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Out of the Darkness
fwshhht
The door slid open, the sound of its opening nearly drowned out by the loud humming, and slowly, cautiously, I stepped inside.
The engine room was bigger than I'd expected – even the brilliant light of the plasma cylinder wasn't enough to illuminate the entire thing, and I stared upwards into the darkness above, my eyes stopping briefly at the top of the column. I couldn't help but squint against the light even as my visor dampened it.
I reached towards my helmet, preparing to switch to thermal, the better to survey the darkness, but thought twice – as much as I dislike surprises, I might need the thermal imaging on my way out, and it would be most unfortunate to accidentally overload the visor here. Granted, I'm usually fortunate with that sort of thing, but in my experience, the best way to run out of luck is to depend on it. Still, it was with reluctance that I turned my head back towards the objective. The cylinder. Brand new engine model, and wasn't it just natural that the ship equipped with the first workable prototype would be attacked by the pirates. Of course, the Federation certainly wasn't going to let them keep it, and that meant that they sent me. Not that I'm complaining – the Feds always pay nicely. They wanted me to blow it up. Don't let it stay in enemy hands. Actually, maybe that's why they hired me – I'm good at blowing stuff up. According to my hunting license, I 'lack respect for the property of others.' I prefer to think of myself as a sort of 'karmic missile,' if you will.
Anyway, back to the story – sorry about that, but I don't get to talk very often, so when I get the chance, I tend to ramble a bit. As I was saying, before I actually blew the cylinder, I wanted to be a bit careful – one doesn't live long in my line of work without being cautious. It was a short walk to the railing, the clanking of the soles of my suit against the riveted steel platform echoing throughout the chamber, the abrupt sounds clashing with the low thrum of the plasma engine. I peered over the railing – it was even darker down there. The map the Federation had supplied me with said that there was a floor down below, but I certainly couldn't see it.
My casual inspection of the room as complete as I could hope for, I turned back towards the engine, striding towards it even as I began to look for the shield control console. The technicians had supplied me with the codes for shutting off the shields, but I didn't bother using them, instead letting my suit hack into the network to shut the outer heat shields down from inside. Sure, it probably damaged the system beyond repair, but I didn't particularly care – that was pretty much the objective here, anyway. Besides, it was faster doing it my way, saving me the trouble of having to interface with a terminal designed for someone with a functional right hand.
The temperature skyrocketed as the first shields dropped, soaring to an uncomfortable 1073 K, even with the inner heat shield still active. I could feel the sweat rolling down my forehead, even through the not-unimpressive heat shields built into my suit. I could see the necessity for the inner shield – this temperature alone would have cooked a marine through his armor – with the second shield down, it would be like standing in a pool of molten lava. I could probably take that, but fortunately, I wouldn't have to – I could get close enough to do what I needed to do from outside the inner heat shield.
I drew closer to the cylinder, watching the haz-meter on my visor rise, listening for the steady beeping that would tell me when to stop advancing. Another step. A little closer. There. I stopped, staring down, so as to avoid looking directly into the plasma beam. Flipping open the storage compartment in my arm cannon, I drew out the small device the Feds had given me before I left. It was small, spherical, and designed to optically blend with whatever it touched. A bomb. I smirked – as if I didn't have enough of those. Still, it boasted a timer, which was better for my purposes than anything I routinely carried on me, so I supposed I should cut them a bit of slack.
Turning up my high-pitched audial sensors, I flipped the switch on the device and whipped it upwards, hearing it clink against the plasma generator far above. A message popped up on my visor, assuring me that a bond had been established, and advising that I use the coming 12 minutes to vacate the premises. Subtly reinforcing the recommendation was the appearance of a timer, as well as the beginning of that innocuous noise which I have come to associate with countdown timers:
beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep
I took a pair of steps backwards before pivoting on my left foot and sprinting towards the door, arm cannon raised before me to disengage the energy shielding.
