Dallas flicked a switch he’d used only once before this, and the sword slid silently out of the Galatine’s forearm, looking even more deadly in the dim light of the jungle.
The creature twitched slightly as they approached, making Dallas flinch in his seat. “Sir? Cowboy?” Jue said, “If I may make a suggestion? There seems to be more heat generated on my scanner from a point on the far side of the salvage ship.”
“You think that’s the thing’s heart?”
“Perhaps, whatever it uses as a heart. Or maybe a brain? It’s likely important no matter what it is.”
“Then away I go, to interrupt this thing’s last meal. Let me get my own scanners on- there. They’d been off since our last fight. Ju-Jill, keep your weapons trained on it. I don’t think it’s used to being interrupted at a meal, so we have that going for us. When I stab, I’ll yell and you unleash your own little hells on it. Understood?”
“Yes, Cowboy. We are…rodeo?”
“Uh- yeah. Good job. Needs a little work, but you’ve got the idea.”
#
“Fay!” Moreded shouted at the ceiling, “What in the Nine Hells is going on now?”
“Prime Authority Moreded, it would appear that the rebels have achieved another degree of sabotage.”
“What did they do this time?”
“It’s not a question of what, Prime Authority Moreded. As I said, it’s a question of degree. It would seem that the rebels managed to capitalize on damage to the climate shield that keeps our colony fortress town from freezing over each night as the temperature drops.”
“What? Blast. Is the shield up now?”
“Yes, Prime Authority. Thanks to the rebels.”
Moreded wrinkled his forehead. “What?” he said quietly.
“The shield appeared to flicker out of commission due an error on the part of your new engineering team, which consists primarily of first-year engineering and physics students.”
“Where are my actual engineers?”
“Prime Authority, they have largely defected to the rebel side, having followed the example of most of your gendarmes. The posted underground vids of the Morgan brothers have made defection the fashionable thing to do, something that all of the intelligent, attractive and able people ought to do as a normal matter of course given the circumstance.”
Moreded slid a shaking hand down over his face, stretching it into a comical, clownlike parody of itself in front of his mirror. “If the engineering team messed this up, why did you say this was sabotage, Fay? I don’t have time to play these games!”
“The Morgan brothers dispatched their own team of experienced engineers who defected to their side. The team repaired the error and then disappeared before anyone even thought to call the new teams of law-enforcers to arrest them.”
Moreded sat down and stared out the window. “So, my own teams failed, and it took the boys of house Morgan to save us?
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Yes sir. Their act of altruism has further sabotaged your standing among the people of the New Avalon colony. The success is being broadcast rather frequently, and the majority of the people hold the belief that the current administration is incapable of protecting them from the elements, or other threats.”
“Really, now?” Moreded said, his voice a whisper. He looked around his opulent bedchamber; the curtains above his bed, the picture of his late father and mother hanging over the doorway. The length of his father’s beard, showing his elevated status and significant holdings in the colony, which he was proud to show any who asked, if they wanted evidence to justify his beard length…
“Fai?” Moreded said in a small voice, “how many remain of House Moreded?”
“Legitimate or illegitimate members, Prime Authority Moreded?”
“Legitimate, Fay. I don’t want to start looking at the results of my Father’s and Uncles’ dalliances just yet.”
“None remain, Prime Authority. All have perished either of old age on other worlds, or here on New Avalon under circumstances that have never been fully explained. You may recall: The most significant of these oddly circumstantial deaths were those of your own parents, which propelled you to headship of the House of Mor-”
“I know about that, Fay. Fine. Locate as many of my half-brothers and sisters as possible, and deliver their contact information to me.”
“Yes, Prime Authority. That information should be available in your info-hopper in the next five to seven minutes. Will that be sufficient?”
“Yes, Fay,” Moreded said, his voice still tired.
Father, he thought to himself, you taught me power was its own reward in our games of chess. But you never thought to teach me not to eliminate pawns so quickly, or how becoming the King on the board could quickly become a very different game, if all the other pieces had been sacrificed in the process.
#
Dallas was fighting in the dark.
The creature’s attack consisted of a lightning-fast strike that enveloped its prey, and Dallas’ approach had made him next on the menu. His sword was out, but in an eyeblink the thing had twitched, leapt, and struck.
Suddenly, Dallas’ world was all darkness and screaming sirens, as whatever the thing’s method of damage began working on the exterior of the Galatine, and her systems instantly began shouting in a cacophony of damage reports and red alerts.
Remember, Dallas thought instantly, keep your head. The warmech’s right arm was immobilized, strapped tight to the side of its torso. But the sword was extended…
“All laser cannons, fire! Sword retract-extend! Retract, extend! Repeat until command terminated!” he said in a stern voice, hoping whatever damage the thing was doing hadn’t shorted out the verbal-command parsing equipment. “Jue, lasers only! If you can hear me, fire your-”
The sound of cooking meat reached his ears. The ‘mech began to shudder as the cloak of alien flesh enveloping it began to heave, contract and loosen- maybe trying to crush him? His sword hummed as it slid in and out of its arm sheath, making the creature enveloping him shudder more each time.
And the entire drama was being played out in absolute silence. Dallas couldn’t hear anything outside of his cockpit- no sounds of gears grinding, hydraulics pumping, radio voices from other mechs, nothing but the quiet rush of the dark thing that had enveloped him like a thick, smothering blanket.
And then it was over.
A seam opened up suddenly in the darkness. It widened and fell apart, steam flowing from the sides of the seam as it let in first the light and then the outside world.
Dallas looked. Jue’s scout ‘mech was standing in place, its comparatively smaller lasers emitting steam curls of their own as they cooled down from their recent barrage. Ironically, the design of the mech looked like a mechanical version of an animal skull with robotic legs, with Jue’s pilot seat in the ‘mouth’ of the mech, and the small laser cannons held up as its ‘eyes’ stared at Dallas with a look that almost said ‘who, me?’
Dallas looked at Jue’s machine for only a second, then turned the Galantine towards the ship. “Salvage,” he said, “are you alright? Status report!”
“Sir,” said a voice he didn’t recognize, “we’re a little banged up. The thing tried using some kind of acid on us, but I think it’d never tried eating metal before! We got hurt worse in the crash than we did from the-”
“Good to hear, Salvage. Can you get the XO on the line?”
There was a pause.
“Repeat,” Dallas said, “Salvage, is the XO available?”
“Sir,” said the voice on the line, “the XO, he’s…he’s hurt, sir. I think it’s bad.”
TO BE CONTINUED....