Dominant Species Part 23

St.i.tch had given the matter a fair bit of thought. "I'm betting it's a function of injury. The worse you're hurt, the longer it takes. Darcy went over an hour because she was torn all to h.e.l.l. Just about every system she had was shut down or in shock. One big hole," he chuffed, "h.e.l.l, ten minutes, maybe twenty."

Merlin shook his head slowly. "Yeah, but to have that s.h.i.t crawling all over you, all through you..." Revulsion tinged his voice.

St.i.tch wheezed, his breath gilded with pain. "Sometimes you reconsider your priorities, besides," he tapped one of the kits on his belt, "that's why G.o.d gave us narcotics. I didn't say anything about being awake. Screw that."

Though badly hurt and dog-tired, the Marines laughed, the senseless laugh of the d.a.m.ned that bubbled to the surface when dying no longer seemed like the worst of alternatives. Propped against one another, the two staggered into the curved hall that wrapped around the turbolift shaft. The door stood only yards away. They moved through piles of debris, like so many others scattered throughout the ship. But only one pile was smoking.

St.i.tch felt himself thrown forward as the ma.s.s of living wreckage erupted from the floor, blackened jaws gaped wide. The sickening crunch of steel echoed from behind as he slammed into the door. Bursts of light and pain starred his vision as he slid to the ground. Fumbling for a weapon and finding none, St.i.tch looked back and felt the bile rise in his throat.

Merlin was pinned beneath the charred and smoking hulk. The engineer's CAR lay in pieces, it's receiver crumpled into the wreckage of Merlin's left glove. The rest of Merlin's arm was clamped in the gnashing jaws.

Though badly wounded, Merlin slammed a punch into what should have been the creature's neck. The armored fist drove elbow-deep and a gout of dark fluid sprayed from the hole. Merlin yanked back with a scream, dragging a fistful of entrails.

In response, Jaws snapped at Merlin's right hip and found it's mark. The heavier armor held fast, but the joints gave way beneath tons of wrenching torque. Pieces of Merlin tore away as the beast shook him like an angry dog. An armor plate, one of several that bridged the curve from hip to ribs, sprang free and skittered across the hallway. Blood, dark and arterial, geysered from the broken right arm that flopped about like the limb of a crash-test dummy.

St.i.tch shoved aside the foam-wrapped beacon as he groped for his last grenade. Padding tore and the device slapped hard against the floor as St.i.tch pulled the explosive sphere.

His gaze fell on Merlin's b.l.o.o.d.y form. If not already dead, the grenade would certainly finish him. Me as well, St.i.tch realized as he keyed the release, a modern-day equivalent to pulling a cotter pin. A sick snarl pulled across his face as he looked at his friend.

You go, we go.

Without warning, Jaws froze. It's frame shifted bolt-upright as far as its mangled legs would allow. Bloodstained teeth glimmered obscenely and tiny bits of Merlin fell free as the angled blades slowly rasped one against another. The oversized mandible sucked back into it's skull.

St.i.tch watched in confusion, his fingers tight on the metal sphere.

With a drunken lurch the creature spun ninety degrees, the heavy legs trodding absently on Merlin as if he were a forgotten doormat. In abrupt, cyclic motions the creature hunkered down, then raised itself once more as if seeking a better vantage point.

St.i.tch let his eyes flash to either side. What the h.e.l.l is it looking at?

Lost in its sudden trance, the creature's rear quarter hovered motionless in front of St.i.tch, where the largest of it's wounds gaped invitingly. The broken outer sh.e.l.l presented a large, unmoving target. The medic drew back the grenade, determined to shove it as deeply into the beast as possible. The grenade would need only to leave his grasp to begin it's detonation cycle. Four seconds later it would fill the creature, and the hallway, with lethal shards.

On the floor, carbon-clad fingers rose from the pool of crimson. St.i.tch looked down to see Merlin moving amid the forest of mechanical legs. The broken Marine raised his hand even further, the open fingers extending towards St.i.tch.

Stunned, the medic looked at the beacon laying next to Merlin, at the orange light that blinked within the torn shroud of insulation. It took a full two seconds for St.i.tch to process the image. The tiny light flickered above the now-depressed fourth b.u.t.ton.

Its transmitting. His mind grappled with the notion, and somehow that thing is watching the broadcast.

Jaws took another tentative step, seemingly transfixed. It stumbled down the hallway towards the flame that burned in the distance.

