Chapter 88

Chapter Eighty-Eight

Thick, warm forest air thrummed inside the airlock, drawing sweat from Connor’s pores, even though all we he doing was holding onto the rappelling line. Beneath the Lucky Sevens, the crazy spikes he’d mistaken for trees swayed.

Parasitic winged things flapped, adding to the illusion of a forest caught in the blast of the ship’s roaring thrusters.

Vicente slapped his armored chest plate and pointed Mamacita at the black woodlands below. “I can smell those big bugs, Boss. Like copper.”

Was that the bugs, though? It certainly wasn’t imagination. The stench was stronger than the rocket exhaust.

Connor licked his gums, which tingled and held the sweet taste of synthcaff.

His helmet radio squawked as Martienne connected.

“The clearing we must use, it is just ahead.” She wore an environment suit, so her voice was hollow and a little muffled.

A darker gash resolved in Connor’s heads-up display, where the Lucky Sevens’s belly camera was showing him everything below in brilliant, crips ultraviolet.

He signaled to the team to get ready. “Anytime, Martienne.”

The tenor of the ship’s engines shifted, and they descended rapidly, until some of the spiky tree-things nearly brushed the underside. As they passed, the huge winged things took flight, circling and screeching.

Then with surprising gentleness, the ship came to a stop.

Martienne was in his ear. “This is it.”

They were ten meters up, maybe a little more. That was going to have to do.

He tossed his rope. Others followed.

Vicente dropped first, then Connor and Kalpana followed.

When Connor hit the ground, he felt the impact in his knees. He didn’t have water or food, but he had his Asp machine-gun, ammo, some salvage tools, and his swords. Add in his armor, and it was a substantial load.

Once Lem and Tom were down, the group formed a diamond with Kalpana at the front, the android in the protected middle, and Vicente at the rear.

On Connor’s helmet visor, the trail to the ship was a bright yellow overlay. Obstacles and potential threats were in bright red.

He highlighted where the ground sloped and became dangerously uneven. “Let’s keep this old furrow from the wreck impact to our right. Watch for rocks and those mounds. The slope gets ugly up ahead.”

Connor, Kalpana, and Tom could have probably handled rappelling onto treacherous ground like they were moving over now, but Lem wasn’t trained, and Vicente…

Sometimes, size worked against you. Size and all the mass he was carting around.

But the big man wasn’t about to leave Mamacita behind.

The furrow was maybe eight meters wide, meaning the ship hadn’t come down on its belly. It had expelled dirt and rock from the gouge probably twice as far on either side.

In the dark, running on such uneven ground could lead to a snapped ankle.

Ahead, Kalpana waved a hand, and they slowed. “Something’s tracking us.”

Connor’s heads-up display flashed a new red signal. “One of the big bugs?”

“Think so.”

A string of curses came from Vicente’s connection.

Just one bug wasn’t a problem, but there would be more, Connor was sure.

He checked. “Less than four kilometers.”

Shadows dropped from the sky above, as a swarm of the giant winged things swooped down, skimming less than a meter overhead.

Were they offering an irritated imitation of what the Lucky Sevens had done to them?

Kalpana picked up the pace.

With the downward slope picking up, it was hard to fight off acceleration.

Connor kept gentle reminders going. “Watch the speed.” “We can’t overheat Vicente.” “Tom, you okay? Slow it down.”

It was just shy of annoying, and it worked.

A bright green dot appeared on Connor’s visor: Kalpana had spotted the wreckage.

She sped up. “Two more bugs to the right. Want me to drop one?”

“Not yet.”

If a fourth one showed up, Connor wouldn’t have much choice. That would be too many to deal with out in the open.

But these bugs were behaving differently, hanging back behind the trees.

And then they were at the ship.

It was a little more than half the size of the Lucky Sevens, and after the impact, the thing wouldn’t be worth the cost to make it space worthy again.

Kalpana clambered up the side of the thing and squatted on the roof.

Connor rushed up to the rear airlock, which was partially opened but so warped only someone Kalpana’s size—maybe Selen’s—would be able to fit through.

He set his weapon down and pulled the smaller pry bar he’d brought with him from his backpack. There were no good leverage points, so he chose the least bad and leaned against the bar.

Metal groaned. The gap between the airlock doors widened a few centimeters.

A whistle came from above: Kalpana. “Bug number five is incoming.”

On the right, Connor realized. “Drop it. Vicente, a little help?”

The big man took his heavy machine-gun off and leaned it against the back of the ship. When the sniper rifle thundered, he craned his neck toward the target.

Then he hurried to Connor’s side. “Where there’s five, there’s ten, Boss.”

“Then let’s be quick.”

Vicente grabbed the warped airlock hatch not far from where Connor was levering the pry bar. Working in unison, they widened the gap. It would be enough for Tom or Lem to get inside, but not Connor or Vicente.

The sniper rifle boomed again, followed by a short burst from Tom’s assault rifle.

Connor checked his visor display. Only three of the bugs remained.

He shifted the pry bar farther down the hatch. “Again.”

Vicente rolled his shoulders, then they grunted and tugged.

Something popped, and a section of the twisted hatch tore away, leaving a wicked edge near what had been the bottom of the airlock.

But the opening was big enough for Connor.

He pulled a glow stick from his backpack, snapped the packet and shook the chemicals up, then tossed it inside.

The interior airlock hatch was fully open. Nothing moved in the soft glow.

Connor banged on the hull. “The rest of you, get on top. Stay sharp.”

As they climbed up, he pulled his Asp machine-gun up and lowered it into the airlock. It wouldn’t be ideal for such tight quarters, but his swords wouldn’t be much better. That left the pistol strapped to his right thigh.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, he thought.

Then he slid through the narrow gap of the airlock hatch.