Lieutenant Jornigan strutted across the deck of the ship’s hold. The sound of his boots echoed and he looked drab, gray and small, set against the backdrop of the red crates behind him. Faded lights shone from above, causing the Lieutenant and the small squad of men before him to cast long, slender shadows upon the metal floor and walls.
“There are men and women on the front lines, fighting alien hordes of unspeakable description,” Jornigan said as he paced. “There are men and women in the vast reaches of space doing battle against our competitors. There are men and women dying every day! You are not amongst them.”
Sergeant Hacks was quite pleased by this speech so far and he puffed his chest out, idly swinging his foot to the side to nudge trooper Sams, who in turn elbowed trooper Donalds, who had the good sense to whisper to trooper Rix. The corporate employees puffed out their chests and did a fine job of looking like real soldiers: which was good enough for Hacks.
“The company however,” the pale-faced, Lieutenant said while darting his eyes from one minion to the next, “expects that you will pull your own weight even if you are not pulling a trigger. You are to transport a valuable resource to our men in the process of removing the multi-limbed, and entirely unreasonable, Gendrix from their planet of the same name. You will bring to the front lines standard, three percent by volume, beer, vital to the morale and well-being of our operations.”
A murmur ran through the men and Hacks cleared his throat to cover the noise.
Lieutenant Jornigan’s booted foot stomped once on the deck, reverberating like a shot. “If one can is missing. If so much as a drop of the company’s resource is spilled, or God forbid, drunk, then I will personally see this outfit gets to hear a different speech. One that goes something like,” he planted his hands on his hips and lowered the pitch of his voice, “Though you are unlikely to survive this mission, understand the company appreciates you and your work.” He pointed at Hacks. “Do your men want that?”
Hacks roared, “Men, do we want to die?”
“No, Sergeant,” they chorused.
“Men, will one drop of beer spill?”
“No, Sergeant,” they said loudly and clearly.
Hacks nodded and said to Jornigan, “Sir, the men understand the mission.”
“Good, Sergeant. Get this ship underway. I want to be in transpace in an hour, and at Gendrix within two days.” He marched from the hold, muttering as he departed, “And I want out of there as fast as possible.”
Hacks could thoroughly agree with the Lieutenant’s final statement. “Jimmy”, as the planet had been nicknamed in perverse honor of an Earth-space guitar legend, was where careers were ended: usually under the large fists of the local inhabitants, or if one was lucky, under the explosive, but quick, power of their weaponry. Hacks had no interest in facing down aliens who carried two guns and two swords at once.
“You heard the officer! Let’s get moving. I want us in space, now, now, now!” Hacks bawled.
#
The Sun-Gen Corporate Space Transport 33-A, or the Avoidance as the men called it, was a serviceable ship, safely transporting gear, men and material for the company for over five years without a single casualty, much to Hacks delight. Officers changed often. He doubted they would have Jornigan long. The man might wish to avoid any post on “Jimmy”, but surely he wouldn’t want to linger too long on the Avoidance. There was no room for advancement on a largely non-combat, low priority space-hauler.
The men, Hacks included, would stay, because whether they were facing down aliens in trenches, or sitting leisurely in their crew quarters, the pay was the same.
The run was going smooth enough, with the usual hold-ups. Space-control took too long getting them off the Sun-Gen station, the transpace drive was reticent in starting up, and the cargo invariably had to be shifted from one part of the hold to another by slow, trundling, automated forklifts to provide access to panels containing the latest machinery to fail and need repair. All in all: boring. And thus perfect for Hacks.
Satisfied after the typical delays, Hacks visited Jornigan to assure him all was well, before heading off for his bunk for well-deserved rest. The men under his command knew their job well, and he was hardly needed, except to liaison with officers or corporate officials.
