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  “Meet you in two hours,” Dustin said.

  The Bingham tank gun went off again.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Docking approach at Pioneer 3 space station, orbit of Ghara

  21 September 163 GA

  “That is a vision of beauty,” Capt. Dan Aribella said.

  Melody looked out the forward viewport of Beagle at the titanic shape of Pioneer 3, with its long cylindrical body, rotating rings running around it in six locations and kilometer after kilometer of sparkling lights, windows, antenna arrays and docking facilities. Set against a field of space, the giant green sphere of Ghara welcomed back the seven ships of the Selvan fleet. Two large and five small. Surrounding them was a flock of tiny Pioneer 3 service vessels. Security ships, safety and rescue craft, plus private ships and the rich aboard them watching for the sheer history of the moment. Watching it all were the media vessels, capturing the scene in a dozen angles for future generations to experience.

  Beagle approached from Pioneer 3’s prow, third in line to dock from TOV Rhapsody and Kenya as they approached. The flight coordinators aboard Pioneer 3’s bridge broadcast across the entire fleet as they controlled the largest single-event return of vessels since the establishment of the colony on Sota.

  “Transorbital vessel Rhapsody this is Pioneer 3 flight control. I am operator one. Welcome back to Ghara and congratulations on your successful expedition. Prepare to surrender cockpit control for docking and get ready for some well-deserved relaxation.”

  Melody listened and watched as one of the half-dozen invisible flight controllers on the massive ship took over the movement of the bright speck in space that was Rhapsody. The triangle shaped vessel spun and swung in an arc as it approached one of the prongs that extended out from the thick center body of Pioneer. They would dock with the end of the prong, far from the critical body of the generational vessel.

  A different voice spoke, this one female.

  “Transorbital freighter Kenya this is Pioneer 3 flight operations. This is operator two. Prepare to surrender cockpit control for docking.”

  Melody watched as the bright white fuselage of Pioneer 3 reflected the sun, giving it the appearance of being made of blinding sunshine. She squinted and watched as Rhapsody continued on its way to the docking airlock and as the substantially larger Kenya followed suit, heading toward a different airlock.

  Melody let go of her yoke, anticipating the call from operator three.

  “Transorbital vessel Beagle this is Pioneer 3 flight operations. I am operator three. Prepare to surrender cockpit control for docking.”

  “Roger that, operator three,” Dan replied. “Switching systems to your control in three, two, one.”

  Dan twisted a control knob and tapped on a touch screen. He took his hand off the yoke and sat back. Beagle’s cockpit displays danced to life as operator three tested out all the ship’s flight equipment remotely.

  “Last leg,” Melody said, leaning forward to watch the docking procedure for Rhapsody and Kenya. Rhapsody had turned sideways to face its airlock and was less than a hundred meters from home.

  “What a trip. You must be happy to be home,” Dan said.

  “Yes and no. I miss Dustin. I hate the idea of leaving him so far away.”

  “But the medical care here . . . ” Dan mumbled.

  “What about the medical care? I’m not sick. Are you insinuating something?” She felt her face redden and get hot.

  Dan laughed. “You’re pregnant. It’s all good. It wasn’t hard to guess. I can’t speak for whether or not Andy knows. Want me to ring him up in the bay? See if he knows?”

  “Jesus, I was so scared. I tried so hard to hide it. This was so unplanned. I couldn’t live with leaving you and Andy or missing out. I hope you’re not angry.”

  “You’re okay. I’m glad we’re back for you and the baby’s health, but I’m bummed my co-pilot is gonna be on maternity leave. We’ll talk about it later. Let’s dock and debrief and all that.”

  “Thanks, Dan,” Melody said. She turned back to the viewport just in time to see Rhapsody’s starboard airlock link with Pioneer 3.

  Suddenly, a bright orange spark flashed where the two ships met. A concussive blast appeared, spreading out in a ring through space. White bits of hull, shattered ship parts and clouds of unknown fluids sprayed into the silent vacuum surrounding Pioneer 3. Something terrible had occurred when the ship docked with the station. From so far away the violence of the incident seemed muted but Melody knew how horrible the accident was. How tragic and destructive.

