Relic Tech (Crax War Chronicles) (52 page)

“Acknowledged. Targeting. Automatic launch when in range.”

“Have located a tropical storm system,” said Odthe. “That will be our landing zone.”

“If we make it,” said the dorsal turret. “Tracking sixteen fighters on approach. All standard colonial defense models.”

“Okay, team. Guerrero, ID their frequency. I’ll transmit a message to them, then jam their communications. We’ll blow through and make a run for the planet.”

“Frequency identified and locked in. Jamming pod standing by.”

“Approaching fighter squadron,” Odthe announced. “Crax vessels have encroached on human space. We escaped Zeta Aquarius. It was under attack by a large Crax fleet. Cooperation with the enemy is treason. Break off and stand down.”

“Jamming pod active,” said Guerrero.

“In maximum range for our weapons,” said Shiffrah. “None have broken formation.”

I said, “They’ve sent up their loyalists.”

“Approaching their maximum range,” Shiffrah warned.

“Burn’em,” Pilot Odthe ordered.

“Keesay, you start from the left. I’ll start from the right.”

She opened fire before I replied, “Understood.”

I’d critically damaged one and destroyed a second when they opened fire with pulse lasers and 20 mm cannon fire. I damaged one more and Shiffrah finished her fourth when the turret warning light flashed. My seat ejected into the main shuttle and a safety door slammed shut.

“Ventral turret destroyed,” I called, catching my breath.

“Jamming pod inoperative,” called Guerrero. “Hull breach in forward engineering.”

“We’ve blown through,” said Pilot Odthe.

“Good armor for an espio—I mean exploration shuttle,” I commented.

“They’re turning to pursue,” said Guerrero.

“They’ve had their noses bloodied,” said Pilot Odthe. “Dorsal gunner, keep them off. Once we’re in the atmosphere we can lose them.”

“Should be easy enough,” Shiffrah said. “My guns have better range.” She was correct. None of the surviving eight showed interest in charging up our six.

The shuttle’s continued acceleration provided enough gravity to permit easy movement forward. I joined the Chicher at the meeting table. We signed, “Greetings,” before I strapped into a chair and accessed the system. He continued to collect data on transmissions.

“Pilot, look at this,” said Guerrero.

“That’s a Behemoth class transport,” he replied. “Wonder what it’s doing here?”

“Take a look at what’s unloading and guess,” said the communications specialist.

“Somebody’s in this deep,” Odthe said. “Download this recording. For this I’ll risk our last message rocket.”

“What’s so interesting?” asked McAllister.

“Our friends at CGIG are transporting Crax frigates,” Odthe said. “ETA to atmosphere, two minutes.”

“Intruding shuttle, this is Research Command.” The voice could have been synthetically generated. “You are in violation of corporate and governmental law. This is a level-one quarantine planet. We have the authority to destroy you if you continue approach and establish orbit.”

“Research Command,” replied our team leader. “You have already fired on us, and failed in your objective. If you have any yellow neckties down there, you might query them. What might the penalty be for rendering assistance and harboring the enemy of Earth and her colonies?”

“Negative, invading shuttle. You opened fire first.”

“Simply enforcing the law. Check with your legal team. Shuttle out.”

“Crax frigate clear of the transport,” warned Guerrero.

“McAllister,” called Odthe. “Estimation on how long it’ll take that Crax frigate to cold start her engines?”

“During the Silicate War, standard Crax frigates required an estimated twenty-four minutes. Their design may have improved.”

“They may have been prepping since our arrival,” I added.

“Shiffrah,” called Odthe. “Prepare to engage fighters. I’m coming about.”

“What?” questioned McAllister.

“Calculated risk. More fighters we eliminate, the fewer available to search for us planetside. Now monitor those engines.”

I held on as the
Bloodhound
turned. “Jettison message rocket.”

“Rocket jettisoned,” said Guerrero.

“Keep on them,” said Odthe.

I watched on monitor as Shiffrah took out two, then three. Another limped away.

“Coming about,” said Odthe. “That Crax’ll fire her engines any moment.”

