"Look—if we stay here, we're dead. Let's just choose one—any one. Blind fate. We go with the Gods, we live or die. Do you really think any of this is up to us, Tara?"
She shuddered. I put an arm around her shoulders and gently drew her to me. Silky hair and sweet, faintly musky sweat. Gildron leaned forward and put one massive hand lightly on Tara's head. Our guardian angel. Willard joined us—he knew something was wrong. "We want to come, too," he said quietly.
"A roll of the dice," I said, "and we live, or die. No regrets. We go together. All right?"
"Together," Tara said quietly.
"Together!" I declared.
"Do gaza," Gildron said.
"And us, too," Willard added.
###
But it wasn't quite that simple. Tara kept working, determined to improve our chances. I lost track of time; I have no idea how many hopeless hours we spent on that alien bridge with Tara at the controls, working grimly on her tacmod, muttering under her breath like a witch brewing up some unholy spell. A dark infinity, as I squatted by the door sweating, while wild fantasies danced in my mind and Gildron stared sightless into space and Willard whined and cried, tired and scared, and Tara moaned away, cursing herself.
I finally forced her from the controls, insisting she rest, and she cuddled with Willard on the deck under a blanket and the two of them were asleep in moments. I rejoined Gildron at the door. I peeled off my tunic and threw it in a corner—it was soaking again.
Gildron was awake, but dreaming. I don't think he even saw me. He was a strange creature, a massive rocklike body with a bony, craggy face, prominent brow ridges and sunken, dreamy eyes. His body was covered with tangled hair. According to Tara, he was smarter than we were. I can't say it showed.
I drifted off with my E in my arms and grenades on the floor. Cold sweat slowly trickled down my cheeks and I slept an exhausted, fitful sleep, propped against a wall by the door. At first Gildron's face kept coming back to me in silent, rushing waves of sleep, and then he faded away.
Priestess appeared suddenly in roaring white-hot flames, screaming in agony, shrieking for help, enveloped in the fiery breath of the O, her A-suit glowing and spitting, her Persist calling out the warnings as she staggered blindly, lost in the flames, her armor fusing, death only instants away. She flamed brightly, burning like a star, lost and doomed, running blindly to her death, and only I could help her. I threw myself into the flames, enraged, adrenalized, and Sweety had her on scope. Priestess was screaming my name—Thinker! Thinker! Thinker! Help me! Thinker! Thinker! Thinker!
"Thinker! Thinker! Alert! Alert! Movement!" I snapped awake—Sweety called me back to reality. Gildron leaped to his feet with his E, standing in the doorway, a gigantic warrior poised to smite our foes. I scrambled to my feet—Tara threw her blanket off, stunned into consciousness.
"Report, Sweety! Where is the target?"
"Midships, Thinker! Lower level, as marked!" Sweety's response was immediate. "The target appears to be an Omni. No life." I snatched up the tacmod and looked at the reading.
It was nowhere near the room we had stashed the O's. Now what?
"Explain!" Tara snapped. She was standing by my side, E up and safeties off.
"The target is moving," Sweety said. "Positive reading! Visual and thermal image is that of an Omni. However, I detect no life signs. Image does not correspond with a holo projection!"
"Wonderful," I said. "Let's go!" I picked up the psybloc grenade and pulled the pin. Gildron was beside me as we stepped into the corridor.
"I'm taking Willard!" Tara exclaimed. Willard was on her like a leech, pale and silent—he knew where we were going.
"Suit yourself," I said. I was convinced we were all going to die—it didn't much matter where Willard met his fate.
###
Midships, lower level—we paused by a tall guardrail.
It was a vast, cavernous hall of metal, an icy cathedral for the walking dead. We could see up at least four levels, and down several more. We had taken an elevator down. The deck was a metal grate, slick under our boots. The air was charged with moisture—mist rose overhead, a faint rain, icy drops bursting on my naked shoulders. We were all ready to fire, our E's tracking the darkness for a target. But there was nothing there.
"The target is no longer present, Thinker," Sweety said calmly. "This is the target's former position."
I looked over the railing. Nothing. I was freezing—but the water felt good on my wounds.
"You should have brought your tunic," Tara said. "You're going to get a chill."
"With any luck, it'll be fatal," I replied.
"Movement!" Sweety reported. "I detect three O's, as marked, no life signs, moving in the corridor." Three O's moving, upper level, midships. Right where we had stored the bodies!
"It's not possible!" Tara whispered in horror.
"I'll keep that in mind," I replied. "Let's go—they're right in the hot zone! It was a diversion, to get us out of the way!" We hustled, Gildron and I on point, leaping into an open elevator. Tara and Willard jumped in after us and we started up, icy air rushing past, safeties off, the psybloc grenade clutched tightly in my left hand.
A thunderous blast rolled through the ship, then a series of titanic cracks, the shock waves buffeting us. The elevator stopped smoothly.
"Got you! Got you, you green slime!" We burst off the elevator and charged down the corridor, throwing ourselves right at the target, still on the tacmap, three glowing O's. I was working myself into a killing rage even as I realized they had set off our grenades and that they must be torn, shredded, spitting flames, dying.
Another deafening blast, another mighty fist of air. "The welded door has been breached," Sweety reported. The corridor was crackling electric blue flames right up ahead. I tossed the psybloc grenade ahead of us as we approached. It exploded, dazzling white-hot actinic rays. We walked into it and the corridor was wreathed with smoke.
An O appeared.
It turned as we approached, looming over us out of the smoke, not even in armor, something in its arms. It was tenderly holding the corpse of its comrade, one of the O's we had killed. Our eyes locked for just a frac and it stood there weaving in the smoke, cradling the dead, blinking wet alien eyes. It was such a human gesture that I sucked in my breath in surprise. But that wasn't going to stop me—I was a mad dog, and nothing was going to stop me. I fired, auto canister x. The wall erupted behind the O, and phospho tracers ricocheted all over the corridor. The dead O danced in his comrade's arms, riddled yet again. But the live one—he stood there unhurt, untouched. I whimpered.
"No life signs!" Sweety added ominously.
Tara fired auto canister x and the corridor wall behind the O disintegrated, splattering us all with burning globs of liquid cenite. Tara's white-hot canister darts flashed right through the O as I watched, stupefied—right through it!
The O hugged its dead comrade closer, then freed one great spidery arm and gestured to us. A mighty nova exploded in my face, dazzling me, ripping open my brain. I fell into the light, clawing helplessly at nothing.
###
Crackling stars danced all around my head as I struggled to retain consciousness. I twitched on the deck, gasping for air. Tara and Willard and Gildron were down, too, Tara struggling to raise her head, her E gone, Willard squirming behind her, Gildron stunned, sprawling face-down, mouth open, a fine smoke drifting past us, charged with fiery ash. The door to the O's death room came into sight, the doorway glowing, flames licking up the wall, the door blown half open, fused to the frame.
And as I watched, another O stepped out of the doorway cradling an alien body in its arms. The first O was already disappearing down the corridor with the first body. They were recovering their dead! A hot thrill of pride and admiration shot through my heart. I can't describe it, but it was just as if I was watching soldiers of the Legion risking their lives to recover their dead, in the face of the enemy. It didn't make any sense—the dead were dead. But it didn't have to make any sense, to us—it was what the Legion did. I felt the same for those Omni troops, recovering their own, no matter what. And suddenly I wanted them to do it, I wanted them to succeed. It wasn't going to stop me from trying to stop them, but I hoped to Hell they made it.