  “Holy fuck,” Melody said. “That was an explosion.”

  Dan watched as the damage to Rhapsody spread. Tearing itself nearly in two, the small transport ship spat passengers into the void. They screamed where no one could hear them. The horrified men and women tumbled end over end as small rescue ships appeared from the fringe of space, zipping in, racing to scoop up the survivors. Flames belched and barked from the end of Pioneer 3’s docking tube.

  Melody and Dan looked down at the Kenya as it closed in on its own dock, several hundred meters away from Rhapsody, and several hundred meters from them. She looked out the starboard window as Beagle spun, maneuvering its airlock toward the Pioneer 3 dock they would mate with in less than sixty seconds. Melody’s gut twisted.

  “Cut the slaved controls. Get us free. The airlocks. They might be tampered with,” she pleaded.

  Dan frantically punched in override codes as Beagle moved with purpose toward the docking prong and the circular airlock. Melody hit switches as well, killing engine function so even if the slaved controls weren’t shut off in time, Beagle might avoid docking, and triggering what happened to Rhapsody.

  “Shit, shit, shit, I got it. I got it,” Dan said as the power to Beagle’s controls returned. He stopped the ship’s descent toward the airlock just as TOF Kenya’s hull mated with Pioneer 3’s shaft. Melody held her breath and waited for an explosion to tear the enormous freighter apart.

  Kenya sat still at the end of the long docking tube, unexploded and safe for the moment. Somehow the ordinariness of the situation felt crushing to her. Like holding a calm bee inside a closed hand.

  “Selvan fleet this is Pioneer 3 flight control. We need to clear the station’s local space immediately. Assemble in Ghara orbit at the transmitted location and await further instructions.”

  “Shit,” Melody said. “Get those people safe.”

  Melody watched as the small rescue pods disgorged suited crew who scooped up the now-stiff passengers of the disintegrated Rhapsody. They jetted back inside and then flew toward the furthest ring of the giant ship and its medical facilities.

  Andy Morris, Beagle’s flight sergeant, entered the back of the cockpit from the rear cargo bay. He floated in, pulling himself along using worn rails.

  “What happened? I had us prepped to dock,” Andy asked.

  “Explosion when Rhapsody docked. Ship is a loss. Doesn’t look good for the crew either,” Melody said, pointing out the window. Andy pulled his way to the two seats and looked out, astonished.

  “Terrorists?” Andy asked.

  “Has to be,” Dan said. “Nothing else would’ve made that kind of explosion. You know what, suit up for an external inspection. I want to go over the hatches. Every exit.”

  “I’m on it,” Andy said. As Andy turned to put on his suit the radio squawked.

  “TOF Titan to TOV Beagle. This is Titan actual. Can you form up and join us as we clear space around Pioneer 3?” The voice was Captain Leah Kingsman’s. Commander of their wounded fleet.

  “Apologies, Titan actual. Captain, we were gathering ourselves and making a crew plan,” Dan replied.

  “Understood. Form up. We’re not home yet. We have work to do,” Leah replied.

  Melody’s hand slipped down to her larger belly inside her one-size-larger flight suit. She felt the bump that was her child and tried to drown out the horrifying images of Rhapsody exploding.

  Chapter Twe
nty-Five

  Town of Stahl, Dampier Peninsula, Rasima plains, planet of Selva

  29 September 163 GA

  The Bingham’s cannon fired again.

  Dustin closed his eyes and felt thankful for the earplugs he stole from the motor pool. Even with the advanced noise dampening technology of the armor his ears still rang without the little foam plugs jammed in. With them, he only had to fight a headache at the end of his shift on the line.

  “Bravo team should’ve dug their pit deeper,” Waren said as the taller man sat up to get a packet of food from the rear of the depression they had dug almost a week earlier. “I guess with Ping-Pong’s leg still being sore they had to go easy. Poor guy can’t climb in and out of anything deeper than his shallow personality.”

  Dustin looked over at the area Stash, Ping-Pong and Theo had dug. They had scraped earth away until their position was only deep, wide and long enough for the three men to shoot from their stomachs side by side. It didn’t offer much in the way of cover or comfort.

