A heavy object slammed against the hatch. It was not human. No one was calling him on the radio. It hit the hatch again. A third time. The bar he had put in place wouldn't hold. Not for very long. Maybe if he had carried with him a few other tools, he could have secured it better. Father would be disappointed. A good mechanic is never without his--
The hatch door exploded inward, flew across the room, and struck him, knocking him back against the far wall. The pain was instantaneous. His upper arm was broken. Maybe his collarbone as well. His vision was blurred. His visor was cracked. The laser cutter was gone from his hand. He initiated his boot magnets, and they snapped to a wall behind him.
The Formic scurried into the room. It was wearing a pressure suit and carrying a jar weapon. It went straight to the console, ignoring Victor. It saw the damage. Its eyes moved back and forth across the bank of controls, taking it in. It stood there a long moment as if unable to comprehend what it was seeing. Then its head turned, and it saw him. It raised its weapon. Light spun within the jar. Victor was cradling his arm. He deactivated his boot magnets and leaped to the side just as a glob of mucus slammed into the wall where he had been positioned. Victor careened into another wall, landing on his shoulder. Searing pain shot through him, like breaking his arm all over again. The membrane on the wall exploded. Victor recoiled into the corner. He was behind a bank of levers and switches, not concealed at all, really. He looked to his left and right for a weapon, but there wasn't one.
The Formic approached and regarded him. Victor waited for it to raise the weapon again. It had a clear shot. Victor had nowhere to go. Five seconds passed. Ten. But still the jar didn't move. The Formic cocked its head to the side. Its eyes seemed to grow in their intensity.
It's trying to speak to me, Victor realized. It's sending me a message. Victor listened but heard nothing, felt nothing, sensed nothing. Then the Formic's face relaxed. A small black device was suddenly in its hand. Victor had seen that device before, the first time he was in the cargo bay. It was the tool they had used to eviscerate the pilot.
The Formic reached out with the device.
There was a flash, and the creature's hand holding the device was no longer connected to its body. The hand drifted away, spinning slowly. Another flash and a line appeared at the Formic's midsection. A line that had not been there a moment before. Slowly, the top half of the Formic slid away from the bottom half, and the life in the creature's eyes faded.
Victor turned and saw Imala at the hatch entrance with her laser cutter. She flew to him and attached her own suit to his. "I'm borrowing some of your oxygen. Tell me where you're hurt."
"I thought you said there were four of them."
"There were. Mazer killed two and is chasing down the last one. We're safe. Where are you hurt?"
"My arm and collarbone. Maybe ribs, too. Hurts to breathe."
She tapped the medical screen on the side of his suit. "No external bleeding. No holes in your suit. Visor's cracked, but it's not leaking. Don't move. I'll tell your suit to give you something for the pain."
"No offense, but do you know what you're doing?"
"It's a mild sedative, Vico. The system knows your size and weight. It won't let me give you too much."
He felt a small prick in his arm, and in moments much of the pain subsided. His muscles relaxed. His breathing normalized. (He had been taking short, quick breaths to keep h
is chest from expanding.) He turned to her and studied her face a moment. "You crashed your ship, Imala. That was stupid."
"Or you could say, 'Thanks for saving my life, Imala. You're the most amazing human being in the world and my hero.'"
He smiled. "I was getting to that."
CHAPTER 25
International Fleet
A Juke mining vessel carried Mazer and the other survivors back to the Valas for the return flight to Luna. The mining ship docked above the freighter's cargo bay and extended a tube down to the airlock. The medic team and several of the engineering techs were all waiting at the hatch inside. Victor came through the airlock first, and the medics whisked him away to the sickbay, with Imala close behind. Mazer came through the airlock next, pulling behind him the body bag that held Wit O'Toole. A pair of techs took it with the greatest reverence. There were also bags for ZZ, Deen, Bolshakov, and Caruso. Collecting Cocktail's remains had been a messier business, but Bungy and Lobo had found some, and there was a smaller bag for him.
The engineering techs then escorted Mazer and the others to the decon showers. Mazer was instructed to stand in a box while still wearing his radiation suit and to scrub himself clean with chemicals. If the technicians were bothered by the blood on his suit they gave no sign. Mazer then sucked up the chemicals and shed the suit for disposal. He was given clean clothes and then directed into a room barely bigger than a closet. There were storage cabinets on the wall, and a small holotable.
"What am I doing in here?" Mazer asked the tech.
"You have a holo from Earth, sir." The man left and closed the door behind him.
A holofield appeared above the table. Mazer put his head into the field and waited. A man's head appeared. Midfifties, clean shaven, square jaw, buzzed head. Definitely military. Probably eastern European.
"Captain Rackham, my name is Lieutenant Colonel Yulian Robinov of the Russian Ministry of Defense. I currently act as chair of Strategos, the international military body that operates under the direction of the United Nations and dictates orders to MOPs. Captain O'Toole reported directly to me."
Reported. Past tense. So he knew what had happened. "My condolences, sir. Captain O'Toole was the finest commander I have ever had the privilege to serve under."
"He was the finest soldier I have ever known. Period," said Robinov. "His loss is a great tragedy. But I assure you his sacrifice today will be remembered." He paused then continued. "What I am about to tell you now, Captain Rackham, is highly classified. In seventy-two hours, the entire world will know, but until that time I ask that you exercise discretion and not reveal this information to anyone. Are we clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"In three days time, the New Zealand Special Air Service to which you belong will no longer exist. Nor will the Russian military, or the American military, or any national military for that matter. The leaders of the world are forming an International Fleet, a single global military force that will defend the human race against any future Formic attack. We have been divided throughout the course of this war, Captain, and that division was nearly our undoing. If we remain divided, the Formics will wipe us out of existence. It's time to unite our strengths and resources. I'm sure I need not give the full speech to you."