybe,” Marten said.
He put one spike-pad away. Then, he reached out. With full exoskeleton power, he clutched hold of the girder. His power-gloves dented the metal. It would leave a handprint, all right. He moved his left hand, and as he tried to slip off the spike-pad, it flew away. He sighed and grabbed the girder with his left. He shimmied up the giant strut, wrapping his battlesuited legs around part of it.
“Marten’s a monkey,” Vip said.
“Just make sure you follow me,” Marten said.
Someone cursed as two more PDs popped out and fired. Plasma rolled at them, but not before five more shock troopers died.
“Bastards!” cried a man.
We all are, Marten decided. Them and us, maybe everybody in the solar system.
Soon, others crawled behind him and up the girder. Attached to their battlesuits were breach-bombs and plasma cannons, while hooked to their arms were laser tubes.
“This is thirsty work,” said Lance. He tried for levity. He sounded as frightened as Marten felt. Neurostim didn’t seem to last long while they were doing this.
Marten concentrated on crawling. His skin itched. He wanted more neurostim. No, no, keep your head clear now, Marten, my man. Just enough neurostim to dull the fear. Or maybe just enough to mask it.
The fear, dread, anger and hard work made him sweat. He chinned for a drink of water. But finally, Marten reached the end of the giant strut. The inner armored skin of the Bangladesh had countless crisscrossing tracks, deep grooves. It was how they moved the shields around, he guessed. He licked his lips. He didn’t know if this would work. If it didn’t…the Gs would hurl him back “down,” against the underbelly of the particle shield. If he landed on his feet, he might not die on the spot. Maybe crush his bones, though. He shook his head. This was all insane. They shimmied up a giant strut while the Bangladesh sped through space. Suddenly, the strut vibrated.
“What was that?” Omi said.
“Why is it shaking?” whined Vip.
“Hurry!” shouted Marten.
“Use yours thrusters?” Vip said.
“No!” shouted Marten. “Don’t be a fool. The beamship’s fleeing at full acceleration.”
“If you use your thrusters,” said Lance, “you’ll barely crawl at one G, but the ship will move at eight.”
“Then it’s bye, bye,” Kang said.
Marten reached for the beamship’s inner armor above his head. He turned on the battlesuit’s magnetic-clamps at full power. His hand attached to the ship’s armor. The clamps were also on his elbows, belt, knee and toes. Like a fly, he attached himself to the beamship. Slowly, with a clang, clang, clang he crawled along the surface.
“Move,” he said to the others.
The ship underneath him shuddered. Marten looked over his shoulder. The struts trembled. His eyes opened wide. The struts, the giant girders, blew off and out of the ship’s grooves. The particle shield detached, and it was snatched away at 8 Gs, maybe more as the Bangladesh shed the huge weight. Over the comlink, shock troopers screamed in rage and fear. Some tried to jump, their thrusters burning hard, spewing out hydrogen particles. For a second, a man actually crossed the meter of distance he needed to go. Then, he seemed to stop and flipped back hard into space as the huge ship accelerated away from him.
In silence, the handful of shock troopers on the beamship’s armored skin watched their comrades recede into space. As the particle shield rotated, they saw other shock troopers leap off the shield as their thrusters burned. It was a pitiful sight. Hydrogen spray spewed out the packs, but it was far too little. They dropped farther and farther behind as the Bangladesh continued its acceleration at eight gravities.
“Poor bastards,” said Lance.
“What’s going to happen to them?” asked Vip.
“What do you think?” snarled Omi.
Then Kang reached them. His normally slit-shut eyes were as wide open as theirs. Through his helmet visor, he looked terrified.
“Wu is gone,” Marten said. “Now you’re second in command.”
“If Mad Vlad still lives, that is,” said Lance. “If he’s dead, then you’re the mission commander.”
“What do we do now, Kang?” asked Marten.
Kang licked his lips. He peered at the tumbling particle shield. Soon, he faced Marten. “You got any ideas?”
12.
Cheers and wild whooping filled the Bangladesh’s command capsule.
“Ha-ha, look at them go!” shouted the Pakistani First Gunner. “Bye, bye, you traitorous scum.”
“I love it. They’re trying to jetpack their way to us.”
“Good luck,” said the Tracking Officer.
“Enough of that,” Admiral Sioux said.
“What’s wrong, Admiral?” asked the Second Gunner.
“They’re soldiers just like us,” Admiral Sioux said. “We defeated that batch. And I’m glad for it. But let’s not mock brave soldiers.”
“They’re the enemy,” the First Gunner said.
“Traitors to Social Unity,” said someone else.
“Admiral, I detect enemy on the inner armored skin.”
“See,” the First Gunner said. “They’re still going to kill us.”
“They’re going to try,” said the Tracking Officer.
“That’s what I meant,” the First Gunner said. “I hate traitors. If we defeat them, I plan to cheer while Security teams hold them down and slit their throats.”
“What about re-education?” asked the Tracking Officer.
“Not for traitors,” said the First Gunner.
Admiral Sioux only half-listened. She couldn’t find it in herself to hate the enemy soldiers. She studied the situation through her VR-goggles. Some of the HB missiles had passed the Bangladesh. They rotated and watched but didn’t fire the lasers. Why?