  “I thought you said there was no reason to have emplaced shooting positions? That the bugs didn’t shoot at us so it didn’t matter,” Dustin said to Waren as he returned his attention to the slope of the field heading toward the peninsula and its forest filled with giant, threatening insects.

  “Yeah well . . . As it turns out I feel safer behind a meter of earth and a few sandbags.”

  Waren produced a small green packet from a green plastic case and hooked it to a tiny feeding tube on the jaw line of his helmet. He drank the liquid meal from the interior straw and tossed the empty packet into the case it came from.

  “There is something to be said about feeling safe behind something sturdy,” Dustin said and adjusted the optics on his rifle with a few blinks and eye twitches, focusing in on the dark fringe of the forest. The situation on the hill had changed over the past few days and not for the better of the colony.

  The rock bugs had increased the volume of their exodus from the forest five-fold the past week. What had been a trickle had turned into a brook, and was now a river. One of the monsters trudged toward the Stahl settlement on the hill once an hour now, around the clock. The things moved forward without fear, without any concern for their safety or any knowledge that each and every one of their kind had died taking the same walk.. Their behavior reminded Dustin of salmon swimming upstream to spawn, though these salmon were swimming directly into the blades of the canning factory. The first kills had been celebrated by the marines; now there was no reward in killing for nothing.

  Hauptman jumped into the pit behind Dustin and Waren.

  “Top,” Waren said. “How’s the climate?”

  “Little humid. Punisher One’s main gun ammo stores are damn near Winchester.”

  “Seriously?” Dustin blurted.

  “Yeah. They’re down to thirty rounds of main gun.”

  The lieutenant popped off his helmet. He produced a small moist wipe from a green case on the ground and toweled his face clean.

  “How much coaxial?” Waren asked.

  “Ten thousand rounds,” Hauptman said before snapping his helmet back into place.

  “Shit,” Dustin said.

  “What’s our kill count? We need to take the pressure off that cannon.”

  “Dustin is chewing through our stores fastest, but he’s also the best shot,” Waren said, flipping open a small waterproof notebook. He scanned the pages. “We brought 1,400 rounds per rail gun. 4,200 total for A-team. B-team brought the same. I don’t know where they’re at, but we’re down to 3,360.”

  “Almost a thousand rounds spent already?”

  “Our little dance with the devil in the forest the morning Ping-Pong got curb stomped was almost six hundred rounds on its own. We’ve been slow-rolling since. Dustin’s got it down to just a few shots to take one out.”

  “My mom said I was a quick learner,” Dustin quipped.

  “Well, we are picking up the speed,” Hauptman said. “New protocol is for the FEM shooter to take up to ten shots at anything approaching to take it down. If that fails, or if a bigger threat than the active shooter can manage approaches, or if they cluster and a single explosive round can take them out more efficiently, he clears the tank to fire. You hear that, Cline?”

  “Any special call signs?” Dustin asked, still watching the forest.

  “No. The tank will wait for you. Use good judgment, right?”

  “Roger that,” Dustin replied.

  “You know Lieutenant, I’ve been keeping track of my shots in my armor’s database,” Dustin said.

  “As you always do. Find some usable data?”

  “The past two days the attacks–um, the . . . approaches–have become slightly more compressed at the midday. When the sun’s at zenith. Multiples come on or about that moment. I think we’re going to want to shore up numbers for daytime. If we’re short and they bum rush us, we could be overrun in a hurry.”

  “Send me the data. I’ll talk to Lieutenant Pastilli and Major Duncan about getting an infantry squad up here later today. Is there anything else you need?”

  “Nah,” Waren said, shaking his head. “Well, nothing you’d be willing to do for me.”

  “I’d love to go home, if you can make that happen,” Dustin said.

  “Yeah, yeah. Two hours to noon eh? I’ll get right on Pastilli and Duncan. You two ok for a few minutes?” The men nodded. “Great. I’ll be right here. Send me that data, Dustin. Keep your helmets on.”

  Hauptman stood up and walked to the flat ground a few meters behind their shooting position. He started the process of requesting more men for the approaching midday as his shooters held down their position.

