Relic Tech (Crax War Chronicles) (53 page)

“Engineering’s gone!” I said. Rocks and debris rained down on the shuttle. I pointed to the north. “Dorsal turret, on your six, circling toward three for another pass.”

“Thanks, Keesay,” called Shiffrah and rotated her turret to engage. “System’s down. I’m manual.” She engaged at long range.

Pilot Odthe dropped from the emergency hatch, toting a heavy-duty laser and tripod. A power cable trailed behind. “Keesay, get your team out of here!”

“Guerrero, go north,” I said. “Will follow on foot.”

“Negative,” called McAllister. “Preparing to engage.”

“Your pulse laser won’t punch through,” I said.

“We’ve got tracking,” said McAllister. “Enough hits will.”

“You don’t have the energy reserves. Even I know that!”

“
Bloodhound
is jamming, Keesay. If we don’t take them out now, they’ll be all over us.”

“Agreed,” I said. The Chicher’s chatter transformed to a shrill clicking. “I agree with that, too.” They were coming about again. I rested my arm on a rock, estimated lead and waited.

Lasers and caustic pellets crossed long before I could take my shot. Shiffrah focused on the Crax. Odthe and McAllister fired on the colony fighter. I prepared to combine my feeble firepower with theirs.

The colony-grade fighter broke apart on approach. The Crax fighter absorbed one hit from Shiffrah before popping up to release a rocket from its belly. “Incoming,” I yelled, and pulled the Chicher down with me. The concussion hammered us against the sand.
I struggled to breathe in. Finally, breath came. I said to the recovering Chicher. “Crax don’t bomb with explosives.”

The rocket had penetrated the
Bloodhound
’s hull before exploding. What was left resembled a blackened canister, jaggedly split across the center. I leapt from the rocky concealment and ran to Pilot Odthe. He’d been thrown twenty feet. I didn’t bother checking his broken body for a pulse.

The Chicher had already reset the tripod and was struggling to lift the heavy laser despite the severed power cable. I hefted it in place and checked the power reserve. I held up two fingers and said, “Two blasts.”

He signaled, “Understood,” and swung the weapon away from the smoking wreck and into the ocean breeze.

I adjusted my headset and called, “McAllister, report.”

“Thought you were dead, Keesay. We’ll swing back for you. Only enough power for a few weak bursts.”

I reached into my breast pocket. “Swing back this way. Provide a moving target. Fire if you want, but don’t pick us up.”

“What?”

“I’ve got an idea.”

“This ought to be good.”

“It will be,” I said. “Shut down and secure all vulnerable electronics equipment you can.”

“Why?”

“Just do it, now. Here he comes.” I deactivated my com-set and set it on secure mode.

I loaded one of my disguised shells, estimated the wind, stepped twenty paces from the Chicher, and held my shotgun at a thirty degree angle. The Crax swung around and again raced in on the deck. I pulled the trigger before anyone else opened fire. The shell’s rocket assist knocked me back.

Pellets raced toward the LLTV. The vehicle spun around, throwing sand as it evaded. The Chicher opened up just before McAllister did. All missed. Any time, I prayed.

A concussion of water erupted one hundred yards ahead of the Crax. The fighter slammed into the water wall. It broke through, skipped on the surface, flipped, and cartwheeled into the surf.

The Chicher chattered, clicked and pointed at an ejection capsule rocketing above the waves, moving away. The Chicher pulled the heavy laser’s trigger. Nothing. I switched on my com-set. “McAllister! Take out that capsule.”

“We’re out of power. What’d you do?”

“Dump energy into it and take it out, NOW!”

Seconds later blasts streaked from the LLTV’s roof turret. Three found their mark, bringing down the defense shield. The fourth sent it burning into the ocean.

I climbed to the top of the rock pile and watched the Crax capsule sink. Nothing surfaced. “Over there,” I yelled. Off to the right a smaller capsule bobbed along the surface. “McAllister, can you get a fix on that?”

“On what?”

“Two o’clock straight out, four-hundred yards.”

