Роберт Бюттнер - Orphan's Destiny

Howard asked, “Can’t we just chuck ’em down there? Like throwing dynamite sticks?”

Brumby shook his head. “You can drop a lit match on paper and not burn it. The heat’s gotta be confined.” He waved his hand over the few Thermite sticks. “And it’s not like we have spares to practice with.”

Cold settled in my gut. Knowing the right thing didn’t make it easier to do it. “So we have to go down there and set this bomb off. And we won’t be able to get away.”

We stared at one another.

Brumby raised his hand. “I’ll do it, sir. I’m the logical one to work with the charges and det cord.”

I shook my head. “Commanding officer’s prerogative, Brumby. I can light a match with the best of ’em.”

Howard said, “Look, this whole thing was my idea. I can do it.”

Brumby said, “Maybe we all stay and do it, then.”

Howard got to his feet and paced. “No. Somebody needs to get the drive-system information back. If the bomb works, we win this battle. If we also bring back that information, humanity might win the war.”

Brumby gathered up the Thermite sticks and stuffed them in his minipack. “Send the ’bot back.”

I grabbed for the pack, but Brumby jerked it out of my reach. I said, “Mimi won’t know to come get just Jeeb. Besides, there’s no sense you two getting yourselves killed, too.”

Unless I pulled rank, this had the makings of a three-way brawl for the privilege of getting onself blown to smithereens. Not to mention a philosophical debate over the nature of heroism and sacrifice.

In the breast pocket inside my armor, Jeeb’s holo-cube link vibrated against my chest. I paused and looked over at him.

Jeeb was facing up the blocked passage, pogo-ing up and down on all six legs and whistling audibly.

The passage wall where he had pointed himself began to glow, a ring on the metal as big as the end of a tanker truck, first red, then orange, then white-hot.

FORTY-SEVEN

I LOOKED FROM THE WALL to Howard to Brumby. “Looks like the Slugs brought their own version of Thermite.” I pointed up the passage, past the impending Slug breach point, where Mimi would dock the V-Star. “Howard, you go. Jeeb, too. Now. Before the Slugs burn through.”

The wall ring was white from top to bottom now. A molten lump oozed, fell to the passage deck, and sputtered.

“Brumby, you and I’ll plant the Thermite.”

Howard said, “Jason—”

I pointed at Jeeb. “Take care of him.”

“You got it.”

Jeeb hovered, wings extended.

Molten metal slid down the passage-wall face in rivulets.

Howard turned and jogged past the Slug breach point, ducking away from sparks.

I turned to see Brumby already stepping through the open hatch into the incubation chamber. I ran after him as a gong and hiss announced the fall of the molten-edged passage-wall cutout.

A second later, a mag-rifle round ricocheted off the bulkhead just above the open hatch I ran for.

I dove through the hatch, rolled to my feet, and followed Brumby down the spiraling catwalk, his headlight and mine bouncing zigzag in the darkness as we ran.

A bumblebee whirred past my ear, then another.

I switched my optics to passive infrared and looked up. Hundreds of feet above us, purple Slug infrared searchlight beams crisscrossed, hunting for us. Rail-rifle rounds rained down, more random than aimed. The Slugs couldn’t see our visible light beams and their own lights didn’t reach far enough to pick us out, infrared. They moved slowly through a space that was as dark for them as for us. We had a three-minute start, I guessed.

I caught up with Brumby at the wide spot on the walkway where I had found the larval Slug. He stood bent over, hands on knees, panting, the minipack of Thermite sticks and det cord slung across his armor. An entrenching tool, for digging in the charges, dangled from his belt.

“We have to rappel down from here, Brumby.”

He looked up, swiveling his light to catch my face. “Yes, sir.”

I glanced back above. Up the spiral walkway, the Slugs had stopped wasting ammunition, but their light beams still swung to and fro, searching.

“Look, Brumby. There’s maybe a dozen of them up there. We can see them with our headlights before they can see us. They can’t handle any GI one on one and our armor’s better than theirs. There’s no need for two of us to stay here and plant the charges. You fight your way out.” I held out my hand toward his minipack. “Give.”

“Sir? Seems to me the general’s better qualified to fight Slugs and I’m better qualified to plant charges.”

He straightened, but made no move to hand over the pack.

I lifted the climbing rope coils over my helmet. “Brumby, this is the Army, not a debate club. Give me the pack.”

A Slug beam swept purple across the chamber wall, just above our heads.

Brumby shook his head, light wagging in the dark. “What’s at home for me, sir? Jail? A VA bunk? I’ll go making a difference, thank you very much.”

The fact that Brumby’s analysis was right didn’t make it right for me to let him plant the charges. The stupid thing about leadership is that leaders have to do stupid things. “Brumby, I order you to hand over those charges.”

Spang! A Slug round thudded into the deck a foot from us.

Brumby hooked a thumb in his minipack strap as he looked me in the eye. “Yes, sir. You know the last thing I would do as long as I live is disobey an order.”

And then Brumby stepped backward into thin air and fell serenely into the dark.

FORTY-EIGHT

I STARED INTO DARKNESS, the space before me empty.

The wet thud as Brumby fell into gelatinous Slug larva and ammonium-nitrate soup echoed across the vast chamber.

Slug lights jerked and arrowed, closer now. Slug shots spattered the walkway.

“Son of a bitch!” Brumby’s voice rasped over the Whispercom.

“Brumby? You okay?”

“Nothing broken, sir.”

I swallowed back tears. “Brumby, what you just did—”

“With respect, sir. It’s done. What the general needs to do now is keep the Slugs off my butt so I can get my digging done down here.”

I turned back and headed up the walkway as the first Slug infrared beam swung across my armor. A three-round burst from my gun sent the light and its owner toppling into the pit.

One sighted GI against a squad of blind Slugs is hardly a fair fight. Twenty minutes later, I stepped back into the passage that led back to Mimi, Howard, Jeeb, and, perhaps, home.

“Brumby?”

“Just dug in the last charge, sir. Should be a great finish. I’m gonna light the first fuse now. Ten minutes, sir. You take care.”

I drew a breath and my lip quivered. In ten minutes, Brumby could have gotten back to the walkway, but he would still be a half hour from rescue. “You, too, Brumby.”

As I came abreast of the Slugs’ breach in the passage wall, ten squirmed forward from their passage, firing. I snatched up the cut-metal wall section for a shield, knelt behind it, and gun-fought them until the last one dropped. I used up the last M-60 ammunition and left the gun behind with a pang.

If I was going to keep the Slugs away from Brumby, the best way was to blow this passage shut with the remaining Megatex, then set up shop back at the breach point, where we had bottlenecked the Slugs before. As I ran to our breach point, I heard the charge I had set crump the passage closed. I chinned my radio to Command Net. “Mimi? Howard? Over.”

If Howard had made it, my ride would be long gone, racing to beat the blast upon which the future of the human race depended.

I tried squad net. That would just reach Howard, who probably didn’t have his radio on and wouldn’t know how to answer it, anyway.