Alien Caller (71 page)

He didn't
realise that at first. Not until he saw the huge knife coming at
him from the edge of his visor. Reactions born of years on the
battlefield helped him dodge it, but nothing could explain to him
how the madman could still be standing. Not with all those bullets
in him.

It didn't
matter though. Somehow he was up and trying to kill him, and that
was all there was. That and a lack of gravity. Dimock in all his
planning had not thought to wear magnetic boots and the act of
striking at him with that huge knife had sent him spinning, flying
across the room, out of control. And from the look in his eyes
through his visor, he wasn't happy about it. In fact he was
screaming.

David launched
himself towards the far wall, planning on arriving there ahead of
Dimock and taking the fight back to him. But he'd made one tiny
miscalculation in his plan. He had to fly past Dimock to get there,
and the man had a knife.

Despite
everything being in slow motion the attack was so quick that he
almost missed it. He floated past Dimock and the madman, still
spinning out of control, struck. The knife tore through his
titanium armour as if it was paper, and it was no gentler on his
flesh, slicing his thigh apart. Fortunately it wasn't a deep wound,
and he knew even as he crashed into the far wall that he could move
as before. But he also knew that Dimock's knife was no ordinary
weapon. However it had been built, the Mentan had crafted it to be
sharper than mere metal.

And Dimock had
always planned on using it to kill him.

That was fine
though. Never bring a knife to a gun fight as the old saying went.
And even as Dimock floated towards him, David stood and trained his
weapon on the madman. This time though, he only needed one shot,
and he simply waited until the moment was right and then squeezed
the trigger.

It hit
perfectly, the bullet striking Dimock in the knee, and sending him
spinning further off course. That was good, but not why he'd shot
him there. Somehow his bullets weren't quite as deadly as he'd
thought. They were getting through his armour, but only just. And
despite the blood, the wounds weren't deep. A little blood it
seemed went a long way in space. But he knew that Dimock's armour
had weak spots, and the knee had to be one of them.

Dimock
screamed, or at least David assumed he did since he couldn't hear
anything through his armour, and he clutched at his injured knee.
That at least said that the shot had scored. But as to how badly he
was injured, David didn't know. What he did know as he launched
himself towards the opposite wall, this time avoiding his enemy as
he shot past him, was that the fight had to be taken to him. And
not with a gun.

David put his
weapon back in the sleeve, and waited for Dimock to reach him,
knowing exactly what had to be done. He was nervous. He knew the
move perfectly. He'd practised it a thousand times in the training
grounds, and used it on the battlefield. But he'd never used it in
space. It was a painfully long wait.

Then the moment
came and things became a blur. Dimock struck for him as he'd known
he would, fast despite being encumbered by his armour, and David
dodged just far enough to let the deadly blade fly past him. Then
he grabbed his knife arm and twisted. Hard.

It didn't work
exactly as it should. Weightless as he was Dimock's entire body
spun, lessening the impact of his move, but still it must have hurt
terribly, and he was sure he felt something crack. He just hoped it
was bone.

After that it
became a contest of strength and cunning as they both fought for
the blade knowing it was the weapon that would decide the battle.
Dimock, despite his wounds and his lack of super-strength was
strong. Far stronger than he should have been. And when David
managed to get a look at his face through the visor, he understood
why. He was amped up again. Trellin had restored some of his
strength to him, probably through drugs. It was a stupid thing to
do.

Fortunately he
was wounded and the armour slowed him, while David was better
prepared and he knew how to fight hand to hand. He was also
angrier.

Dimock tried to
strike him with his other hand, forgetting to support his wrist and
that was a mistake. David had both hands on Dimock's wrist and that
gave him the strength advantage. He used it, forcing his arm up and
down with brutal force all while twisting the arm back on itself.
This time he did feel something break, and he felt a sense of
elation. Dimock's bones were no longer tougher than steel. Better
yet he let go of the knife in his pain and it went flying off
somewhere in the distance.

After that it
was a simple matter of hand to hand combat, and Dimock didn't have
the skill he'd pretended. He'd spent all those years relying on his
super-strength instead. He'd never actually had to fight. With his
knee not working, one arm broken and no magnetic boots to hold him
to floor so he could strike at him with force, he was in a bad
place. And he still didn't understand that he wasn't a superman any
more. He kept striking at him, trying to punch him, and forgetting
that his fist couldn't punch through titanium armour any more.
David of course just stuck to the judo moves, bending and twisting
him around, and gradually tearing his body apart.

He was tearing
his armour apart too, though he hadn't intended it. But bits of
Dimock's suit started separating and floating away, leaving him
vulnerable to bullets. That was a good thing. But better was that
as a piece of his armour over his shoulders suddenly disappeared,
David could hear him again. He could hear the madman screaming. And
that was pure joy.

Dimock tried to
escape, knowing he was in desperate trouble, and David let him go
unexpectedly. It was a perfectly timed release as Dimock suddenly
found himself floating away, moving so very slowly through the air
with nothing to hold on to, while David watched him go. Then he
drew his gun.

It was easy.
With him moving so slowly, and several large pieces of his armour
missing, David knew the bullets would not fail again. Perhaps even
Dimock understood that. He certainly didn't stop screaming. Not
when David put the first bullet straight into his right shoulder
and a few seconds later another into his left. He screamed long and
loud, the drugs somehow giving him the energy despite his
injuries.

This time it
was no splash of red that escaped his wounds. It was a river
flowing from him, floating gracefully in the air behind him, and
David knew the battle was his. He kept firing, shooting him in the
back as often as he could, and the only reason Dimock didn't die
immediately was that thanks to the laws of motion he was an awkward
target. Each bullet that hit him sent him spinning away in a
different direction, making the next shot harder.

