MechMan

The needle slid between the third and fourth vertebrae in his neck. A flash of heat shot through him. More pressure was exerted to penetrate the synthetic cartilage of his neurospine. Accessing his internal response center, he raised the pain threshold, but not so high he couldn’t monitor the procedure. Immobile, he waited for it to be finished.
“Done.” The doctor stepped back. “JXS241, system check?”
“No change,” he said, and reset his pain threshold. “As you said, Doctor Mechins. Just a pinch.”
“Good.” The doctor made a note on his techpad. “There are three biomechs just outside the lab, waiting to escort you and the information I implanted into your neurospine to the planet Altaiga.”
“Give me a ship, doctor. I’ll get myself to Altaiga.” Taking three biomechs away from the war to act as escort was a waste of resources.
“The information you carry is critical to the war effort.” Dr. Mechins tapped the techpad. “You’ll take the escort.”
JXS241 rose from his chair. The decision was illogical, but sometimes humans determined situations based on feelings rather than sound military strategy. He yanked a black shirt over his head and shrugged into his military-issue jacket.
The science lab shook, equipment toppled, and assorted paraphernalia crashed to the floor. Alarms barked to life, an alert that the base was under attack. Dr. Mechins’ reserved manner morphed to terror. His gaze rolled toward the ceiling.
“They’ve discovered us.” He grabbed JXS241’s arm, dragged him to the lab door. “You’ve got to get out of here. Take the other biomechs, commandeer a ship, and get to Altaiga. The fate of humanity may very well depend on you.”
JXS241 stepped through the doorway. Three heavily armed escorts awaited him. One shoved a pulse rifle into his hands. He grasped the familiar weapon, glanced at it, and toggled the setting to kill.
“Wait.” The doctor clutched his shoulder. “You may notice some changes—”
The lab exploded. Hot twisted metal and glass missiled through the air, spiking everything in its path. A rush of heat shoved Dr. Mechins against JXS241, and they tumbled into the outer hallway.
Hands grabbed the biomech, lifted him to his feet, and propelled him away from the lab. On the floor lay the doctor, ripped metal and shards of glass jutting from his back, blood pooling beneath him.
“Medic required at lab, level seven,” the tallest biomech said into his com-band. His gaze shifted from the doctor to JXS241. “In line, soldier. Primary objective is to obtain a ship and fly out.”
JXS241 moved behind the other biomechs, and they hastened to the hangar where pilots scrambled to their fighters.
Scattered throughout the bay, sparks of light appeared and stretched into beings. Six-and-a-half to seven-foot men and women materialized. Graced with flaxen hair, and beatific smiles, immense gossamer wings protruded from their backs. With a serene facade they surveyed the hangar.
The enemy had arrived.
Biomech and human soldiers responded. Yellow pulse fire whizzed through the air. The lithe demons twisted and jumped, dancing clear of injury with frenetic speed. Several laughed, avoiding the hot electrical blasts as if it were a game. The Darch possessed great beauty but enjoyed playing with their food.
In two long strides, a male demon towered over a soldier. Before the man raised his gun, the demon’s wings spread, swooped around, and encased him. JXS241 fired on the Darch. A look of bliss on its face, the demon’s wings relaxed. The skinless remains of the soldier sank to the floor, a quivering red mass.
The male Darch turned an intense blue gaze on JXS241. He stalked across the floor, his gossamer shroud spread wide. A biomech fired, but having just fed, the demon ignored the direct hit. The Darch smiled, glistening spikes filled an unnaturally wide maw.
Across the bay, a panicked soldier tossed a sonic grenade toward two Darch. Ships flipped like toys tossed from a child’s hand, absorbed the brunt of the shockwave, and crushed three additional Darch and several soldiers. Rolling to his knees, JXS241 located his escort and noted two of them inactive. The third pointed toward the fighter they intended to procure, took three steps, and collided with a female Darch. The huntress gathered him in her wings, her face enraptured with the feeding.
JXS241 sprinted to the ship. The battle would have to be fought without him. His primary directive was reaching Altaiga.
He strapped himself into the pilot’s seat, lifted from the bay floor amid a hail of pulse fire, and turned toward the exit. A second sonic grenade exploded, and the resulting wave tilted his ship. He fought the controls, righted the vessel, and escaped into space.
A Darch destroyer met him. Missile-shaped fighters swarmed, and before he could employ evasive tactics, they spotted him. No time to wait for the computer to upload the coordinates for Altaiga. He would jump to the ship’s previous destination. He tapped the flat panel, spinning up the hyperdrive.
