[X-universe](Short story) AIM

[Kal Ryper]

I don't know enough about the x-universe, to get into great details, hence a short story attempt.

AIM

Two laser rifles and a stub-blaster twitch as I reach inside my jacket. The weapons’ owners, all Teladi, eye me warily.
“I’m reaching for the items you wanted,” I say, “they’re valuable, so I keep ‘em close.”

The weapons dip slightly but still point at my legs, but I don’t mind. I lost my real legs, along with my right arm and a portion of my torso a while ago. I was a marine back then, fighting for a cause, but now … I’m fighting each tazura as it comes.

These three could equally be my friend or enemy. We’re all merchants; I need a ship and they are prepared to trade for a couple of medals, two of only three made … because that’s how many of us survived.

I ease my right arm out and three pairs of eyes widen as the triangular medals dangle from a metal thumb and forefinger. The purple ribbons with their diagonal veins of green, orange and cyan may as well be invisible. It’s the pure Nvidium they want.

The one with the stub-blaster plucks a scanner off his belt, steps forward and wafts it over the medals for several sezuras, then steps back and offers the display to his two colleagues. Mouths stretch into greedy smiles. They’re happy.

I get the docking-bay number and the matt-black metal wand, which will grant me access to my new ship. I swipe a small device over one end of the wand, checking for its authenticity. The device emits a double-bleep, I nod and the trio depart. Two small pieces of purple cloth mark where they had stood.
I start to reach down to pick them up but stop myself and stand up again. It’s a life I want … I need ... to forget but the crumpled cloth is curled like a purple flame and I’m drawn into the memory.
I am a sergeant again, of flesh and bone, and sweating profusely as we complete the boarding action …

###

“Sergeant, this is Yulla, we have a problem,” I hear over the unit comm. net.

“We’re secure, you need back-up?” I ask, re-checking the ammo.-counter on my weapon, the read-out bright in the gloom of a corridor lit only by emergency lights.

“Negative, the bridge is empty. That’s zero personnel,” she sounds concerned and that is enough to worry me, but we have no time to consider.

The net is hit by a blast of static and then we hear the flight-captain’s voice, urgent but in-control as he marshals the battle-barge, from where we launched our attack.

“Contact – hostiles, unknown designation. Carrier sized, get …”

The net goes dead and we’re reduced to squad range frequencies. Yulla and her squad are as isolated as we are.

“Deeks, take point,” I order, “get us to evac. point alpha.”

In file, we ghost through the corridors, weapons raised for trouble. As we pass through an intersection, it finds us.

The lighting flares bright and we shrink to a crouch. Deeks is in the doorway as the blast-door crashes down, crushing him instantly, leaving only a boot to remember him by. We’re already falling back, squinting, tracking for a hostile target. Sentry guns drop from the ceiling; squat, cylindrical bodies with flat hats and four stubby arms, which stitch the corridor with laser and solid-projectile fire.

We’re good and open fire simultaneously but in the bright glare it is hard to identify targets quickly.
The ambush is almost successful … almost.

###

I blink, and focus on the military-style boot that has smothered the purple flame.

“You okay sarge?” she is concerned again.

I nod once and take a deep breath before regarding Yulla for a moment. It’s still strange to see her with long hair – another reminder that we are no longer in the military but she is all business. Her arms outstretched, stub-blaster in each hand and covering both directions of the corridor, her head switching periodically from left to right, watching both ways.

“C’mon,” I take command again, “let’s get our new ship and put distance between us and this place.”

With weapons concealed, we take an indirect route to the docking-bays. We backtrack twice but no one was following.

We meet up with the third recipient of the ‘Nebula 271 encounter’ medal, Jurgason, who detaches from a shadow, lazily twirling an access-wand around the fingers of one hand.

“She’s clean,“ he rumbles and offers me the wand.

I snap the Teladi wand and take the new one, then hand the data-skimmer back. We still retain a few military “toys” to aid our transition to civilian life.

The Teladi may be tenacious profit hunters but they are also true to their word and we get ourselves a ship with a full cargo-hold of energy-cells. It’s a dramatic change from front-line soldier to humble merchant, but we have endured worse. Far worse.

Yulla pilots us out. There’s no backup anymore, it’s just us, and the universe suddenly feels a whole lot bigger. Jurgason takes first duty in the rear turret. He grins but we both know it’s forced. He is just as scared as me. Nobody wants to go to sleep but I have to do it, despite 62% of my body no longer in need of it.

Trading is going to take time, to build up our own little empire and amass any sort of wealth. Time is something we have plenty of ... as do our masters, who sit quietly, patiently and invisibly within Nebula 271.

I lie rigid on the bunk, staring at the curved ceiling, only inches from the vacuum. Sleep claims me eventually but it is a rare, fitful one because they are happy we are progressing, and I do not dream; the nightmares withheld this time.

Who would suspect three ex-military types, struggling to make ends meet, were to form part of the vanguard for an invasion.

Back in the day when we trained as marines, we’d be on the firing range.

“Ready ... aim ... fire!”

Now, those same words have a different meaning

“Ready,” we trade and we build, getting ready.

“AIM,” it’s what the three of us have become ... A.I. Marines. We envy those that died in the ambush.

“Fire!” I think you know what is going to burn.