He entered his small, private quarters, slid into the bunk, fastened to the wall and let out a long yawn. His chambers were small, but at least he didn’t have to share. Books, magazines, empty and yet-to-be-cleaned coffee cups littered the surface of the dresser and work desk he had managed to stuff in the room. From ceiling pipes, several coat-hangers supported his various uniforms. A monitor, which could only show pre-approved Sun-Gen films, had been smashed open and the glass cleared away to provide more valuable shelf-space for his aquarium and pet turtle, Samson.
The electric hum of the lights used to grate on his nerves, but Hacks had conditioned himself to think of the sound as the dull, aching, whine of blessed, safe stagnation.
He thumbed through a few magazines he picked up on the station and yawned. Within a few moments the rattle and hum of the lights ushered him to sleep.
Bliss ended with a jarring shake and yelling.
Hacks blinked and narrowed his eyes. The light was blocked by trooper Rix who was leaning over him, wide-eyed, and shouting. The gangly, thin, bug-eyed trooper was not a pleasant sight to awaken too, nor was his fetid breath.
“What? What is it?” Hacks pushed Rix off of him and rubbed his eyes as the light stung at his eyes. The lights aboard the Avoidance never went out; it was the corporation’s way of saying, ‘work is never over’.
Rix looked over his shoulder. In the doorway, Hacks could see everyone else, minus the Lieutenant, clustered about and shifting from foot to foot like schoolboys at the big dance.
“Sergeant, the beer,” Rix stammered.
From the doorway, Donalds swept his thin, black hair back, revealing and expansive forehead. “It’s gone.”
“Gone?!” Hacks jumped from his bunk and pushed past Rix. He stormed towards Donalds and Sams and barged past them. “Things don’t just ‘go’, what the hell happened? Does Jornigan know?”
“Who?” Sams asked.
“The Lieutenant,” Dolands provided and slapped Sams across the head. “No, Sergeant,” he said after clipping his comrade, “Just us.”
Hacks led the way to the hold, marching as if at the head of a boarding party. He didn’t look behind him at the others and growled, “Well? Explain.”
“It’s not our fault,” Rix said.
“It isn’t!” Donalds agreed.
“Blame Ruby,” Sams said.
Ruby? She was one of the automated forklifts that moved about the hold shifting goods as needed. A few verbal commands and she usually performed without fail. Hacks didn’t say a word and let verbal silence, and the thudding of his boots, hang in the air with palpable menace.
“Tell him,” Donalds whispered.
Hacks heard a disturbance behind him that he imagined to be two soldiers roughing up one.
“It’s Ruby,” Sams said and the rustling came to an abrupt halt. “I told her to clear out some space. She had stacked some of the beer making it too hard to get to panel B. The one that keeps shorting out.”
“I’m well aware of it,” Hacks grunted.
“So, I figured it would take like an hour,” Sams said and his voice picked up in volume. “An hour is all! So, I told her to clean up the mess and I took a nap. Just a quick one, and when I came back to the hold it was all gone. Ruby didn’t quite get it. Something’s wrong with her.”
“Something’s wrong with you,” Donalds muttered.
The doorway to the hold was just ahead. Hacks pressed a button and the door slid open to reveal an immaculate, clean and very-much empty hold. Three automated forklifts sat to the sides of the room, illuminated by orange, flashing warning lights perched atop their drab, yellow hulls. The hold had a massive air-lock and Hacks didn’t need to go look through the reinforced window of the door to see the bizarre, twisting, colors of transpace, and the open cavity beyond. Somewhere in real-space, crates of beer were tumbling through the void, chilled perhaps a bit too much for Hacks’ liking, and well beyond his reach.
Hacks crossed his arms and shook his head. “She dumped it all?”
“All of it,” Sams confirmed. “She cleared up space alright.” He strode ahead of Hacks and flung his arms out and spun in a circle. “She took everything!”
“Just like his ex-wife,” Rix said and thrust his hands into his pockets.
“Sergeant?” Donalds asked and peered at him with watery eyes. “The LT is gonna kill us.”