“Got it. There’s movement inside.”

“Colony fighter pilot,” I said. “Ocean’s bringing him in. Jam his transmissions.”

“Have been since the engagement started,” said Guerrero.

“Odthe and Shiffrah are dead,” I said.

“I know,” she replied.

I stood on shore and watched the capsule approach. I held my shotgun ready. It bottomed out and tumbled with the next wave. “Out now,” I shouted.

The hatch blew and the pilot dove out, under the surf. “She’s armed,” I yelled and dropped to the sand.

She came up behind the capsule. The crack of MP fire echoed above the surf. I returned the favor. “
Blam
!
Ca-Chunk, Blam
! A wave swept into the pilot and the capsule. I couldn’t see her so I moved right.

Skids ran up with his laser derringer.

“Get back!” I yelled before spotting the pilot surfacing. I changed orders. “Get down!”

Crack
!
Crack
!
Crack
! Sand divots popped in front of me. I rolled. The pilot switched targets and exchanged fire with Skids, who’d mimicked my prone position.

Skids rolled right, just before several rounds struck his former position. Rolled left to avoid a second volley. It reminded me of Mr. Habbuk. That pilot was a marksman.

I took aim.
Blam
! A slug slammed into her ribs, knocking her back into the waves.

Guerrero dashed forward, grabbed Skids by the collar and pulled him toward the LLTV. McAllister stalked forward with two laser carbines. She saturated the water around the pilot with fire. “Keesay, may not want to kill you,” she screamed over the surf, “but I have no problems with it.” She sent a few more blasts. “Hands up now or no quarter!”

We both eyed the water. McAllister said, “I thought you were blood thirsty.”

“You’ve been misinformed,” I said. “Besides, I just nailed her. See, there she is.”

The pilot had raised her left hand. Her right cradled her ribs. She’d shed her equipment belt and weapon. I fixed my bayonet and escorted the injured pilot to shore.

McAllister accompanied us. “You’ve been itching to do that,” she said.

“Do what?” I asked. “Keep moving.”

“Use your fancy new bayonet.”

“PhD in R-Tech psychology?” I chided, before motioning with my bayonet. “That’s it, past the man you killed.”

“Man I killed?” said the pilot. She turned and whipped her dripping bangs aside. “How many of my squadron did you kill?”

“Remorse from us? For killing a pack of traitors?” Proper gesturing with my shotgun halted her reply. “Over there.”

McAllister said, “See why you don’t have any friends.”

“Stop,” I ordered the pilot. “Off with your coveralls.” To McAllister, I said, “Jealousy rears its ugly head.”

“Just looking in the mirror, Keesay.”

“Pilot, I suggest you comply. My slug may not penetrate your flight coveralls, but it’ll split your skull. Boots, too.” I took a step back. “McAllister, I’ve got friends.”

“The rat and kid don’t count.”

The pilot disrobed and stood in soaked undershirt and shorts. “Socks, too. McAllister, you get to make a new friend. Search her.”

“Bashful?” asked McAllister with a wicked smile.

“Polite. Besides, who knows what tech stuff I might miss. They’ve sided with the Crax, remember?” That motivated McAllister.

Despite the fact that the pilot was a half foot taller and fifty muscled pounds heavier, McAllister was anything but gentle. After working her way down, she reached up and snatched a handful of the pilot’s pageboy-cut hair, and yanked. “See this ring?” She held it in the pilot’s face. “Your Crax buddies killed my only friend. Only reason I tolerate that Relic is because he’s good at killing Crax.” She spat in the pilot’s face. “And traitors.”

The pilot’s lip curled, but she gritted her teeth and remained silent.

“I know,” I said. “Thinking your pals will rescue you. And if not that, avenge you?” I looked over toward Guerrero who was rummaging
through the washed up capsule. “Don’t count on it.”

“Got a name?” McAllister asked. No reply. “Give me a name or I’ll let Keesay name you. And he’s not too bright.”

“Bright enough to bring down that Crax fighter,” I said.