St.i.tch slithered forward through combined efforts of an elbow and a knee. While his left hand reached out for Merlin, the grenade remained firmly clenched in his right.

Crossing what seemed an almost insurmountable divide, glove at last met glove in a firm grasp. St.i.tch rolled onto his back and shifted to heel and elbow as he dragged Merlin towards the turbolift. The blood-slick floor allowed the engineer to slide with little resistance. A thought flashed through the medic's mind and he looked down the hall towards the smoking heap.

Twelve meters, maybe a little more.

With a stiletto snap the climbing blade on his right arm levered out, rotating ninety degrees from the hand that clutched the grenade. St.i.tch reached back and drove the tip into the floor, wincing at the sound as his eyes flashed to Jaws.

The creature gave no sign of noticing. St.i.tch pulled with all his strength and the wicked point squealed as it etched a jagged furrow across the floor. He bore down harder and willed the blade to bite.

It did. With a heave of one of the few working limbs left between the two Marines, St.i.tch hauled himself backwards, dragging Merlin in his wake. He reached the closed doors and used the blade-tip once more to press the b.u.t.ton. He couldn't remember if the lift chimed on arrival and found himself praying that the electronic bells, if they existed, would fall among the ship's countless broken items.

The doors parted soundlessly and St.i.tch resumed his stab-and-pull pilgrimage. With each agonizing stroke, the medic's eyes were glued on the wide, dark shape that wobbled further and further down the hall.

Thunk.

The sound brought a jolt of alarm before St.i.tch realized that he had blindly stuck the blade into the back wall of the turbolift. He drew his body up against the wall as far as he could go and sighed as the doors began to close.

They just as suddenly reversed, their sensors noting the engineer's armored foot that stuck out into the hallway.

Dammit, St.i.tch hissed, as he struggled to pull Merlin into his lap. The engineer's torso slid up against St.i.tch, his back to the medic's chest like a drowning victim being hauled through the water. St.i.tch wrapped his left arm around Merlin's collarbones while his right reached out to hook the trailing leg.

The grenade in his grasp made that hand ineffective, but he was loathe to sacrifice their final weapon. St.i.tch took two clumsy swipes with his closed fist, hoping to bat Merlin's leg hard enough to clear the door. The abrupt motion caused both Marines to lurch and Merlin groaned.

The sharp clunk of metal against floor had little meaning, even less than the orange light on the box that now flickered slower and slower. With a descending whine the device shut down. Fear gripped his chest as St.i.tch looked down the hall.

Jaws shook its head as if jerked from a deep slumber. It looked in both directions before it turned fully around. Even in the streaks that divided the corridor into patches of light and shadow, St.i.tch could see the battery of mechanical eyes zoom and adjust, fixing on the open turbolift. The metal jaws burst from their fleshy encas.e.m.e.nt, still dripping with bits of shredded Marine. Backlit against a wall of fire, Jaws charged.

St.i.tch hurled the grenade into the creature's path, reaching forward from the end of the throw to clamp down on Merlin's knee-plate. His fingers curled over the forward edge and he yanked back fiercely. A full second pa.s.sed before the door sensors registered the movement and began to close.

"Two," he muttered.

The grenade hit Jaws on the shoulder and bounced off to the left.

"Three."

The doors slid shut, closing off the image of the beast that thundered in like a freight train. St.i.tch wrapped both arms around Merlin's chest.

Four.

CHAPTER 37.

Fog closed over the dark cube, masking the bubbles that rose to the pool's surface. Luminous coolant ran off his armor in sheets as Ridgeway pulled himself up over the skid's rail.

"Think it'll work Majah?"

The barge climbed as Ridgeway rolled onto the deck. "It'll have to."

In reality, Ridgeway knew that the decision was as much a lack of options as anything else. Submerging the cube in the lake would not conceal it for long, but Ridgeway knew that extended timeframes had ceased to matter. For the Marines, it had come down to now-or-nothing.

Light poured from the hull breach high above Papa-Six. As the skid closed in on the gaping hole, Ridgeway reeled off directions. "We still can't raise St.i.tch or Merlin. They should be somewhere along the straightest line from the Sphere to the Lobby. Taz, you find 'em and bring 'em here, double-time."

"Rojah that."

Ridgeway continued without a break. "Monster, you're at the base of the Tower. Anything moves inside and you let me know." The skid swerved, its demands for constant attention grew more petulant with every moment. Ridgeway cursed under his breath as he countered the imbalance.