“No,” Hacks said and clasped Donalds by the shoulder. “He’ll probably only jettison Sams into transpace to go get the cargo back.”
Sams stopped spinning and his shoulders slumped. “Really?”
Hacks held a breath, and slowly let it pass through his lips. The truth of it was that crap didn’t just roll downhill. Often it crawled itself up a slope. He was their Sergeant; his life was the one on the line, just after Sams’. Then again, the momentum of feces wasn’t entirely working against them either.
“What do I do?” Sams wailed.
“You all owe me half of your next pay-check,” Hacks said. They didn’t need to know he had a vested interest. He snorted and wagged his finger. “And I’m not on cook-duty for a month. You got it?”
“Yes, Sergeant,” they chorused.
“Alright then.” Hacks turned and stormed back through the doorway. “You wait here. I’ll deal with the LT.”
#
Hacks navigated the cramped, halls which were cluttered with wires, tubing, and other machinery that probably at one time was safely behind panels. He moved towards Jornigan’s chamber and rapped on the door.
A few moments later, the door slid open to reveal a much more Spartan, but not much larger, room than Hacks’. Jornigan was stripped to the waist and had his tunic slung over one shoulder. He blinked.
“Yes, Sergeant?”
There was no easy way to tell the man, and so Hacks reported as if on parade. “The entire cargo has been jettisoned, Sir. Total loss.”
Jornigan’s jaw worked, but no words came out. He started to put his tunic on, backwards, fidgeted a moment and reversed the garment.
Blazing onwards, Hacks said, “One of the automated forklifts decided to dump it out the airlock. There is no recovery possible.”
“You’re a dead man, Sergeant,” Jornigan said soon as he had his wits about him. He fumbled with the buttons of his corporate uniform. “You’re dead,” he repeated.
“Sir, do you wish to be buried together or separate?” Hacks crossed his arms.
“Are you threatening me, Sergeant?” Jornigan’s eyes strayed to a table by his bedside where a pistol lay.
Hacks eyed the weapon and shook his head. “No, Sir. The way I figure it though, is that Ruby-”
“Who?”
“The automated forklift. She’ll be reprogrammed. Rix, the man who was supposed to be watching over her will be reprimanded and possibly be drummed out of the company, I’m going to be sent to some very dangerous hell-hole, and you’ll probably be the one telling me to ‘take that hill’, at which point-”
“I understand, Sergeant,” Jornigan interrupted. He licked his lips and nodded his head. “Come in.” Jornigan moved to his bed and sat heavily upon it.
Hacks remained standing within the room and pressed a button to shut the door. “A quandary, Sir.”
“Yes, Sergeant. We’ll be in orbit around Gendrix in two days, minus the entire shipment.” He rubbed his temples. “I need to think.”
Think? Hacks smirked inwardly. No thinking was necessary at all. He had decided on a course of action before he knocked on the man’s door. “Sir, we need to replace the beer.”
“Impossible, it’s lost, scattered between here and eternity.” He eased into bed and shut his eyes tightly.
“We can get more. Replace it all.” Hacks sniffed. “I have a plan.”
One eye popped open and fixed on Hacks. “Sergeant, if you have something to say, then say it. Otherwise, get out as I figure a way out of this.”
“We’re heading to a warzone. Huge armies are hurling themselves at one another, and beer keeps the troops happy. We just need to liberate some and deliver it.”
“Raid our own side? We’ll be caught, tortured, threatened with death, tortured some more, then if we are lucky, killed, but probably experimented on by Sun-Gen scientists.” Jornigan shut his eye. “We aren’t raiding our own. Good try, Sergeant.”
Hacks was mildly insulted. He hadn’t even considered piracy and said, “I wasn’t talking about raiding our side, Sir.”
Both of Jornigan’s eyes snapped open. He leaned up and as he began to recognize Hacks’ plan his already pale features turned positively ghostly. “You’re insane.”
“No, Sir. I’m desperate and so are you.” Hacks pointed to the pistol. “If you don’t like my plan, then we can always load that up and share a round each.”