“How’d you do that?” asked McAllister, again pointing her carbine at the pilot.

“Popcorn nuke.”

“Popcorn nuke? Where’d you get that?”

I didn’t want to tell her the truth, during the Colonization Riots. “Skids,” I yelled. “Get some clothes for...What’s your name?” No answer. “Loser. Pilot Loser. Sit down, Pilot Loser.”

She refused.

I walked behind her and swung my gun’s barrel at her calves. I caught them tensing at the last second, pulled the swipe and leapt back. Pilot Loser spun and landed. Her leg’s reach was inches short.

I took another step back and leveled my shotgun. “Forget the clothes,” I yelled. “McAllister, keep your eye on our Pilot Loser.”

“Where’d you get those?”

“What competent security specialist would be without handcuffs?”

“Now I see how you keep your friends around,” said McAllister.

“I’m done playing now, Loser. On the ground. Face down and spread them or this spot’ll be your grave.”

“Keesay’s a lot of things, but squeamish about killing isn’t one of them.”

The pilot complied and I handcuffed her. “Commerce raiders,” she spat.

“Incorrect,” I said, and reached into my pocket and unspooled a small cord. I tied each ankle with about ten inches of play between them before pulling her up.

“Why do you carry that?” asked McAllister.

“So my friends can’t get away.”

“They must’ve known you had it
.” McAllister grinned broadly. “Is that how you convinced Captain Tilayvaux and Chief Brold to let you carry popcorn nukes?” Before I could berate McAllister for divulging information she held up her hand. “Hey, I think Pilot Loser knew the captain.”

I picked up her flight coveralls and located a Firewings patch. “Pilot Loser flew in the Red Phoenix Wing. Didn’t Captain Tilayvaux?”

Pilot Loser spat. “Tilayvaux’d never captain a commerce raider.”

I tossed her dripping coveralls over my shoulder. “First correct thing you said since we met. Captain Tilayvaux went down with our ship, a civil transport.” I pointed to my
Kalavar
patch.

“You’re lying.”

“I haven’t got time for this. We’ve got dead to bury, and clear the area before the radiation gets us. Watch her,” I said, and prepared myself for the carnage.

It was dirty work. I climbed into the
Bloodhound
’s smoldering husk and wrapped what I could find of Dr. Shiffrah in a duffel bag. “Not much survived forward,” I said, coughing. “Better make this quick or Pilot Loser’s Crax buddies will finish the job.”

Skids scanned the sky.

At McAllister’s insistence, Pilot Loser dug the holes in the sand.

“Shallow will do,” I said.

Our prisoner asked, “Should I dig a third?”

“Depends on how you act,” I replied.

Upset at the death of her comrades, Guerrero glared at me.

“Pilot Odthe put me in charge. It’ll be cramped, but I’ve no intention of killing Pilot Loser in cold blood. Not yet.”

“It’s what she deserves,” said Guerrero.

“What we deserve and what we get have little in common.” I set the remains of Dr. Shiffrah in one hole. “McAllister.”

She handed her carbine to Guerrero. Together we placed Pilot Odthe in the other. The Chicher clucked and chattered, and took the shovel from Pilot Loser. He dug a channel between the two graves.

I signaled, “Good,” before reattaching the cord and cuffs to Pilot Loser. “Wind getting cold?” I asked her. “At least you can feel it.” Skids and Guerrero cried as I shoveled
and buried our fallen team members.

McAllister scowled, holding back. “Say something, Keesay. You’re good at it.”

“Please,” said Guerrero, holding Skids close.

“Was either religious?”

“Pilot Odthe more than Shiffrah,” said Guerrero.

My prayer for Pilot Calvo Odthe and Dr. Nikoya Shiffrah was another partially memorized verse from my youth. “The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life, of whom should I be afraid? When the wicked, even my enemies and foes, came upon me to eat up my flesh, they stumbled and fell.”

I watched Guerrero’s solemn reaction, and continued. “Though a host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear. Though war should rise against me, in this will I be confident. One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after, that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord.”