But that could
be dealt with.

Judging that he
was in a bad way, David launched himself after Dimock, caught him
and slowed his crazy spinning. But he only did it so that he could
carry him to the steel floor and then use his magnetic boots to pin
him there as he killed him.

It was
surprisingly easy by then. Dimock wasn't struggling that hard any
longer, and David had his space legs. He knew how to fight in this
environment. It wasn't long before he had Dimock lying on the floor
at his feet, staring up at him, while David had one of his boots on
the floor holding him down, and one on Dimock's chest. And he had a
gun trained on his face.

He could see
his enemy gasping his last on the deck at his feet. It was a
miracle he was still alive actually, there being so many slugs in
his back, but for once it didn’t matter. He knew Dimock was not
going to survive for much longer. So did Dimock. He could see it in
the foetal position he was trying to adopt as he kept trying to
roll over on to his side, and hear it in the gasps coming from him.
In time when he rolled him back onto his back, he could see it in
his eyes. The shocked, almost hurt expression as he realized he was
injured. That someone had done him harm instead of the other way
around. But the old hatred still lived in David as well. And seeing
him lying there, suffering, it didn't go away. It grew stronger.
After all the people he'd seen Dimock do this same thing to and
then murder foully, it grew much stronger.

“You bastard.
I’m going to kill you.” The words were so quiet, squeezed out
between bubbly, bloody breaths that it took a few seconds for David
to realise he’d actually said anything. And when he finally
understood he just laughed. A bitter sound, made more terrible by
the fact that he should have killed him so long ago and hadn't.

“I don’t know
anything much about my family, so you could be right about my
origins. But I do know one thing shit head. I’m going to outlive
you. You’re never going to harm another person again. No more
murder. No more rape. No more eating people. You’re not coming back
from this. Ever.” Even as he spoke he rolled Dimock’s prostate form
all the way over on to his back, until he could stare him directly
in the eyes. See the fear growing in them.

“I'm a god. You
can't kill me.” But he was filled with fear as he said it,
something a god would never be.

“Haven't you
read Nietzsche? God is dead.”

“Please, no.”
Finally David heard the words he had ached to hear from his enemy,
for as long as he’d known him. A plea for mercy, as Dimock realised
he was doomed. There was no mercy in David. Not for him.

“Say hello to
all those poor souls you murdered on your way to hell.” Even as he
said it he watched Dimock’s eyes widen as he understood the
meaning. He watched him try to raise his arms, to protect himself
though even if they had worked it would have been futile, and
watched his mouth open as he tried to scream. It was all too late.
David raised the weapon one last time, pointed it directly at
Dimock’s frightened face from a distance of two feet, and with an
overwhelming feeling of gratitude for the chance to destroy this
putrid thing, squeezed the trigger.

He didn’t stop
firing until the second clip was empty and the hammer clicked on
nothing.

The resultant
puddle of plastic shards, titanium fragments, brains and blood
would live in his memory forever. It was not so much a triumph as a
relief. Part of him, the dark savage that had been hurt by him,
still wanted to shriek with triumph, but a far larger part just
wanted to fall to his knees and thank God for letting him finally
kill the monster. Until that moment when he saw his head explode,
David had still not been able to accept that Dimock was dying.
Somewhere in the back of his mind had been the horror that somehow
this foul disease that walked like a man would come back. But once
he had seen the fear in his eyes, heard it in his voice, seen his
head disintegrate, he knew his enemy was finally dead.

But he wasn’t
finished. Death wasn’t enough. Not with Dimock, and not with the
terribly advanced medicine of the Leinians. He had to make sure he
never returned to life. Not a single atom of him. Reaching into his
steel outer pocket he pulled out the portable respirator for the
Mentan which he tossed to him, and then the packet of molecular
acid he’d requested. Not to cut holes in doors as he’d claimed, but
rather to put Dimock beyond all hope of being healed. Or being
cloned. He was never coming back.

David sprinkled
the liquid carefully over the corpse, making sure not to spill any
on himself, and watched as small holes quickly started appearing in
his suit and then his skin underneath. Small holes which became
bloody and then grew larger as the acid mixed with Dimock’s own
blood, eating him from the inside out, while small puffs of vapour
were being given off. He was careful not to stand too close to them
as he knew the suit would only offer him minimal protection.

Whatever
concoction the Leinians had dreamed up for him, it was powerful
stuff. In five minutes, Dimock’s corpse was already starting to sag
as the suit collapsed in on itself and his bones dissolved. In ten
it was beginning to look like a puddle and the deck underneath was
beginning to sag. Soon he knew there wouldn’t be a single viable
cell of Dimock left. Not even a chance of making a clone, if they
could do such things.

As he stared at
the remains of his most terrible enemy, David knew that no matter
how advanced the medical science of the Leinians, Dimock was dead.
He could never come back from this. Could never attack him again.
Could never harm another innocent, or commit any of the
abominations he had so enjoyed. Finally David knew, he was free.
Too many were dead because he had failed to kill Dimock before, but
there would be no more. His duty was finally served. He hoped.

He stood over
the body for the longest time, not really doing anything except
trying to take in the impossible. That the evil monster known as
Dimock was dead. Finally. Years upon years of pain, fear and guilt
were slowly lifting from him as he watched Dimock’s acid laden
blood trickle slowly along the steel deck and cut channels into it.
More pain than he had ever even realised he carried. For so long
Dimock had been the nightmare of his life. The terror he knew when
he closed his eyes. The shame he felt when he opened them. No
longer.

He would have
stood there for many more long minutes more if sounds hadn’t made
themselves known that suggested that the Mentan, his other
prisoner, was starting to return to life. No doubt wondering if he
had to fear the same fate.