#
The men were assembled in the cavernous, and entirely empty, hold. They had donned their best attire, though Hacks had to wonder why. Did they think looking like proper soldiers would somehow mitigate what was in store for them?
He strolled in front of them and jabbed each of the three men in the chest with a stubby finger. “I had a long talk with the LT. Oh, he was mad. He had plans to just up and shoot all of you.” He waved his hands in an expansive gesture that sent the trio reeling back a step.
“All of us?” Donalds exclaimed.
Hacks narrowed his eyes. “What? You think you and Sams, or Rix, are any different in the eyes of an officer? No. The Corporation sees failure as a ‘group effort’.” He placed his hands behind his back and swayed back and forth on the balls of his heels. “However, I talked the hard-ass out of performing executions. There is a way for you to save your skins. You’re not going to like it, and I want you all to know, any man, at any time, can walk right over there,” he pointed at the airlock, “and step outside.”
No one moved.
“We’re going to arrive over “Jimmy” and perform a raid on the natives. They make beer, like we do. It might come in larger cans, but beer is beer.”
“You got to be kidding?” Rix breathed.
Hacks answered by nodding towards the airlock.
Still, no one moved.
“Jornigan and I are working on a plan. Your part in it will involve deft use of our forklifts and gunplay. Go to the weapons locker and make yourselves ready.” Hacks nodded curtly. The men stared at him, then at each other and shrugged.
Hacks rolled his eyes. “The weapons rack is on deck two, it’s next to the mop room.”
“Oh,” they said and dumbly walked off as if in a trance. One by one, they filed out from the hold.
All in all, they took their suicidal orders quite well. Hacks watched them depart and glanced over his shoulder. From behind one of the support beams dotted about the hold, Jornigan emerged.
“They’ll do it?” Jornigan asked.
Hacks nodded. “Yes. So long as they think fighting Gendrix natives for their alcohol is preferable to the alternative. You can fly?”
“Better than the automated pilot,” Jornigan said with a deflated shrug. He shook his head. “But this isn’t a combat craft. They’ll knock us from the sky.”
“I’ll get us the beer; you get us on the ground and back up again. I can’t hold your hand all the time.”
Jornigan’s lips compressed.
“Sir,” Hacks amended.
#
Time became sluggish for Hacks. They were only two days out from “Jimmy”, but it felt like it had been a week. Hacks had drilled his trio of men, but stumbled at times when it came to operating their weapons. The last he had fired a weapon was on a practice range decades ago, and the last time he had fired a weapon in anger was the use of an improvised slingshot on Donalds in their yearly hide-and-go seek ‘mutiny’ drills.
Also, Sams hadn’t been lying about Ruby. They needed the forklifts in top-shape if they were to snatch cargo from the enemy in a reasonable amount of time. Sapphire and Diamond obeyed commands without fault; Ruby on the other hand sometimes seemed almost deliberate in her misunderstandings. Granted, at any other time watching her try to run over Sams would have been hours of amusement, given the severity of the situation they needed her behaving, and she was having none of it.
Jornigan wisely kept his distance from the crew. He had to delve into his electronic library to get as much information on the enemy as possible and to keep the crew scared witless of him. Hacks had recommended simply being scarce. The unknown was always more terrifying than a known quantity.
Time was running out though. Hacks left his men in the hold, practicing the movement of the forklifts, and wound through the ship’s halls to Jornigan’s room. He rapped once.
“Come in!”
Hacks pressed a button and entered, shutting the door behind him with a practiced jab of an elbow. Jornigan’s once clean room was littered with maps, print-outs, drawings and three empty bottles of liquid from the Lieutenant’s personal liquid-relaxation supply.
The Lieutenant looked as if he had been in solitary confinement for years. His face was waxy, a fine layer of blonde stubble marred his chin and his uniform had filled with wrinkles. He was perched over his desk. Hacks doubted the man had caught a wink of sleep. He surely hadn’t. The Gendrix ate their prisoners, usually from the feet up.