"Once I drop you off," he continued, "I'll arm this b.i.t.c.h, send it up on autopilot and blow it as soon as it reaches the roof. I'll hold the perimeter until you make it back with the troops."

"But Majah, you can't stand off those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds by yourself."

Ridgeway leaned forward at the wheel. "This isn't up for a vote. You have your job so do it." The barge sc.r.a.ped against the side of the hull with a nails-on-chalkboard screech. Taz took two steps back and rocked his weight on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet, preparing for the running leap.

Ridgeway's hand closed on the Aussie's shoulder, his voice calm in the midst of crisis. "Get my team out of there Taz. I'm counting on you."

Taz paused for an instant. "I will Majah. Count on it." Then he took two running strides and launched himself from the skid. Taz cleared the twisted folds of ship skin and tumbled roughly across the grated floor beyond.

Monster stepped up to the launch point and extended a scarred gauntlet.

Ridgeway took his hand in a firm grasp. "We're not done here." he said quietly, "Not by a long shot."

"h.e.l.l I know that," Monster said with a dismissive air that belied his exhaustion. "I'll just stick with the pups to make sure they get along."

"You do that."

A cold chill flooded Ridgeway's heart as Monster turned to jump. The mangled armor, the Gatling all but empty. Survival rested on the man within the sh.e.l.l.

He watched as Monster leaped, falling far short of the Aussie's mark. He belly-flopped on a curved flap of hull skin and grabbed frantically for purchase. With just his right hand, Monster dragged himself over the crest and down to the deck beyond.

Ridgeway felt a moment of awe. Monster moved not like a collection of fractured bones and torn flesh, but like a man with a mission. The two figures set off across the catwalks to the distant Tower.

A rough shudder from the engine reminded Ridgeway that he could not afford to monitor their progress. With his own mission to accomplish, he pushed the prow of the skid into a right-hand slide and spiraled down to the lake.

He brought the vehicle to a hover less than a meter above the surface and punched the final codes to arm the Detonex charge. Tripping the autopilot to ACTIVE, he scooped up his rifle, knowing that only two grenades remained in the spent weapon. With a silent prayer on his lips he watched the flatbed rise to its rendezvous with incineration. The hope of every surviving Marine rose with it.

Tentacles of black smoke trailed the vehicle as it ascended, pouring through the panels that Taz had punched out of her underbelly. A violent cough echoed down from the engine within.

C'mon sweetheart, just a little further. Ridgeway willed the skid to rise as he glanced back at Papa-Six. In a few minutes the dark silhouettes of his Marines should begin to emerge from the sunken doorway. As if in response to his own thoughts, a blip on the TAC marked the first sign of movement.

Ridgeway gripped his rifle and looked up as the warning tone's scream overlapped the pulsing red bracket in a single neural flash.

The movement centered directly above him.

It looked like a hand falling from high on the hull, a hand the size of a tractor. The spider's outstretched limbs were spread like jointed sections of telephone pole as it slammed down on Ridgeway like an iron bomb.

The world exploded in a numbing crash of light and sound as Ridgeway was driven below the surface of the lake. Sapphire haze sloshed violently across his vision as the shockwave drove Ridgeway's tumbling form away from its epicenter.

A second wave pushed the Marine across sharp rock before he could regain his footing. Ma.s.sive mechanical legs churned the luminous coolant into froth. The creature was enraged, frantic, thrashing desperately through the fog. Ridgeway twisted away and dove back into the shallow liquid, desperate to buy separation.

When he surfaced, Ridgeway could see that the Spider had been injured in the fall. The stolen CAR clattered on the creature's shoulder, its barrel bent askew. Ridgeway's own rifle was lost, now somewhere on the bottom of the lake. The dense liquid concealed the weapon as well as it did the cube.

Only one priority burned in Ridgeway's mind. Blow the skid.

He spun his focus to the TAC and found nothing. Only a tiny treble buzz marked the system's demise. No TAC, no transmit. Ridgeway's fury and frustration boiled so fiercely that even the pain in his body was forgotten.

The Marine lunged to one side beneath a mammoth limb that swept overhead. The Spider drew itself upright, rising above the shimmering surface.

With three slogging strides Ridgeway launched himself into another shallow dive. His armored hands grabbed one jutting rock after another on the lake's floor until he slammed into a ma.s.s of metal.

On pure reflex, Ridgeway threw a powerful fist that crumpled steel on impact. He blinked rapidly in surprise before he realized that he had just punched a truck. At least the remains of a truck, lying battered and broken in a shallow lake.

