Dominant Species (28 page)

As a major piece of Tier Two crumbled, a huge crack zigzagged its way up the wall like inverted lightning. All around the Island, hot metal met liquid nitrogen in furious bursts of steam. Severed power lines convulsed on the floor, unleashing blue-white arcs of voltage that rippled through the haze.

* * *

High overhead, Taz clung by one hand to the lip of the balcony, swinging like a pendulum over a boiling sea of fog and lightning. The edges of burned rail still glowed cherry-red. Only feet below, the Torch hung, its limbs flailed madly. The left side of its torso yawned open, drooling fluids in thick, lumpy streams.

The cutting-tool arm swung aimlessly, held on by little more than lingering bands of sinew and cable. Taz flinched as it caromed off the wall in another burst of sparks and molten metal.

A heavy limb swiped at the Marine, metal claspers snapping. Taz cursed and kicked viciously as he struggled to maintain a grip on the ledge. Pounding footsteps beat heavily through his hand as something closed from above.

Pain flared as the creature clamped down on his ankle. Sudden weight yanked brutally downward and Taz felt his fingers tear through failing metal. A sick sense of acceleration blurred the dim screech of metal sliding on metal.

The whiplash shock tore at Taz' shoulder, arresting his descent too suddenly for the burden below to maintain its grip. In a slow-motion flurry of limbs the Torch peeled away. The blazing light orbited the plummeting mass, a comet caught in the gravity of a falling star.

With a terrible crash, the Torch slammed into the moat of liquid nitrogen. Searing heat hit extreme cold in a volcano of steam and fragments. The angry crackle of voltage rip-sawed through the rapidly closing fog. In an instant, only a column of steam marked the creature's demise.

Taz blinked, his breath coming in rapid, shallow gasps. He snapped his eyes up to the scarred gauntlet clamped tightly over his own.

"Bloody good timing mate." Taz hissed through gritted teeth.

Stitch only grunted. Taz could see the tip of the medic's climbing spike where it had punched completely through the balcony floor. The medic groaned again, more forcefully, as he heaved upward and drew Taz within reach of the ledge. The damaged Tier sagged downward with a dull metallic moan.

"For crying out loud," Stitch snarled as the floor gave another lurch, "how much do you weigh?"

Not me, Taz realized, as a dark shape rose to loom up behind the medic. Before he could cry out a warning, a curved pickaxe spike slammed down on Stitch's thigh. The blade-tip drove through to the floor in a burst of scarlet.

* * *

The scream reached Merlin's ears, the first clear sound he could discern after the thunder of collapsing steel. Twisted rubble and dust surrounded him. Monster was nowhere in sight.

Pneumatic whine, the heavy clank of metal on metal. Merlin couldn't fully process the meaning. Something coming, he realized dimly, something bad.

The crustacean silhouette emerged from the haze hauling a six-barreled gun nearly as big as a footlocker. The weapon glowed brightly as the powerful arm extended.

Merlin's legs drove out like pistons as a silver blur hummed through the air. The spike struck a glancing blow against his outstretched arm. It felt like he'd been belted with a baseball bat.

"Shit!" Merlin spat as he skidded face-down across a shale of loose debris. The brutal impact had cracked the armor on his forearm. Given the degree of pain, he was certain the arm within had broken as well.

Cradling the injured arm against his chest, Merlin did a one-handed lunge across the piled debris, looking frantically for his rifle. Industrial rubble covered everything in sight.

Think, think-- need a weapon. Merlin's gaze feverishly swept the area.

Sixgun advanced through the dust, dragging its ponderous form along a broken slab of floor. Several crushed limbs trailed limply, hemorrhaging dark gouts that smeared in its wake. The heavy gun rocked up towards the ceiling and clattered through another rotation.

Merlin's hand closed on a grenade and stalled-- Monster had to be somewhere in the pile of rubble. A frag grenade could kill the Gunny as easily as the creature. Dammit, not an option. His hand flexed open.

Sixgun staggered badly. One bleeding limb braced against the slope as it weaved drunkenly. The oblong shape of the spike-thrower rose, a dark shadow against the towering rails of the crane.