“Sergeant?”
Hacks blinked and chased thoughts of gnashing teeth from his mind. “Sir, my men are as ready as they are going to be. We’ll be over Gendrix in an hour. How are things on your end?”
“My plan is about as sane and likely to succeed as yours.” Jornigan stood and gestured to a map on his desk. “My data is old, so I’m choosing an enemy supply base well behind their lines. It should still be there.”
That made sense. Hacks nodded. “Alright. How do we get in?”
“Simple. We fly slow, leisurely and just land.” Jornigan stabbed his finger at the map. “Right on their landing pads. We’re a big ship, but we’ll just fit.”
“You’ve been drinking heavily, staring at that map, and that’s the best you’ve come up with?” Hacks cleared his throat. “I’m not reassured, Sir.”
“It will work,” Jornigan said smoothly and stared at Hacks.
For a moment, he was surprised. He nodded then paused. “Wait-”
The officer frowned. “Usually if you speak with conviction, people don’t question you, because they want to believe you.” He cleared his throat. “You want to believe me, don’t you?”
He did. Hacks nodded.
“Then get a communicator so I can keep in touch with you, make sure your men are set and be ready to get us that beer.”
#
The Avoidance shuddered as its various technologies came to life to protect the hull from entry into Gendrix’s orbit. Metal squealed and an unsettling rattling echoed in the empty space of the hold.
Hacks was more disturbed by his men, who like him, were seated in chairs bolted to the side of the hold. They were shaking more than the ship and looked about as intimidating as a band of school children armed with some particularly nasty adjectives. Rix had decided to don war paint, giving him a raccoon-like appearance, Donalds wore so much web-gear, ammo bandoliers, and grenades that his jingling was audible over the creaks of the bulkheads. Sams looked the most like a soldier, and was praying fervently. Fine stuff from a man Hacks had never seen pray before except when throwing dice on a table full of money.
Hacks was not feeling so well himself. He had skipped on lunch and clutched his assault gun in a death-grip. He willed his features to be plain, hiding any nerves at work, though he half-wondered if the beating of his heart could somehow be heard amongst Donalds’ array of tinkling kit and the strains on the Avoidance’s hull.
The communicator in his rolled up sleeve crackled to life.
“Hacks? You read me?”
Hacks tilted his head to yell into the receiver of the device. “Yes, Lieutenant. How’s it looking?”
“We’re not dead,” came the reply, “and we’re moving slowly through their airspace. I’m thinking we’ll be down in ten minutes. Or, well, more dramatically in thirty seconds. One or the other, I’ll let you know.”
Hacks wiped his brow and frowned to find his hand sweat-stained. The Avoidance wasn’t an especially hot ship. The crew often complained about her being too cold.
The rattling eased off, but the men stiffened. A lack of turbulence means they were on an approach vector.
Hacks checked his weapon over and glanced at the waiting forklifts. The girls were more ready than they were. “When we touch down, open the main ramp and follow me. You’ll know what to look for.”
The men gave no reply.
The Avoidance rumbled and Hacks felt his stomach flip. He thanked himself for not eating lunch. The ship shuddered a final time and abruptly the movement aboard halted with a resounding thud.
“Go!” Jornigan’s voice blurted from the communicator.
Hacks didn’t need to be told twice. He unhooked the restraints from the seat and lurched to his feet. He nodded at Sams.
Sams, eager to carry out his task, coughed as he tried to rise before releasing the restraints. His hands fumbled and a moment later he sprinted to the large control panel that operated the various doors and ramps. He rammed his fist into one of the buttons.
The great bay doors cracked open and cold air seeped into the ship. Dull light filtered in as well as the rear of the Avoidance split open and a long, wide ramp unraveled into position.