“Five fighters remain intact,” Shiffrah said. “Three of those damaged.”

Guerrero warned, “Crax frigate firing up engines.”

“Not fast enough, team. We’ll make it. Find a nice ocean to hide under.”

“Fighters intercepted and destroyed second message rocket.”

“That’s okay, Guerrero. Our first is long gone.”

“Kill rockets launching.”

“More good news,” said Odthe. “That should yank a warp cord in their shorts. Wager they don’t have replacements.”

“Crax moving to intercept,” said Guerrero.

“We have the planet on our side. Brace for atmospheric entry.”

The
Bloodhound
rocked. “Hull temperature rising,” said Guerrero. “Increased friction due to hull damage.” Shuttle vibrations increased.

“Have to go in fast or that Crax will get a shot at us.”

“Forward hull temperature increasing beyond safety parameter.”

“Firing braking thrusters,” called Odthe. “Hang on.”

I jerked forward, not realizing how much difference an energized gravity plate made.

“Heading into a tropical storm,” Pilot Odthe said. “We’d better set her down for inspection before submerging.”

“Warning lights on port engine,” called McAllister. “Recommend shutdown.”

“Acknowledged. Shutting down. Continue to monitor.”

We survived a rough ride to the surface and landed with a
thump
. Pilot Odthe climbed from the cockpit. “Keesay, with me.”

I followed him to the exit ramp. “Wicked storm out there,” I said.

“Here.” He handed me a nylon line. “Secure yourself with this.” As soon as I did, he opened the hatch and signaled to follow him out.

The wind whipped rain into my face. “What are we looking for?” I yelled.

“Hull damage.” Odthe struggled to read his portable scanner through the downpour.

I staggered around the front with him. “Not good.” He pointed. Several 8-inch diameter holes marred the lower shuttle nose. He adjusted his scanning device. “Lift me up.” I locked my hands’ fingers, forming a step. Pilot Odthe stepped up and kept his balance despite the battering gale. “Damn, radiation,” he yelled before hopping down and tugging my line. “Let’s get inside.” We did.

I leaned back to avoid dripping on the table. Pilot Odthe didn’t. His shuttle.

“Team, we have a serious problem.” He didn’t close his eyes, but instead met each face. “The cascading engine containment has a hairline fracture. It’s leaking radiation. While the amount isn’t lethal outside the shuttle for short periods, it’s a beacon announcing our location.” He leaned back. “The Crax frigate should be able to locate us within hours.”

“That’s if they know what to look for,” said McAllister.

“Their surviving fighters will have recorded damage to our nose,” Shiffrah said.

“It is unlikely they’ll approach until this storm abates,” said Pilot Odthe. “Dr. Shiffrah, any additional precautions we should take?”

“Atmospheric readings indicate habitable. At this latitude, moderate temperature and an abundance of plant life, similar to Earth. As far as the potential latent bio-weapon? Our chances are better down here than up there.”

“Does anybody have anything else to add?”

The Chicher diplomat stood. “Not burrow from hawk. Raid enemy pack. Snatch ship.”

Pilot Odthe nodded. “Thank you. The suggestion has merit. Anybody else?” No one spoke up. “Team, how are we doing on their codes?”

“Not enough time to tell,” said McAllister. Guerrero nodded and the Chicher signaled, “Agreement.”

“Final input?” No one made any additional suggestions. “Okay. Give me five minutes.”

We all departed the meeting area. Skids followed me down to the lower deck. “What’s all that rain like outside?”

“Kind of like being sprayed with a fire hose. Hard to see. So windy, hard to stand.”

“I’ve never been in a storm like that.” His eyes widened in anticipation. “Think we’ll get to go out in it?”

“I hope not, Skids. My coveralls are moisture repellant, but some got in. It’s uncomfortable.” He frowned. “What do you say we go to the dorsal turret and watch the storm?”

“There’s only room for one, Specialist.”

“I’ve seen enough of the storm,” I said, leading him aft. He sat on my shoulders while looking out and started asking questions about rain, clouds, and wind until Pilot Odthe called us back.

