Тим Пауэрс - Free Stories 2018

Dee flinched as one of the Maniacs in bot mode was tossed by a Chiata porcupine against the wall of the dome. The mecha burst into a fireball almost as soon as it hit. She hoped the pilot managed to flash out in time.

No time for sightseeing, Marine! Bree shouted in her head.

Right! She stood and did a forward flip over the console. She looked for the three alien red dots to coincide with red targeting Xs in her mindview.

An alien tendril suddenly wrapped itself around her throat, catching her unaware, and yanked her hard backwards and up to the captain’s chair. Dee was stunned briefly, which was long enough for the Chiata to drop from the captain’s station that floated overhead and drag her down. It slammed her into the deck plating, hard.

“Motherfucker!” she shouted in pain. Quickly she bit on her mouthpiece to get a new shot of stimulants, pain killers, and oxygen. The immediate burst of energy and strength enabled her to pull herself up to all fours and then to her knees wrapping the tendril around her left forearm.

“Let… me… the fuck… go!” she shouted. Then as the alien pulled her closer, Dee managed to bring her blade down across the tendril, freeing her throat. But just as quickly, another set of tendrils darted at her. One wrapped up her left leg and the other darted through her armor on her left bicep and out the back side. The alien tossed her about, ripping her arm off just above the elbow. Dee screamed in pain and anger, and went full auto with her rifle whether it was targeting anything or not.

Skippy jumped free into the fray and Dee lost track of where he was as the Chiata tossed her about like a rag doll. The muzzle flashes from her rifle lit the room and the faint purple ion trails of the hypervelocity rounds left small sparks and explosions where they impacted against the dome or equipment or consoles. The next five or ten seconds was a mad whirlwind of Dee firing her rifle, cursing the aliens, and being shoved about. She also fought against the random flinging with her jumpboots but that was only somewhat effective. Had she been in her mecha this would have been a much easier fight.

“Shit!” she screamed. “Shit, shit, shit!”

Finally one of her rounds hit home on the alien’s midsection, knocking it backwards and off balance. Dee went to swing her blade and then saw the stump the suit had sealed off where her arm used to be. A tendril darted in at her faceplate and her pilot’s reflexes enabled her to catch it with her right hand just as it pushed into the transparent armor and into her cheek below her left eye. She squeezed at the tendril with all the strength in her suit and it burst, squirting the glowing alien blood into the wound and all over her face.

“Fuck this!” she said as she popped her grenade tubes.

Thwoomp, thwoomp, thwoomp!

“Your move, asshole!”

The Chiata realized what she had just done, and flung her across the room against the dome in the general direction the grenades had gone. The alien did its best to run in the opposite direction. And finally, Dee’s targeting Xs locked to the three Chiata in the room. She rolled up and released her rifle trigger filling the room with the spittapping of automatic rifle fire. It was quickly drowned out by three very loud and very close explosions.

Dee felt what must have been thirty scalding hot knives rip through her body and something slammed against her so hard it felt like she’d been slapped by a hovertank in botmode. The personal health status emergency screen popped up in her mindview and she could see before her the likeness of herself with no left arm, no legs, and several trauma spots across her torso. There was also a spot underneath her left eye that was marked as trauma.

“Warning, life signs are critical. Immunoboost and stimulants are being administered,” her suit told no one in particular.

Dee! Major Moore! You need to snap back to the Madira med bay! Bree told her.

Not till we have the ship!

Then out of her periphery she could see the tuning forks of the alien megaship that jutted out like giant snail antennae above the dome began to arc lightning bolts across from one to the other. The blue beam zig-zagged out into space and across to one of the alien ships tearing a hole in it. The targeted ship was so far in the distance that Dee could barely make it out even with the zoom of her busted suit at full.

She looked over at the command console and saw Skippy flickering in and out of reality space and attached to the weapon controls. Skippy had hacked the ship. The deck vibrated against her suit from mecha pounding in her direction. Company was coming and she was done. Maybe it was time to flash out.

“Boss! Apple1! You are a mess!” USMC Captain Jose “Monopoly” Rayes stood over her in his FM-13X in bot mode. “ Madira ! Apple1 is down. Initiating emergency snap-back routine.”

“Wait! Monopoly! Captain! Do we have the ship?”

“Yes, ma’am. The Buckley-Freeman superweapon is about to go online!” Monopoly told her. “We need to get you out of here, ma’am. I wish you would have waited on us.”

“I did. See, here you are.” She did her best to smile.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Skippy, you coming?” Dee could barely manage a whisper, but the little bot suddenly was crawling into place. Dee rolled her head to the right and could see the remnants of a Chiata’s tendril dripping onto the deck. With her remaining hand she clutched the severed appendage just as the sound of bacon frying filled her ears and there was a flash of light and then she was looking up at the inside of the U.S.S. Sienna Madira II’s med bay.

“What the hell is that?!”

“It’s an alien tendril, or at least it’s part of one.” Deanna told the young female tattoo artist as she sat back in the chair. It was Spring Break and Miracle Strip outside the window was covered with college kids in their minimalist beach attire and there was one hell of a party going on. Dee was enjoying being back on Earth, even if it was just for a weekend pass. Her father had her grounded until she had been cycled through post traumatic stress counseling. So, she had a couple weeks to get her shit straight. She looked down at her new toes sticking out of her flip-flops and approved of them.

I should paint them. Black. Fingernails too, she thought to her AIC. And maybe I’m gonna shave my head on the sides.

Your father would love that, Bree replied in her mindvoice.

I’m not going to ask him.

Like they say, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Stop that. I’ve had enough of that apple shit. Apple1 died with Davy Rackman and Nancy Penzington. It’s time for me to be reborn.

Dee looked over at her friend and fellow Armored E-suit Marine Rhondi Howser and smiled. “That hurt Gunny?”

“Can’t hurt as much as having your legs blown off, but it has to be close!” Rhondi was lying face down with her naked rear face up. The tattoo artist had her cheeks spread apart and was touching up or adding details—Dee wasn’t sure which, and was too drunk to care—to the snake that curled about her body. The needle was very near Rhondi’s very sensitive spots. Dee imagined it hurt like a mother. But Rhondi had insisted that the only painkillers they could use was tequila. Dee had accepted the challenge. And now both of them were shit-faced.

“Uh, ma’am, it’s really not optimal for me to tattoo you while you’re drunk.”

“But not illegal?”

“Well, no.”

“Thanks for your concern.”

The tattoo artist hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Ma’am, what do you want me to do with this alien thingy?”