“Go!” Hacks barked and led the way down the ramp. Sams would stay behind to guide the girls when they found their quarry. The Gendrix depot was lit only by a sinking, golden sun and a few florescent lights and sharply angled poles. Crates were haphazardly stacked off the pad and a few, oversized, and dark buildings loomed in the distance.
Beyond the depot Hacks could see rugged, dry hills, a few lonely trees and little else. He had no idea why the corporation was hell-bent on claiming the planet for themselves. So far, he had not been impressed.
No one was there to greet them, which suited Hacks fine. His eyes peered over the crates and he pointed. “Look for beer. You can’t miss it.”
Actually, it was entirely possible they could. He had no idea what exactly Gendrix beer looked like, only that they drank it and from the stories he had heard from the real corporate soldiers, it was prized stuff amongst the men of Sun-Gen. Given the aliens were big bastards, he assumed they’d drink large beer cans.
Rix darted one direction, Donalds another, jingling all th way.
“Enemy fighters are going to pass by. Don’t shoot. The longer they are confused the better. Any hostiles?” Jornigan asked.
Hacks turned his eyes to the sky and could see tiny, swiftly moving black shapes approaching. He had no intention of getting in a firefight with aerials. As for hostiles on the ground, he saw none. Had they hit an undefended, unmanned post?
“No shooting!” he called out.
The Gendrix fighters zipped overhead, leaving behind a contrail of black, acrid smoke. They passed again, and a third time, but on the fourth pass the screaming interceptors banked and vanished over the horizon.
Hacks kept an eye out while Rix and Donalds meandered through the alien crates. He shouted, “Hurry up. Find something, anything we can take back!”
If the depot was in disuse, they would either have to face the wrath of the company, or seek a livelier alien base. Just as Hacks was considering pulling out Rix laughed.
“Got it!” Rix stumbled from behind a precarious stack of drab, metal boxes. “Back here they have crates filled with cans.” He held above his head, like some idol, a massive, steely can, with a strange label and drawing upon it.
Hacks couldn’t read the alien script on the can, but he could easily make out the crude diagram of a four-armed alien guzzling away.
“How much did you find, Rix?” He waved his hand in Sams’ direction. The painted up trooper started to belt out orders to the girls, who on motorized tracks, trundled down the ramp. Like some pack-master, Sams followed, ready to direct the forklifts.
Rix shrugged. “A few crates.”
“Donalds?” Hacks shielded his eyes against the setting sun and looked for the over-laden soldier. He emerged with an exasperated shrug and shake of his head.
It would have to do. “Pack it up,” Hacks ordered. He leaned his head over and spoke into the communicator. “Sir, we’ve come upon an undetermined amount of beer. No hostiles yet. How is the sky?”
The device hissed and popped before Jornigan’s voice broke through the static, “Clear skies. The fighters are going away. That doesn’t mean they won’t be back. Somewhere, some four-armed alien General is wondering why the hell we are parked on his driveway.”
A heavy, low groaning brought Hacks’ eyes to the rocky hills. He saw a plume of black smoke, and a moment later a wide, truck. At first he thought it was some industrial machine used to haul heavy material, but as he peered he could make out movement in the bed of the vehicle. It looked overly-wide because its cargo had four arms, which tended to take up a lot of room.
“Sams, get the girls moving faster! Rix, Donalds get to cover. Our beer-run is in danger.” Hacks sprinted across the pad towards a pile of crates. He used the butt of his weapon to knock them over. To his side, Donalds and Rix did the same. He could hear Rix cursing over and over.
The Gendrix transport easily crested the hills, kicking up dust and debris as it barreled towards their position. Hacks couldn’t see any weapons onboard, but doubted the aliens would be unarmed.
“Come on! Come on!” Sams howled from behind Hacks. “Damnit, Ruby! Pick it up and bring to our ship. Don’t just move it five feet and call it done!”
“Sir,” Hacks said into his sleeve, “we have enemy troops approaching on a transport. Get the ship ready to go.” Hacks crouched behind his make-shift barricade and glanced at his two men. “Donalds, grenades when they get close. Then we all open up on them. Got it?”
