Mech Zero: The Dominant (6 page)

Theller hunkered beneath the pile of equipment and waited, quietly listening. The sounds of death and destruction continued in the forward cabin. He could not comprehend the cruelty of the universe.

#

The Dominant could not recall having enjoyed herself so thoroughly. Riding the back of the mech captain, she had given the female a single, simple order:
kill
. After that, it had been glorious. The creature was a superb mixture of flesh and metal. The Dominant quickly gained a new respect for these spacefaring weaklings. They themselves were no more substantial than wet cellulose, but they were gifted in the art of crafting machines. They had even, in the case of Captain Beezel, melded themselves with machines to drastically improve their own performance levels.

Captain Beezel, raving in her artificial body, destroyed her crewmates with methodical fury. Twice, a crewman had managed to claw out his sidearm and fire into the small blonde mech’s body, but in both cases the beams had failed to find a vital target in the plastiflesh-covered metal chassis. The shooters had only managed to doom themselves by gaining their former captain’s grim attention. Blood jetted from severed limbs. An eyeball lay in a seat after a small, metal-boned hand had dug it out and dropped it there.

Soon, the sad attempts at resistance ended. The last of them succumbed while making odd noises and crouched down upon on its knees before the Dominant’s host. Having never conceived of the concept of mercy, the Dominant slaughtered the beast quickly. She didn’t like odd behavior—it could be a trick of some kind.

The human never had a chance to perform his trick, whatever it was. His cooling body blocked the tiny aisle that led to the helm section. She was forced to kick it away to progress toward her goal.

Direcing the mech captain to sit and buckle in, the Dominant gave her subject a new goal:
fly home
.

Nine

Goddard disinterestedly hung one massive leg over the side of his command chair. He knew how this next action would go, and he was bored with it before it occurred. The last patrol boat in the enemy’s ridiculous squadron had apparently malfunctioned. Sensing the predatory approach of Mendelian cruisers, the boat had lifted off and attempted to run home. He ordered his flight crew to chase it down. Coming in from out-system, the Mendelian cruisers were moving at high velocity. They overtook the fleeing patrol boat quickly.

“Sir?” the com-officer said as they closed into firing range. “I’m getting a message from the fleeing ship.”

“Really?” scoffed Goddard. “This should be good. Put it through.”

“Mayday, mayday,” a scratchy voice said on the bridge speakers. “This is
S. S. Redemption
. We have experienced critical systems failure. We require assistance.”

Goddard sat up in a sudden fury. “You must be joking!” he roared. “This ship is about to die on its own? I’m embarrassed to share any genetic inheritance with these Tranquility people. Their warships can’t even manage to stand and face us in battle without breaking down. For the betterment of the species, I should exterminate them all.”

“We are in firing range now, sir,” the weapons officer said. “Shall I?”

Goddard stewed on his chair. He shifted in annoyance, making a flicking motion with his fingers. “So disappointing,” he said. “I can only think of one way this ridiculous situation can bring glory to Mendelia. We’ll capture the ship and torture the crew for information concerning planetary defenses. That at least should prove entertaining.”

The bridge crew chuckled around him.

“If we get a little closer,” the weapons officer said. “I think I can take out their sole laser in the nosecone.”

“Yes,” Goddard said, sitting up. “By all means, use them for target practice. Take out their navigational systems and disable their engine as well. When she’s coasting helplessly, we’ll board her. Scramble the marines. I want a team at the aft sally port in five minutes.”

Goddard stood up and headed for the lift. At least this should provide a diversion. He was already deciding what he would do with the sniveling crew. They had disappointed him, and he therefore felt justified in satisfying his darker urges.

Every culture had its taboos, and among the Mendelians it was considered rude to bring up the twisted minds so many of their greatest folk possessed. It was well known among the breeders of any species that pushing a given trait too far could produce abnormalities. Overbred dogs tended to go deaf, blind or exhibit oddities such as extra toes. In a like fashion, while reaching for intellect in their young, some parents had gone too far. They’d scarred their offspring invisibly. In Goddard’s case, he considered his natural twist toward sadism to be a strength. At least he never backed down when grim deeds required doing. Quite the opposite, in fact.