The light flashed green, and he jabbed the jump button.
An alarm blared, warning that a Darch fighter marked his ship.
The stars around him streaked, and he leapt into hyperspace.
His fingers flew over the computer panel in search of Altaiga’s coordinates. No matter his current destination, wherever he landed, the Darch would arrive moments behind him. When he exited hyperspace, he needed to be ready to jump again and throw them off. But before he entered the information, an indicator blipped, announcing his arrival into conventional space.
He found himself in an asteroid field. Tight quartered, he rolled the ship, avoiding a mammoth rock. As he skirted the behemoth, a Darch cruiser came into view. JXS brought weapons up, and the ship’s computer beeped. Glancing down, he discovered the capacitor charges depleted. Damn. The fighter had no pulse weapons. The best he could do now was dodge around rocks, but that had its own perils.
He dove between two asteroids and checked the instruments. The console read clear. He hadn’t been targeted. Why not? In the past, Darch technology had been able to locate fighters with disconcerting ease—especially at this range.
Daring a closer inspection, he came around. On the first pass, he spotted a gaping hole on the far side of the enemy ship. The Darch cruiser hadn’t targeted him because it had been disabled and abandoned.
Any moment, the enemy fighter that marked him would arrive. The Darch expected him to hide in the asteroid field. But would they think him foolhardy enough to board a dead Darch cruiser? He dove for the landing bay and set down behind two large discarded cargo crates.
The computer revealed the Darch vessel had air, though the quality wasn’t optimal. Still, to save time and set up for an ambush, he opted for no gear.
Grabbing the pulse rifle, JXS241 departed his fighter, skirted through a half-open doorway, and sprinted down a short hall. Engines rumbling in the hangar signified his location had been detected. His best chance was to circle around and pick them off one by one.
In the semi-darkness, he ducked behind a stack of damaged equipment. He waited. His breath evened. The demons had not found him yet. Maybe they weren’t the remarkable trackers he’d been told.
Footsteps sounded down the hallway. A whoosh of wind. Silence.
He gripped the pulse rifle. His little finger tingled, numb against the metal weapon. He loosened his grip, but the lack of feeling persisted. Lifting his hand, he inspected the digit, attempting to recall how he’d injured it.
Pain shot through his hand. He clenched a fist, and his little finger fell to the floor. Startled, he stared at the digit. Was this the change Dr. Mechins warned him about? He shook his head. Now was not the time for body parts to fall off. What had the man injected into him?
The detached finger twitched, bumped against his boot. It curled and twisted. Sprouted six legs. Unfurled a pair of wings, and lifting into the air, flew down the hall.
He crept forward, his gaze following until it disappeared around a corner. Was he falling to pieces and transforming into an army of insects? He crouched behind the equipment and waited for the inevitable.
Instead, a picture invaded his consciousness. A vid of a dark hallway. Another side effect? What he saw made no sense—until the swift patter of Darch feet filled his ears.
JXS241 glanced around the crates. Nothing. But the sound persisted.
The insect. His vision was that of the winged creature. Had to be.
A female demon slipped from the shadows, spotting the arthropod. She took a step toward it. The vid evaded capture. She pursued it, brows drawn low, her mouth a line of determination. An efficient predator, exquisite death in fluid motion.
The insect fled, winging down the hall. Acting as bait, it led the enemy toward JXS241.
He raised his rifle. When the female Darch rushed past, he fired three consecutive shots. She fell, rolled. He fired a fourth shot, hitting her in the chest.
The Darch’s wings faded, crumbled. Her body convulsed, stiffened then softened with death. One down. But how many more?
The insect flew, turning left, then right. Disoriented, JXS241 placed his hand against the wall to steady himself. The arthropod located a second Darch. The glorious hulking male tracked the winged creature. Moments later, the Darch lay dead, taken down by JXS241’s rifle.
Were there more? In his mind, he flew with the insect, rushed down hallways, turning corners at speeds that set his internal balance spinning. When he glanced up, it was too late. A second female Darch towered over him.
Her iridescent wings spread wide. JXS241 raised his pulse rifle, and she smiled. A mouthful of needles glinted in the semi-darkness. Stepping toward him, her blue eyes blazed. Her wings swooped around him, a cocoon of death.
Air squeezed from his lungs. An impossible cold permeated his body, freezing his bio-skin. His plasmatron brain slowed. Stopped.