Donalds answered with a whimper and curled up behind a box. Setting his assault gun aside, he grasped two grenades dangling from his belt.
Hacks risked a glance over his shoulder to see Diamond and Sapphire, laden with their loot, making their way slowly, but steadily up the ramp into the hold. Ruby was farther back on the pad, swerving, and Sams was hot on her treads, kicking.
The Gendrix vehicle broke through a pile of earth and landed on the landing pad in a shower of sparks and with the squealing of metal on metal. The driver’s compartment was shielded by tinted windows, and a lone, cyclopean headlight flickered on, momentarily surprising Hacks. He turned away and his heart froze.
It was a good trick.
Fortunately, while Hacks and Rix had flinched under the strong beam of light, Donalds panicked and threw his grenades.
Two whumps put a ringing in Hacks’ ears and when he returned his eyes to the enemy he smiled. The front of the truck was ablaze.
Rix screamed and Donalds soon after. Hacks almost joined them and chocked back a cry.
From the bed of the vehicle, massive, four-armed, creatures leapt. They had overly muscular arms, brown, leathery skin, and squat legs. They had no head, rather they were dominated by a torso which had four, black, beady eyes strung across above an impossible large, teeth-laden maw. Worse, they held in their enormous hands strange, metal weapons, and over-sized pistols. Hacks blinked as his eyes focused on their melee weapons. They looked suspiciously like wrenches and other tools. They were being attacked by alien mechanics.
“Kill them!” Hacks roared and rose to his feet, pulling the trigger. His assault gun kicked in his grip and he heard the chatter of Rix and soon after Donalds’ weapons.
The disembarking aliens staggered under the withering hail of fire. Black blood burst upon their forms and though they were massive beings, they died easily enough once shot.
Within seconds, three of the creatures were dead, not including however many had died from the pair of grenades and the resulting blast. Still, several more exited the vehicle, stepping over the bodies of their kin, firing on the move.
A crate exploded next to Hacks and Donalds wailed and dropped to the ground, letting his weapons clatter on the concrete pad as rounds pummeled the area around them.
Rix, keeping his head, ducked low and kept firing, sending another alien sprawling back. His eyes snapped to Hacks. “We got to get the hell out of here!”
Hacks threw himself flat as bullets zipped past him. He clumsily raised his rifle in one hand over a tumbled crate and fired off the rest of the clip in the general direction of the aliens.
“Sams!” Hacks turned his head to see Sams pushing on Ruby, urging her on. She was on the ramp, which meant it was time to go.
Reloading while more alien rounds skipped past him, and a few holes blasted through the crates clustered about, Hacks barked, “Fall back! We’re out of here.”
Donalds was on his feet in an instant. Weaponless, shrieking and still jingling, he ran for the ship. Rix backpedaled, and kept up a steady spray of fire, switching out a clip as he retreated to the general safety of the Avoidance.
Popping up from cover, Hacks frowned to see the creatures were storming towards them, heedless of their losses. He raised his weapon and rattled off two bursts. An alien died, but another closed the distance and swept through the barricade of crates, sending them scattering in all directions. Its maw yawned open and its black, shining eyes, gleamed in the dying daylight. Four arms swayed, sweeping with alien wrenches, and firing off rounds indiscriminately.
The beast smelled like rank sweat. It was nearly twice as tall as Hacks and he instinctively cowered. He saw four arms waving wildly and opened fire, screaming at the creature, which screamed right back in a bass-baritone.
Puffs of smoke and spatters of black blood splashed across the alien’s body and Hacks winced as he felt hot ichor strike his face.
The alien took two more steps, tottered, and collapsed at Hacks’ feet. He let out a sigh.
Pain interrupted relief. He felt fire in his shoulder and a moment later he was staring at a deep, purple sky, and faint stars. He dumbly leaned up and gasped as the pain in his shoulder spread through his entire body. He could hear the aliens. They were roaring, firing, stomping.