In retrospect, I really should have seen him coming. One moment, I was on my feet, running towards the exit. The next, I was on my back, cannon thrust before me, desperately trying to get a lock on the draconic figure standing on top of me, neck arched, hissing at my face. I've always been glad that Ridley never lost those primal reptilian instincts, insisting that he give some form of warning before he attacks. It gives me reaction time. Reaction time is good, especially when his otherwise impressive silence generally denies it.
Regardless, I knew how to respond to the threat – with a missile. Right to the face. Ridley's neck snapped up as the blast threw his head away from me. He staggered backwards, moving off of me, his wings and tail automatically moving to correct his lost balance. I had only enough time to get to my feet and dive to the side as he rushed past me, his hind legs kicking off the platform to send him soaring into the air. I rolled to my feet, sending a few shots after him as he came around the plasma column, hurtling towards me once more. Letting my jump jets carry me out of the path of the barb on his tail, I whirled to follow his flight path, letting a stream of shots pour after him. Most missed, but I didn't care. It wasn't as though I could run out. Although, speaking of running….
beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep
I watched Ridley dive beneath the platform, his lithe form hurtling downwards, seeking the advantage of surprise – beneath the platform, he could maneuver freely, and I wouldn't be able keep my eyes on every place he could pop up from at once. I took advantage of the respite as best I could, letting a charge build on my cannon and flipping off the audial timer alert – the added pressure would just distract me, and I needed all of my senses at their peak. Therefore, when Ridley rose from beneath, surging upwards behind me, I was ready. I whirled about, letting my shot fly. It took him in the chest, but he didn't stop, or even slow. He dove, flames pouring from his mouth to wash over me. Instinctively, my hand flew up to protect my face, or, more helpfully, my visor, from the heat. So I felt, rather than saw, his tail smash into my side, lifting me from the floor even as my suit's alarms shrieked at the heat of the flames. The room whirled about as I flew through the air, spinning from the force of the blow, hurtling towards the cylinder of death at the room's center. Dazed from the blow, dizzy from the spinning, I couldn't think. So I acted. A flick of my wrist sent my grapple beam outwards, and I felt the pull as it latched onto the railing at the end of the hole in the platform through which the plasma column ran. I heard my suit hiss as it rapidly diverted energy from the shields to shunt off the excess heat that was threatening to overwhelm my suit just from being this close to the plasma core.
I stopped, the grapple wrenching on my arm, catching me only a few meters from incineration. I swung downwards, dangling over the darkness, supported only by a narrow strand of energy emitted from my left arm. I hung there for a moment, letting my head clear. Sweat poured down my face and hissing filled my ears as I watched my energy levels drop. I hung there for only an instant, but it certainly felt longer than that. Then I rose, letting my suit pull me upward to the railing, which I clambered over. Then, instinctively, I kicked off the floor, propelling myself into the air, and Ridley passed through the area where I would have been standing, his mouth agape, eager to tear me apart. He swerved, narrowly avoiding the cylinder, and circled about, coming at me again. This time I was ready. The recoil from my super missile almost threw me off my feet, but the sight of it impacting with Ridley made up for the loss in dignity. His neck snapped back as he caught the blast in the head, and, once again, his instincts betrayed him. His wings swung forwards, arresting his forwards momentum to prevent a nasty case of whiplash. It was what I'd been counting on.
Once again, my left arm lashed forwards, and I watched with satisfaction as, this time, the grapple snagged his foot. I pulled, ripping him from the air with the full might of my suit-enhanced muscles. His wings beat futilely, unable to cooperate effectively in his daze, and he fell, crashing into the platform with enough force to stagger me. We recovered with impressive speed, neither of us having enough time to do anything but lunge, my cannon facing off with his claws, as we fought for room to maneuver. His tail swept towards my legs – I leapt over it, launching a missile, which passed between his arm and his wing. I rolled beneath a claw only to be met with a burst of flame. He knocked aside another projectile only to feel the sting of the wave beam. We jockeyed for room, his superior reach making him the equal of my vaunted agility; my enhanced reflexes preventing his incredible strength from tearing me apart.