Merlin's eyes flashed high overhead. Racing the fraying edge of panic, he launched himself at the console.

Be running, please be running.

The dim aura of a computer screen glowed beneath the dust. Merlin swiped at the display with his arm, the hard-edged armor doing a piss-poor job of wiping it clear. In a flurry of keystrokes he toggled the system to active.

Far overhead, servos whined. The lift assembly spun ninety degrees, three heavy blades pitched down towards the floor.

Loose debris continued to shift beneath its weight, but Sixgun leveled the massive weapon. From Merlin's perspective, the wide barrels gaped like railroad tunnels. With a feverish slam of his hand, he punched the release and spun towards the crippled beast.

"Eat this, motherfu--" The defiant curse froze in his throat as the giant trident hung motionless at the top of the room. Merlin didn't need the warning buzzer or the words SAFETY LOCKS ENGAGED pulsing on the screen to know he was screwed.

Oh shit.

The sound of gunfire hit Merlin's senses before the spray of gore shot skyward. Sixgun twitched violently as it disintegrated in a bloody fountain. Relentless muzzle flame vented up from the rubble at its feet amid the high pitched scream of a Gatling gun.

Merlin exhaled in a burst of pent-up air as one hand groped reflexively across his own chest for the spike that had never fired.

* * *

Ridgeway heard the Gatling howl below but had no time to look. The beast on top of Stitch demanded his full attention. More symmetric than the others, it had the look of a thick, powerful spider sculpted from scrap metal. At a dead run, Ridgeway fired another long burst, trying to drive the thing back into the breached wall.

Taz reached back and drew a short-barreled magnum pistol. Ridgeway could see the hanging Marine brace the pistol on top of Stitch's helmet and pump five rounds into the creature's low slung jaw. The heavy slugs whiplashed the creature's skull. It tore the pickaxe free in response, and raised the bloody pike above the medic's outstretched arm.

A blur of fire streaked past the creature's head, covalent rounds that splattered burnt metal as they slammed into the wall. The Spider's head snapped left and a cluster of half-orb eyes flared malevolently at Ridgeway. Sections of shattered jawbone swung lazily on bits of wire or skin, giving the creature a hideous, gaping overbite.

Ridgeway tracked in on the eyes, squeezing the trigger as the reticle pulled a slight lead on the turning skull.

In a sudden lurch the Spider vanished into the torn wall, chased by tracer-streaks of gunfire. Ridgeway skidded to a halt at the mouth of the breach and fanned another long burst into the darkness.

Rifle at his shoulder, Ridgeway scanned the void. Only erratic bangs and the shriek of bending metal receded into the distance.

A groan at his feet grabbed Ridgeway's attention as Taz hauled himself up onto the mangled ledge. Ridgeway grabbed the back of the Marine's collar and heaved him the final distance to safety.

"Thanks Majah," Taz wheezed breathlessly. "I was just about to kick his bloody arse."

Ridgeway half nodded at the Aussie's bluster; the ability to crack a joke meant that Taz would likely survive. The more pressing concern was Stitch. Ridgeway quickly surveyed the damage.

The puncture-wound in the medic's armor was square in cross-section, nearly two centimeters across. The pickaxe had struck the back of his thigh, just outside of center. Although the gelpack had constricted automatically, Stitch looked to have lost a good deal of blood at the onset of injury.

If he could take any measure of consolation, Ridgeway noted, the medic's unbroken stream of profanity confirmed that Stitch had fight left in him.

Ridgeway dragged Stitch away from the edge of the tier and helped him to sit up against a solid piece of wall. Stitch leaned forward and sucked for air, the hiss of every breath audible on the ComLink.

"Mostly muscle," Stitch spat, scanning his own diagnostic. "Nicked the femur, missed the femoral." The medic struggled to continue as the painkillers hit his system, but the commentary quickly eroded.

"M'okay." Stitch muttered weakly as he rocked his head back against the wall. "G'wan," he slurred, "check th' rest."