He held up his hand, but moaned as he found it empty. Where had his weapon gone? He blindly searched for it, but felt nothing but pavement, and every attempt to turn his head, or otherwise look, raked him with agony.
The ground shook under the weight of heavy feet. They were right on top of him. He heard his men shouting, but their voices were distant and muted. They couldn’t help him.
“Dying on a beer-run,” Hacks mused and shut his eyes. He hoped they wouldn’t start eating his feet.
Something lifted his feet.
“Oh no,” he moaned and then screamed as he was picked up. He was going to be swallowed whole! His eyes opened and he flailed, despite the pain. His hands brushed metal and his eyes saw a wall of yellow. He was in the ‘arms’ of a lady, whose orange light flashed rhythmically.
“That’s right, Ruby!” Sams shouted from afar.
Hacks groaned and winced as he felt the impact of bullets against Ruby’s shell. Gears groaned, but the forklift sputtered along, up the ramp and into the embrace of the Avoidance.
Donalds was at his side before the great doors of the ship started to shut. He yanked the communicator from Hacks’ sleeve, which elicited a new level of suffering and a shuddering moan.
“FLY!” Donalds screeched into the device.
The ship’s engines hummed and just as the doors shut, Hacks closed his eyes.
“Hell, he’s bleeding a lot,” Rix said.
#
A gentle, steady beep guided Hacks from his slumber. He opened his eyes and found himself staring at a whole lot of white. Heaven? No, heaven didn’t smell medicinal and beep. Heart monitors beeped. He leaned up and saw curtains drawn around his bed and pale, white covers flung over his body. He glanced at his shoulder and wasn’t surprised to find it tightly wound up in bandages.
The doctor arrived later. They were typical corporate medics, eager to help him as long as he was aware his pay was being docked for any extra services, such as having his bedpan changed daily instead of weekly. Painkillers tended to cost more whenever he balked about price. Though they would do just about anything in the name of the company’s bottom line, they refused to tell him what had happened since he blacked out.
Days passed and the rustling of the curtains brought a sigh to Hacks’ lips. He was surprised to see, not a medic, but Lieutenant Jornigan. No, not Lieutenant, he had the markings of a Captain.
“Ugh?” Hacks said as a form of greeting.
“Ugh, indeed, Sergeant.” Jornigan leaned over the bed and offered a smile. He looked much healthier, and had a fresh shave. “Do you want the good news, or bad?”
“I thought doctors were the ones who said things like that. You here to bill me too?” Hacks struggled to prop his back up against the pillows of his bed.
“In a sense. The alien beer was successfully delivered. Our collective hides have been saved, but only for today.” Jornigan cleared his throat. “I was promoted and assigned to this lovely planet filled with horrendous, hate-filled, aliens. The front lines, as a matter of fact.” He circled the bed like a vulture. “Because of my devotion to the company in risking my life to ensure the morale of the men. And apparently, the enemy was quite upset by our little raid, and responded with an ill-advised attack that has seen them reeling. The company just had to award me rank and more danger.”
“Congratulations?” Hacks croaked and didn’t envy the man.
“Don’t pat me on the back just yet, Sergeant. I am getting my own ‘special unit’ for,” he narrowed his eyes, “dangerous company tasks. I was told to select a team and guess who my Sergeant is?”
Hacks gasped. He tried to reach out and grab Jornigan by the throat, but the bandages about his arm wouldn’t allow it. “Bastard!”
“I should say the same to you. Be happy, Sergeant. You and I are getting a promotion, and we only took one casualty. It could have been worse.” He turned and swept the curtains aide.
“Casualty?” Hacks’ heart sunk. “Who?”
The officer glanced over his shoulder. “Ruby didn’t make it.”
She was just a machine, but Hacks felt his heart sink. He nodded glumly. “I guess she’s better off than us.”
“Indeed, Sergeant. Indeed.”
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