Corroded metal crumbling in his grasp, Ridgeway clambered up the dead vehicle and over the driver's side of the cab. The door was gone and Ridgeway could see debris scattered throughout the gutted interior.

The lake erupted behind him with volcanic fury. Ridgeway tried to jump past the door but the pitted frame collapsed beneath his weight. He tumbled into the cab, bounced hard across the center console and tore away a line of half-eaten flatscreens on the dash.

The truck heaved violently amid a crushing bang and the din of ripping steel as the spider threw itself into the attack. Ridgeway thrashed in the cramped s.p.a.ce before a second lurch threw him down into the footwell as the rear of the truck pitched up dramatically.

Items tumbled into the cab through an open panel between the two seats. Rations in foil packages, wrenches and screwdrivers. Amid a bundle of oily rags and a small hydraulic jack, Ridgeway caught the flash of a black rubber grip that slid across the opening. A pistol grip.

The cab fell flat with a tooth-jarring slam as the sound of tearing metal was replaced by another violent thrashing in the lake. Something other than Ridgeway had grabbed the Spider's attention.

He was not about to question the diversion. Ridgeway hurled himself between the seats and fished wildly for what he prayed was a gun. Slithering madly, he forced his body further into the dark cabin until his gaze fell on the Thermalite.

Merlin's warning resurfaced as he shuffled through the c.r.a.p strewn in the darkness. Under a tangled wad of coveralls, his hand closed almost naturally on a textured rubber grip.

Shotgun, Ridgeway recognized with a measure of surprise, an old-fashioned pump. He pressed the release and half-pulled the slide. The red plastic case of a large-gauge sh.e.l.l sat nestled in the chamber. The word SABOT was stamped along the waist of the sh.e.l.l. Ridgeway looked at the tube. Seven rounds max, he thought, that's if the tube is full. He had no time to pump the rounds free and check.

Outside the cab, the wild flailing continued unabated. Cautiously, Ridgeway stuck his head up through the missing driver's door.

The Spider writhed in the lake, slapping its forelimbs madly in the coolant. One limb was disintegrating before Ridgeway's eyes, the metal foaming with grotesque effervescence.

The Marine looked back along the truck where he fixed on the barrel-sized drum that hung from the mangled frame. The cylinder, now crumpled and split, drizzled a stream of Hex. The word OVERFLOW could still be seen stenciled across its upper surface, just below the word WARNING.

"That's what you get for ignoring warning labels motherf.u.c.ker." Ridgeway muttered the words with a malicious snarl as he raised the shotgun. The cl.u.s.ter of camera-like eyes seemed his best target. If he didn't kill it, he could at least try to blind it. Ridgeway drew careful aim at one of the bobbing red orbs and fired.

A tongue of muzzle flame licked from the barrel and the gla.s.s sphere exploded from the Spider's skull in a cloud of glittering fragments. Ridgeway fired three more rounds in rapid succession, punching one fist-sized hole after another through the creature's whiplashed cranium.

The Spider pitched forward and collapsed into the lake. Ridgeway tracked its fall with the shotgun, wary of a feint. Without waiting for motion, he hammered two more rounds down the creature's centerline, starting at what he took for the base of its skull.

Ridgeway paused, breathing heavily. A ragged sound echoed from high above.

The skid wobbled badly as the auto-pilot fought to maintain its programmed location, but the slow death of the engine took a toll. The computer was not designed to compensate for such wild surges in power and the skid slammed into the stone ceiling with a screech. Bits of the bow ramp broke off and fell to the lake.

Ridgeway slapped the side of his helmet as he struggled to re-boot the TAC, but the system doggedly refused. He looked desperately for a way to trigger the Detonex before the skid lost power. He considered the shotgun in his hands and weighed the odds of throwing one round through the missing floor plate to hit the charge inside.

One in a million shot, Ridgeway thought, something even Darcy would have been loathe to try. If he hit the engine instead, the skid would fall out of the air and slam into the lake. The shock would likely set off the charge, unleashing the fury of a gravitic core breach in Ridgeway's face instead of against the ceiling.

Bad idea, Ridgeway told himself, but he had no other.

Bracing as firmly as he could atop the crumbled truck, Ridgeway raised the shotgun's muzzle. He pushed his vision as hard as the optics would allow and peered into the choking smoke, hoping to find a flat disk inside a bucking, veering hole.

One in a million my a.s.s, he chided his own audacity, more like one in a billion.