He suited up with a team of hulking marines, donning a pressure-suit with shark fin blades protruding from the knees and elbows. He wondered with a tickle of excitement if the enemy would have any females aboard.

#

Theller felt the reverberations as
Redemption
was hit repeatedly by enemy fire. He wept, expecting a fiery death at any second—but it did not come. He could not explain this. The enemy surely had the firepower to incinerate this tiny ship in a split-second. Why had they not done so? Sweating and panting, his breath sounded loud in his helmet. He waited what seemed like a very long time, but finally, he couldn’t take it any longer. If these were the last moments of his existence, he thought he might as well have a look around. He dug at the piled cargo he’d hidden under and peeked out.

The cabin was dimly lit with yellow flashers and emergency red LEDs. Smoke had filled the air with a drifting haze. He squirmed further, pushing aside piles of equipment held loosely together by webbing. He soon peered out of a new spot, and from this vantage point he was aligned with the hatch. He could see the dim shape of Captain Beezel up there, sitting in the pilot’s chair. When she moved, she did so oddly. It was difficult to see clearly from his position, but he thought she had more than two appendages reaching out to touch the control screen. Could that be…?

Yes. S
omething was riding on her back.
A wavering, finger-thick antennae extended over her shoulder to tap at the controls. Theller felt a sick chill of fear run through him.

A loud clang sounded then, which caused him to look this way and that at the curved skin of the ship that surrounded him. He felt the ship shudder, as if it had made contact with another, larger body. Something was outside. Could it be another alien? Something bigger, perhaps?

The airlock groaned and a tortured shriek of twisted metal reached Theller’s ears. His breath came in labored gasps. He looked back to see what Captain Beezel was doing. He stared in disbelief for a second or two—she wasn’t there. He looked around, twisting his head, but saw nothing. Then he looked directly upward.

There, on the ceiling above him, was the Captain. She was clutching the hexagonal ridges that formed interlocking panels in the aft cargo area. Like a spider, she hung up there, hugging the roof of the ship. The gravity was light, and the feat was not that surprising. What was surprising was her odd, predatory stance. She stared fixedly at the airlock hatch with an intense light in her eyes.

It was the thing on her back, however, that almost drove Theller mad when he saw it. Part giant scorpion, part weevil in appearance, it was
clinging
to her, like an ape-child riding its protective mother’s back. Tapping antennae waved high overhead with feathery fronds at the tips. The sectional tail wrapped around her midsection, holding on tight.

Theller vomited slightly. He gulped and gasped. He squirmed under the cargo webbing and choked as he aspirated acidic juices. Captain Beezel’s eyes flicked down and her overlarge blue orbs met his.

He knew then that he was lost. This horror was beyond all imagining, and he would surely die at the captain’s small, claw-like hands within moments.

Captain Beezel lifted one arm then, and he winced, but no sudden blow came. Instead, she put a single finger to her lips. Was she
shushing
him? He felt fuzzy and lightheaded, as if he dreamed. He thought about the narcotic wine he’d foolishly passed up. He wished the bottle was in reach now—he would guzzle it all if he got the chance again.

Obediently, Theller quieted his breathing as best he could. He wanted to scream, to shout until he went hoarse, but he resisted the urge. Captain Beezel returned her eyes to the airlock hatch, and crept forward on the ceiling. She did not move as a normal human would have done. Her limbs flexed together in odd, jerky motions. Theller was reminded distinctly of a crawling insect.

The airlock hatch buckled. A thrusting triangular dent appeared, pressing into the ship’s cabin. A rivet sprung loose, caromed off the walls and finally rattled onto the deck plates.

There was a moment of quiet, then the hatch burst open. A small object was tossed inside. Instinctively, Theller squeezed his eyes shut. A flash exploded with a booming sound. Brilliant glare filled the room momentarily. It must have been a flash grenade, meant to blind and stun the occupants. Theller opened his eyes again just in time to see an avalanche of hulking figures enter the ship. He blinked away the purple splotches that drifted over his vision.

