Aberrant

Chapter 22

Three successive waves of force sent the Fire Witch lurching backwards. The world outside went black. Wreckage tore past the hull like demon claws. But the sound was eerily different from that of the first scorpion attack.

Jinx wrenched her gaze to the windshield. Darkness. Flashing bits of debris. The tell-tale electrostatic discharges of shield flare.

Jee-zus. She jerked her head about to stare at Kaplan, disbelief and gratitude winging through her. His gloved hands hovered over dozens of icons—including flashing warnings about surface protocols.

The lunatic void hound had engaged the Fire Witch's shields right in the middle of the landing platform, probably disabling a number of smaller craft.

No. She looked to the swirling, fire-ruddy smoke looming on nearly every vid feed on her console. All craft in their vicinity were already disabled—totally, irreparably. The scorp ahead of them wasn't out to immobilise. It didn't want live flesh for any hive larder. It wanted goddamn barbeque.

"Shield's at sixty per cent." The guy beside Kaplan—Sketski—sounded a little out of breath within his battle suit's mask. "We can't afford another direct hit from that repeater, Captain."

In the co-pilot seat, in front of Sketski, Ike let out one thin whistle.

"Get a fucking grip, Ike." Tras fired thrusters to get clear of the pit-pod's wreckage. "Divert what power you can to the shields. They'll buy us time, but they're a fucking bull's eye on our back."

"Koel, find us launch space." Kaplan tapped his station, his movements fluid. "The scorpion's primary repeater takes sixty-three seconds to recharge after burst fire. We've thirty seconds to get clear. Captain Tras, how fast can you move once you get clear runway?"

"There's thunder under these tin skirts. The old girl'll move." The Fire Witch shuddered as Tras slapped on the fore thrusters and drove his ship backwards, breaking a dozen more port rules Jinx no longer gave a damn about. Wreckage struck the ship's aft shield at pace as the trader drove over debris and smaller vessels. "Koel, what you got?"

"Behind us. Port one hundred and twenty degrees." Jinx eyed the composite sensor images on her console. "Few fires. Limited engine activity. Getting damn close to the edge of the platform though."

"Scorpion tail turret going hot." Kaplan's words made her gut flip. "Twenty seconds to next pulse."

Tras fired another set of thrusters and swung the ship about. More detonations sounded outside, close but muted by the shields. Huntsmen launching plasma bolts. Armed vessels returning fire.

Jinx eyed the rear vid feed—the black composite tail rising up over the smoke and dust. She gripped her seat's armrests.

"Ten seconds to pulse," Kaplan warned.

"Fuck!" Tras narrowly avoided another fleeing vessel. "Got a visual on that launch space. Gonna be ti—"

Ike shrieked.

Jinx jerked her gaze from the vid feeds to the windshield. An ink-black vessel, reminiscent of a squid, dropped into view, firing up sand and dust at the edge of the landing platform.

A Xykeree Cetus raider.

"Oh, God," Jinx breathed.

Tras punched the Fire Witch sideways. His taut curse said everything. They were dead meat in a roach sandwich.

Hotly glowing tube-like growths sprouted from the raider's bulbous nose. Charged plasma cannons ready to—

High-yield plasma burned the world white.

A wallop of force. Debris and sand blasted forward, screaming past the Fire Witch's windshield, propelled by an explosion behind her.

Jinx grabbed her console and stared at the aft imaging. "Shit. That raider just baked the scorp! What the hell?"

"What?" Tras wrestled his vessel back under control, sliding it between a wildly spinning shuttle and the smouldering remains of a freighter. "It took out its own unit?"

"The scorp wasn't playing by the rules." Kaplan slid his hand over his screen of ominous warnings and control icons. "Captain, find us a hole and punch it. That Cetus will start targeting—"

His words were prophetic. Plasma bolts started raining down in the haze of dust—lower yield than the one that had preceded them, but still punishing.

Jinx gripped her seat harness as the Fire Witch shuddered under a direct hit. On her console, the engine signatures of other craft winked out, replaced by hot infrared bursts. "They're back to disabling civilian vessels. Jesus." Her stomach turned over. "Someone goddamn shoot me before I'm dragged to the breakfast buffet."

"Be my pleasure, pu'ta. But that ain't happening." Tras jerked the ship straight.

Jinx found herself looking out the Fire Witch's windshield at a strip of cluttered runway. Overturned skimmers, fires, and ship wreckage. But no large vessels directly ahead. Her heart jumped—then a sickening awareness gripped her. She was leaving the planet. Her plans to quit her job—spare her friends grief and pain—reared up. A bad joke. Nausea clogged her throat.

She grabbed her armrests as the vessel's engines started to roar. God. She couldn't lea—

A large spider-like body leapt down into the rubble in front of the Fire Witch. A Xykeree huntsman.

Its plaz cannon swivelled—locked on.

The exskel exploded, its carapace going skyward. Jointed legs blasted in every direction.

Jinx shot Kaplan a wild look. His hands rested on the controls of the Fire Witch's auto-cannons.

She didn't have time to swear. Tras punched his rear thrusters, jolting her back in her seat. Smouldering wreckage gave way to wind-whipped sands. Composite shielding slammed across the windshield, a backup for the shields.

The Fire Witch's powerful aft and ventral thrusters exploded to life.