Ridgeway watched the medic's vitals pulse solidly on the TAC until Taz flopped down, breathing hard, and draped an arm across Stitch's shoulder. "I got him Majah, he ain't goin' anywhere."

Hardly fooled by the Aussie's weak bravado, Ridgeway quickly scanned his injuries as well; dislocated shoulder, stress cracks in the pelvis.

He nodded solemnly before he turned to the center of the room and peered through the broken rail. Amid the settling haze he could see Merlin drag Monster out from beneath a pile of rubble.

"You two all right down there?"

Merlin looked up and waved weakly. "I think Monster busted a--"

"We're fine." Monster snarled angrily.

Ridgeway could see from Monster's unsteady rise that the sergeant was anything but fine. The big man's left shoulder drooped noticeably.

As though reading Ridgeway's mind, Monster pulled himself fully upright and braced his left hand on his hip, forcing the shoulder into position. "I said," his gravel voice paused for emphasis, "we're fine."

Ridgeway nodded wordlessly, knowing that argument was pointless. Monster would be fine until Monster was dead, with no grey zone in between.

In a typical move that blended diversion with genuine concern, Monster turned the focus to his men. "How's Stitch and Taz?"

"Better'n you," Stitch growled as he climbed to his feet, Taz under his left arm. "Wanna arm-wrestle?"

With a short laugh that sounded more like a cough, Monster waved off the challenge with his right hand. "Nah," he replied with a suppressed groan. "But I'll kick your ass in a footrace."

A soft grin tugged at Ridgeway's lip. As long as you got heart, he recited from the book of Grissom, you've got a chance. As he quietly regarded his haggard team, Ridgeway tried to put that chance into definable terms.

His Marines were alive, at least the ones he could see. Darcy was a question mark but with no mayday call, Ridgeway had to hope for the best. Several enemies had been engaged, leaving two dead and at least one wounded. The latter was no small achievement. The aliens, or whatever the hell they were, were big, mean and damn tough. The Marines had burned a lot of ammo, for which he had no re-supply. The combination of attrition and injury was relentless. Time was running out.

"Merlin," he barked. "Where'd they go?"

The engineer had steered Monster to a spot clear of rubble, where the big sergeant now leaned against a rack of monitors that had survived the collapse. At Ridgeway's query, Merlin turned to the main console. "I'm on it boss."

"Find ‘em Merlin, we can't lose them."

"Roger that." Merlin's fingers flew across the keys. His response came back in moments. "I got nothing Major."

Ridgeway's fist closed fiercely and bent the railing in his grasp. "Dammit Merlin, it's as big as a fucking car, how the hell do you lose--"

A female voice interrupted. "I'm on ‘em, Major."

Ridgeway stopped short, the sound of Darcy's voice more surprising than the content of her terse report. The sniper's tone was cold as ice.

"Darcy! Where are you?"

"Out in the cave. While you guys were duking it out, the bad guy's Team B snatched Jenner and hauled ass. I got a shot off at one before they dropped behind cover."

A cold sickness crept into Ridgeway's gut. "Tell me you saw where they went."

"Damn straight Major," Darcy replied, "I'm looking at the back door."

Ridgeway closed his eyes and exhaled, head tilting back as he spoke. "Good job Darce, good job."

For a long moment Ridgeway stood silent as the faint glimmer of hope grew within him. They had a doorway out. But the door would likely be guarded and that meant another fight. He looked down at the Marines huddled on the Island.

"Last play." Ridgeway's voice was thick with conviction and fatigue. "This one is for all the marbles. If we die, everything we've learned dies with us. We're gonna take that door and anything, I mean anything, that so much as twitches in our direction gets toasted. Do you read me?"

Before anyone could answer, a low rumble surged through the floor. The mountain of debris on the Island shifted, cracking apart into rough landslides of wreckage as the Ram struggled from where it had lain buried. Black fluid streamed from its cracked outer shell as it dragged itself across the still-smoking corpse of Sixgun.

A sharp, descending whine cut through the air as the crane dropped like a guillotine. Three steel blades slammed through the Ram's torso before the lifting arm followed suit, driving the creature through the floor and out of sight.