“Launch Tube Twelve in operative condition, Admiral,” a damage control officer said.
“Here come another swarm of missiles,” the Tracking Officer said.
The First Gunner swore in frustration. “Slitting their throats would be too good. Torture them first.”
“Better hope they don’t play back the bridge vid,” the Second Gunner said.
“Belay that sort of talk,” the Admiral said. “No one is taking my ship.”
“Yes, Admiral. I’m sorry, sir.”
Admiral Sioux suddenly thought she understood the enemy’s plan. The HB lasers and other missiles weren’t firing because these soldiers were on the beamship. Not very many were on, but as long as the soldiers tried to breach the Bangladesh, it was safe from HB missile attacks.
“Pilot,” the Admiral said. “Get ready to rotate the Bangladesh one hundred and eighty degrees.”
“Admiral?”
“Do it at my command,” said Admiral Sioux.
“What are you planning, Admiral?” the Tracking Officer asked.
“How much fuel do you think those missiles have left?”
“Not much,” the Tracking Officer said. “But what does it matter? It was enough to reach us.”
“Ready,” the Pilot said.
“Now,” said Admiral Sioux.
The Bangladesh’s mighty engines turned off. Attitude jets fired. The massive beamship rotated ponderously in space. Soon, the front of the Bangladesh was aimed where the engines had been burning these many days. They were pointing toward the Sun. Then, the huge engines engaged again, generating eight gravities as the beamship braked hard.
The HB missiles coming up on the Bangladesh sped that much more quickly toward the beamship.
“Enemy torpedoes are firing like before,” said the Tracking Officer.
“PD cannons ready,” said the First Gunner.
“Don’t fire!” shouted Admiral Sioux. “Let the enemy torps hit us.”
“There are fifty torpedoes, Admiral,” the First Gunner said.
“I can count, mister. Just make certain you don’t fire. Shield Officer, seal the shields together. Don’t leave any gaps between them.”
“Yes, Admiral.”
The huge beamship shuddered as the majority of the torpedoes slammed into Particle Shield 4, or what was left of it.
“They’ve landed,” said the Tracking Officer.
“Yes, thank you,” said Admiral Sioux. “Pilot, rotate us ninety degrees.”
“Rotating.”
The beamship’s main engines quit again. Attitude jets fired. Ponderously, the mighty Bangladesh rotated ninety degrees.
“Detach Shield 4,” ordered Admiral Sioux.
“Detaching,” said the Shield Officer.
On their VR goggles, they watched the huge hunk of rock blow off the Bangladesh and tumble slowly away, although not very far. Some enemy soldiers leaped off the particle shield and jetted for the beamship. Both the shield and the beamship kept relative speeds.
“PD cannons fire at will,” the Admiral said.
“Firing,” growled the First Gunner.
All along the Bangladesh’s side spat PD cannons. Shock trooper plasma globs rolled at them, together with battlesuit rifle lasers. The PD cannons shrugged off the small lasers. The superheated plasma was another matter. It took out cannon after cannon. But not fast enough. Soon, all the soldiers were dead, blown apart by point defense weapons.
“Do we brake or flee?” asked the Pilot.
“Tracking?” asked the Admiral.
“One last spread of missiles is approaching fast, Admiral,” the Tracking Officer said.
“Let’s use the launch tube,” said Admiral Sioux.
“The lasers will take it out,” the Tracking Officer said.
“Belay that order,” said Admiral Sioux. “Yes, you’re right,” she told the Tracking Officer. “Pilot, aim a particle shield at the incoming enemy. We’ll let them come in unharmed.”
“They might not fall for the same trick twice,” the Tracking Officer said.
“Admiral!” cried a damage control party leader.
“Report,” said Admiral Sioux.
“Enemy soldiers have breached the Bangladesh. What are your orders?”
“Security Chief,” said Admiral Sioux, “I hope you’re online and listening.”
“I’m listening,” the Security Chief said, a gruff-sounding man. He’d killed the mutinous ringleaders while they’d orbited the Sun those long months waiting. He had few qualms when it came to killing. He now said, “If you accelerate faster than two Gs, we can’t fight. But keep us one-G or less and we’ll take them.”
“How many have breached?” the Admiral asked.
“I’d say ten soldiers,” the damage control officer said. “But they’re wearing high-tech fighting suits. Just like Highborn use.”
“Incoming missiles,” said the Tracking Officer. “Their last batch, I think.”
“HB torpedoes are launching!” shouted the First Gunner. “Let me PD them, Admiral.”
“Not as long as they have laser missiles on this side of us,” said Admiral Sioux.
“But there are fifty to sixty more torpedoes, Admiral.”
“Turn the ship aft,” said Admiral Sioux, hoping to increase the distance between the incoming torps.
Attitude jets burned again. But the shock troop torpedoes proved as maneuverable as the vast ship. The fifty-plus torps came at the beamship on an unprotected side.
“Fire the PDs,” said Admiral Sioux.
Those fired for three seconds. Then, HB lasers melted them. In the meantime, five shock trooper torps exploded.
“Good work,” said Admiral Sioux. “Launch our torpedoes.”