The huge men had to be Mendelians. They could not stand erect in the cabin, but rather bent over at the waist. Theller knew an entirely new sense of despair. Even if he survived the alien and Captain Beezel, these men were not known for their gentle nature. The invaders moved into the cabin with big pistols in their hands. They stared at each of the dead crewmen strewn at their feet, kicking them about as a man might kick at dead leaves.

Above him, Theller saw a shape scuttle forward. He realized it was Captain Beezel. She grabbed the rearmost of the hulking men around the neck with a single, wiry arm. The helmet starred instantly, then cracked. Blood flowed from the crushed throat underneath. Theller could see the man’s shocked eyes inside his faceplate. The man reached up with huge fingers and tore at his assailant, but she held on resolutely. His fingers gouged away strips of her plastiflesh, but he was quickly overcome and slumped down.

The biggest of the Mendelians, a man who was almost squatting inside
Redemption
, noticed his fallen comrade. He shouted an order that was muffled by their helmets. Theller sank down into the webbing, trying to retreat beneath the cargo.

They lifted their big pistols and fired into the bodies at their feet. Each lurched and puffed with smoke and flecks of flesh. Boiling, dead blood ran over the deck plates.

One of the marines roared as his sidearm was snatched out of his grasp. He wheeled and took a blast in the chest from his own pistol. With incredible vitality, he made a gargling attempt to grapple with his opponent anyway. He managed to grab hold of Beezel, who stood exposed for a moment. The remaining Mendelians faced her, and seemed bewildered. Could it really be this small female who had slain two of their number?

Then they fired in unison, and the captain sagged down, twitching. One of her titanium-boned arms kept flapping and whipping about until they stood on it and blew it off with another pistol-shot.

Three Mendelians had survived. Theller knew he should surrender to them now. He should stand up slowly, with his hands on his helmet. The urge to do so was almost overwhelming. If they found him hiding under a heap of junk in the back, they could rightfully consider him an enemy combatant and burn him down.

But he didn’t surrender. He chided himself for gross cowardice, but he simply couldn’t do it. His legs would not obey him. His voice choked in his throat. There were too many unknowns. He was not a man to take drastic action unless it was absolutely the final option. Unfortunately, too many such circumstances had arisen lately.

The three Mendelians spoke amongst themselves for a moment, lowering their pistols but keeping them in their hands. The largest seemed to be giving orders. The other two seemed surprised, but moved to obey. They climbed into the ruined airlock and exited into the boarding shuttle they’d apparently brought with them.

The next moment brought a new shock to Theller. The biggest Mendelian, the leader, had brought up the rear of the group. He lifted his pistol and fired into the backs of his men. He advanced, and Theller saw the thing riding on his back then—the wavering antennae, the segmented body, the spines and fronds. It was the creature that had ridden upon Captain Beezel.

The Mendelian leader stepped over his dead comrades and climbed into the airlock. He fired more shots as he went. Theller couldn’t see him any longer, but he imagined the scene: the enemy crew was being killed by their own commander.

Theller thought hard. The thing on the Mendelian’s back was somehow influencing the actions of anyone it rode upon. It had discovered him and let him live, but Theller suspected it had only done so because it wanted to surprise the boarding party. He felt sure that when it had killed everyone else, it would come back here and finish him.

Finally, because he had no choice, Theller stood up and crept forward. When he reached the bulkhead between the prime deck and the aft cargo section, he opened a hatch in the floor. He clipped a security cord to his belt, then pulled the red lever that was under the hatch. A set of explosive bolts fired, and the ship shuddered.

The cabin depressurized in two short, wrenching seconds. He was sucked to the exit and left dangling there, almost broken in half by the security cord that tethered him. The buckle, his belt and the cord all held, however. Bodies, loose objects and frozen chunks of blood splattered his helmet and thudded into his back as they flew out into space.

Theller looked out of the open airlock. There was no outer or inner hatch left. He could see the assault shuttle now, and beyond it loomed one of the huge Mendelian cruisers. Both ships were darkly colored and formed with flat, ugly angles of unpainted metal.