“Team, we’re going to split up.” He didn’t wait for comments. “The LLTV is designed for four, but five, with a smaller passenger could get by.” He pointed. “Skids, you’ll go along with Guerrero, McAllister, Keesay and Shiffrah. The Chicher and I will remain with the
Bloodhound III
.”

“What is the plan?” asked Dr. Shiffrah.

Pilot Odthe closed his eyes and pressed fingers. “You five will work your way towards the research station. Break their codes along the way. Learn what you can. Guerrero should be able to handle that. If anything breaks or Guerrero needs assistance, McAllister. Shiffrah, your expertise will be needed should there be an issue with microbes. Namely, any residual strains from biological warfare. Keesay, you seem to be able to handle yourself in a fight, and there’s a good chance your skills will be needed.” He opened his eyes and stared at Skids. “Young man, I’ve no idea as to your identity. But you’re knowledgeable and brave. They’ll need your assistance.”

He allowed time for the Chicher’s translator to catch up. “Diplomat, you and I will stick with the
Bloodhound
. Move around. Keep them off balance. You’ll assist with the decryption efforts here and man the dorsal turret if needed.” He leaned back. “We don’t want to know anything of your plans other than what I’ve outlined.”

“In case you’re captured?” Guerrero asked. By the expression on her face she already knew the answer.

“Affirmative. I suggest you get packing while I instruct the Chicher in turret gunnery.”

Two hours later we’d selected and stowed gear in and on the LLTV. The storm was letting up. We’d decided to travel along the ocean, using it and terrain for cover. The LLTV could submerge. It couldn’t supply oxygen for long, but had snorkeling ability. About 1400 miles to the research station.

Pilot Odthe called one last meeting. “Team, storm’s abated. Time to move. Keesay, I’m putting you in charge of the LLTV team. You think fast on your feet and that’s the most important quality in a leader. Dr. Shiffrah, you’re second. Any questions?”

I saw McAllister holding back. Too bad.

Pilot Odthe offered his hand. “Specialist, good luck.”

“Same to you, Pilot.” We shook hands even though we both knew his fate was to be hunted, ending in death. Capture might be part of the equation, leading to the same result by way of interrogation and torture.

“Better get your team moving. I’ll need to consult with Dr. Shiffrah a moment.” He’d already said his goodbye with Guerrero.

I looked around and slung my shotgun. “Engineer McAllister, assist Guerrero deploying the LLTV. She’s driving. Skids, you double-check to make sure everything is locked down.” I strode down the ramp before McAllister could complain. The Chicher followed.

We stood in the stiff breeze off the ocean that brought in the salty air. It also carried the remaining clouds inland, away from the gritty beach that ran into the rough surf fifty yards away. “Security Man, different trails. Still surrogate pack member.”

“Agreed. We will fence and play dominoes again.”

“No. Pilot Leader and I will nest and run until cornered.”

I offered my hand. “Chicher Diplomat, you never know. Us R-Techs are tough to kill.” I craned my neck to view the front of the exploration shuttle. “Let’s get moving,” I yelled. “Radiation won’t do us any good.”

Two shadows shot from the cliffs and sped out over the ocean.

“Fighter’s, two!” I shouted. “Get that LLTV clear.” Into my com-set I called, “Pilot, we’ve got fighters.”

The
Bloodhound
’s dorsal turret spun to life. The shuttle ramp retracted and the hatch slammed shut. The LLTV deployment platform elevated. I was three steps behind the Chicher, dashing for a rock outcropping.

The pair of fighters, one Crax the other human turned and accelerated in on the deck. I pulled my revolver and ejected the hollow point rounds and loaded armor piercing. The thudding roar of pulse laser and cannon fire mixed with the sizzling impact of corrosive pellets.

The
Bloodhound
’s engines sputtered. The Crax was on target and its corrosive chewed into the shuttle’s rear. Pulse lasers tore at the beach, raked into the nose, and erupted up the cliff face.