  Pastilli and Duncan were easily sold on Dustin’s shooting data. Hauptman presented some gun camera footage and compiled information and within an hour C-squad joined them on the front line.

  As the twelve marines approached, Dustin had a rock bug in his sights. They hustled up and got into place before the action started. The young men hooted and hollered, pointed and joked nervously.

  Dustin alerted a nearby tank and its crew.

  “Punisher One this is Vigilant Two. Am firing.”

  “Good copy,” the tank sergeant replied.

  Dustin leaned into his weapon and sighted his firing marker on the lengthened face of the marching creature, just below the hard shell lip of its back. He knew the top two eyes sat in a pair of concave depressions directly in front of the brain. A shot to each eye almost guaranteed penetration. Dustin fired at the right eyeball.

  The projectile erupted the black orb and stopped the creature’s forward advance. The thing shook its head and gathered itself, turtling up for a moment under its hardened back. Its powerful forearms moved in and out, attacking the air blindly to prevent any approach. The infantry marines to each side of Dustin froze solid to watch the drama unfold.

  Stand up, you fat fucker. Give me an eyeball to shoot or fall over dead.

  Dustin held his breath, letting his heart settle down. He’d gotten good at calming it and soon its beat went from electronic night club to gentle ballroom waltz.

  Wait. What the fuck is that?

  Dustin zoomed out and looked at the tall grasses swaying on both sides of the rock bug. There was movement. Dustin watched as the waves took on a form in the grass. A form with purpose.

  “Punisher One you see what’s coming? The grasses are moving strange, like something short is under top of it?” Dustin asked on the wide network.

  “Roger that. We see it, advise Vigilant Two.”

  “What are we doing Dustin?” Waren asked, priming his rifle to address the hidden but approaching threat.

  “Co-ax the front of the movement. Burst across the length of it, now.”

  “Good copy.”

  Punisher One’s turret hummed to life and rotated until its massive barrel pointed at the edge of the vegetation. The “small” machine gun mounted inside the turret beside the swollen cannon barrel came to ear-da
maging life, spitting out bullets in such a torrential downpour that the grass was mowed down in the blink of an eye.

  Behind the grass stormed a carpet made of nightmares.

  Multi-limbed, shoulder to shoulder and spread a hundred meters wide were thousands of strange, misshapen insects no higher than a man’s knee. At one time or another they had all looked the same but now they were a patchwork quilt of larger arms, larger legs, and fatter heads that lacked any semblance of having been symmetrical. They clicked, spit, scratched and jumped over the first wall of their machine-gunned dead.

  “Keep firing. Cut ’em down,” Hauptman said from nearby, and the tank obliged.

  Thousands of rounds ripped through the air and grass, tearing apart the legion of new insects that bounded across the field toward the humans. Bodies exploded, tossing crustacean limbs and shells into the air alongside green and yellow insides.

  The golden grass turned the color of bile as the tank churned through its ammunition stores, swaying its smaller gun barrel back and forth until it glowed red from the stream of bullets. The infantry marines took up positions behind the sandbags and began to fire on orders of their sergeant, picking off dozens of the smaller monsters.

  Dustin, Waren and Lionel joined in, firing into the thick mass of insects. Their rail gun fléchettes added to the massacre, cracking the shelled bodies of the smaller monsters and leaving them open to the air to die, legs twitching under the Selvan midday sun.

  “Main gun!” Hauptman commanded. “Let ’er rip!”

  Unable to stem the tide rolling toward them with the smaller machine gun the main cannon opened up. The FEM men felt the incredible power of the rail gun spin up as it belched out an enormous high explosive round into the chaos of the field. A cloud of dirt and debris fountained into the sky where it hit and exploded. Shattered and liquefied bodies of a hundred of the assaulting creatures spun inside the debris cloud and fell to the ground. The massive rail gun fired again and again as the tank sergeant climbed out of the hatch and fired the pintle-mounted machine gun. He traversed the field of fire opposite the aim of his main gun where the infantry marines fired, trying to stop the rush that continued to spill out of control.