Then he erred. A blast of flame threw me backwards and, foolishly, he rose, trying to gain the advantage of flight once more. But I was less dazed then he thought, and a well-placed missile left him falling,
landing on his back on the platform. I was on him in an instant, right foot pressed against his chest, left holding down one of his arms, cannon pointed into his face.
He glared at me for a moment, staring into my eyes through the translucence of my visor before hissing, "Mercy." I paused, surprised, and stared back, searching his eyes for the truth behind the request, and… and I didn't see what I expected. There was no hatred, no loathing.
There was nothing that human. What was there, I can only describe as … hunger, perhaps? For what, I can't say. If there was any way to determine the honesty behind the request, it would have taken a better reader of whatever Ridley is than I am to tell. So I thought for a moment – did he deserve it? I saw a girl, and her mother. Then: fire. My eyes narrowed.
"No."
I pulled the trigger, firing the missile to end Ridley's miserable existence yet again. But my moment of hesitation had cost me. Even as my finger moved inside my suit, I could feel my legs collapse from under me, torn away by the tail I had forgotten about. I saw my missile soar centimeters over its intended target, and I landed hard on my rump. Then Ridley moved, and our positions were reversed. Now I was the one on the ground, pinned under the claws of my adversary, staring into the flames of defeat. He roared in triumph, and breathed. Fire poured from his mouth, washing over my suit. Shrieks and alarms pierced the relative quiet as my suit struggled to maintain a survivable temperature for me. Pinned under Ridley's claws, I could only watch as my suit's energy levels plummeted. One tank gone. Then two. Three. Voices began to echo through my helmet – "Gravity Suit failure." "X-Ray Visor failure." "Thermal Visor failure."
Heh. It figured that that one would go.
I glared up at my nemesis, gritting my teeth at my helplessness, focusing all the rage I'd ever felt towards him upwards, as if, somehow, it could kill him, like some form of psionic spear. I could feel the heat through my armor; through my body-suit - it was like being cooked alive. My eyes squeezed shut against the pain. I imagined I could hear my mother screaming, trapped in much the same way I was. Then I realized that it wasn't my imagination. It was me.
It hurt! It burned!
Then it stopped. My eyes cracked open, setting me awash in new pain as I no doubt broke blisters that had formed over my face. I looked up. Ridley roared in triumph, then grinned. Slowly, he raised a claw, preparing to deliver the last few blows with his hands and teeth. The arm swept down, tearing a gaping hole, large enough for his head to fit through, in the floor where I had been an instant ago. But that raised claw had freed my left arm, and that had given me just the amount of space I needed.
The morph ball rocketed away from Ridley, and I rose to my feet even as Ridley realized what had happened and turned to close with me again. It was an unfortunate move for him, as it meant that he turned right into the first of my missiles. The blast sent him rocking backwards, and I followed up quickly, loosing my explosives at him, offering no respite. One by one, they hammered into his face, his
chest, his gut; slowly, but surely, he staggered backwards, having no chance to halt his movement, no opportunity to dodge or stop my attacks. Then he did stop, his legs braced against the railing of the platform. He roared once more, this time in defiance, as the last shot I had fired, a super missile, crashed into his chest and drove him backwards, toppling over the railing, plummeting downwards. I rushed to the guardrail, my left hand grasping it even as I leaned over to watch him fall. And then, his wings opened, and, his fall arrested, he glided downwards, towards the floor below. He was on the run.
I prepared to leap after him, then paused, taking a look at my visor read-out. I was low on energy, wearing a damaged power suit, and, most importantly, perhaps, running low on time. The bomb's timer had dropped all the way to 6:30. That was still plenty of time to make it back to my ship, but I'd be pushing it. I thought for an instant, then turned, taking my left hand from the rail and turning towards the door. There would be another chance. I'd get him then. I took a step away from the rail, reveling in the soothing feeling as my suit began to smooth burn gel over my blistered body. Then I took another.
Then I turned and vaulted the railing, plummeting after the fleeing pirate. I ignored the pain, the warning sirens. Only one thought crossed my mind:
Ridley, you're mine.