He snorted. Well, maybe there’ll be a homecoming yet. “Yul, baby, I’m coming to getchya!” he yowled, piked his rifle in the air, saluting the idea. One last flight aboard the good ole Albatross, God rest her soul!
The men nearby frowned, thinking Regers a complete lunatic and Regers laughed, the men having no inkling of the depth of his lunacy.
The men fanned out, rifling through the suits Regers had brought, looking over the arsenal of weapons, some fingering knives and explosives, others E1’s. The more sensible ones examined their knives and tested them on the stubborn corpses that stuck in rigor mortis to their suits. He recalled the blood, sweat and tears it had taken to get those fully-suited men into the tank room and the luck that he had Shredder to run interference on any curious squids.
Regers curled his lip with approval. The dark man with the balding head, Deakes, his name conveniently labelled on his uniform, scrutinized everything. He tested his mobility in his suit, practicing mock manoeuvres with another marine, Vincent, a wiry youth with straight black hair, who prodded about, studying the surroundings with a careful eye. They would be rising stars, these two. He knew it.
One man, blinking like a toad, frowned at the dozens of vacant-eyed figures floating upright in the tanks. His pale tongue flicked out to lick his lips. “We have to set them all free, Regers. Every last one of these men and women.”
“No, we don’t,” argued Regers. “The minute we open those doors, they’ll all die. We don’t have suits for them, unless you think they can breathe ammonia.”
The man’s mouth worked and a hot flush reddened his ears. “Well, we’ve got to figure out a way, damn it!”
Regers made a buzzer sound with tongue and teeth. A cold grin surfaced on his face. “The lightfighter will take only a handful of men. And I don’t want to be shitting, eating and breathing recycled air with a bunch of turds like you.”
“That’s a cold-blooded way to—”
Regers whirled and with all his strength laid into the man’s skull with his E1, cracking it like an egg. The man fell like a log, blood oozing from the horrific wound. The others peered on in stunned wonder. “Anyone else with a brilliant suggestion?” howled Regers.
The men exchanged wary glances, their teeth clenched.
“Then listen up, you fucks. You’re the chosen ones! My knights of the round table, for lack of better words. Risen from the grave! Jenner, I give you the privilege of choosing a replacement for this misguided soul. Pick a man, any man!” He laughed, a ribald chortle. “Not the women though. I see that bulge in your pants, you sneaky bastard. Keep it on a leash.”
Jennings shook off his displeasure, his look mirroring the question what had he done to deserve Regers? Grimacing, he blasted a nearby tank that contained a glaze-eyed Jakru inside.
“Oh, you like the horned ones, do you?” Regers sneered. “Well, sure, Jenner, whatever. Come here! I dub thee ‘Sir Knight of the Horned One’.” He laughed, made a sweeping bow before Jennings and touched left and right shoulders with his E1, knighting him on the spot.
Sniggers drifted from a few.
“Anyone else have skills to bring to the table? Like piloting a ship?”
The rough-looking Deakes and the fresh-faced Vincent grudgingly offered up their names.
“Listen, I’ve picked you well. None of you surviving pansies are to free any of the women or our poor little froggy-floaters in their brine. You realize we have to save your own skins here. Right?”
There came some muted rumblings and Regers smiled.
“Then suit up, bitches! Don’t fail me. There’s a shitload of ammonia out there, hull’s breached. In case I didn’t mention it.”
Three of the men grunted. “Here, here!”
Quick to recover and to size up the situation, the hawk-nosed Jakru stepped forward, dripping and expressing his gratitude. “I am Ramra. Grateful for this second chance at life.” He bowed low before Regers.
Regers thrust his weapon in the air again, acknowledging the tribute.
* * *
After they were all suited and had used Yul’s adhesive to repair any tears, they engaged in a full check of their oxygen levels and ensured that all their feeds were working. Vincent had a defective air line in his back pack and had to sub in from one of the spare suits. Thinking ahead, Regers had dragged an extra one in to be sure.
Some of the Cybernetics’ team’s corpses were looking pretty hacked up and in advanced rigor by the time they had dragged them out of their suits. Acid burns on their faces and caked blood in gruesome places brought grimaces to the faces of even these hardened men. Regers shook his head, reckoned them as cargo haulers, miners, marines, security men, engineers, pilots, the like.
All in all, it had taken Regers longer than expected to prep a decent working crew. Even then he wasn’t sure. There was no guarantee that these hacks with their hack-job suit exchanges would work, or that their makeshift patches would bear up in the alien air before they could get to the lightfighter and safety. Well, they either would or they wouldn’t...
Regers released the door and the men levelled their rifles as a wash of toxic air whooshed in.
He resealed the door. With stealthy stride they marched through three more tank rooms before they reached the main hall.
Regers motioned. “Down this way. A straight haul to the hold. Watch the sides and corridors. They’re sneaky bastards, these squids. Don’t look back.”
Eight men ran two to a shoulder down the dim corridors, with rifles ready.
Regers took up the rear, watching the steam issue from their helms. Better that
