“No offense, Alpha, but I don’t love this plan,” Yasuka said. “It’s risky.”

  “Standing here is risky,” Wagner said. “I think it’s a good balance between aggressive and defensive.”

  “This is the plan,” Caleb said, cutting them off. “If you don’t want to participate, maybe you can catch up to Sergeant Pratt.” The Sergeant had vanished into one of the dead zones and hadn’t come back out. Had he found a path to the trife? More likely, the trife had found him.

  “I’m with you, Alpha, Wagner said.”

  “We’re all with you, Alpha,” Yasuka added.

  “Doctor Craft, we’re ready to—“

  “Guardian Alpha? Anyone, can you hear me?”

  The voice came through the main terminal commlink. Caleb recognized Sheriff Aveline’s voice immediately. She was breathless and agitated.

  “Sheriff?” Caleb said. “This is Guardian Alpha. I copy.”

  “Alpha,” she said. “I’m standing in the Law Office in Metro. Deputy Lacuna is with me. He has the corpse of a trife in his arms.”

  Chapter 38

  Caleb’s heart sank. “What?” he whispered stiffly, uncertain he had heard Sheriff Avaline correctly.

  “We’ve got half the office combing the engineering passages behind the city and the other half walking the streets. It killed thirty-three passengers before we caught up to it. We’ve been calling out to you for over an hour. We were starting to think you were dead. ”

  “I’ve been here the whole time,” Caleb said. “I don’t understand why you weren’t getting through.”

  “I swear, half this ship is already busted and we just launched. We’ve been in here half a day, and we’re already getting calls about broken lifts and stuck doors like that’s a major concern with everything else going on.”

  “Cats in trees, remember Sheriff? Where’s Governor Lyle in all this?”

  “He’s with the engineering team. They’re trying to figure out how the trife got in.”

  “Just the one?”

  “That we know of. It’s a small one, so preliminary guess is it may have found a gap in a stuck air vent or something. We can’t take chances on more getting through.”

  “How can we help you with that?”

  “Besides killing them all? Engineering is working with us to isolate the entry point and get it fixed. But we need some backup from the outside.”

  Caleb’s jaw tightened. He barely had enough Marines as it was, but how could he turn down the request? “What’s the location?”

  “Deck Twenty, near the stern,” she replied. “We think. We’re following the trail of casualties backward.”

  Caleb checked the grid. The location was reasonably close to the interchange, just barely outside of the dead zone. The sensors were clear, not that it meant much. If he changed up their strategy a little, maybe they could keep an eye on the vents leading into Metro and stay on track with the original plan.

  “We’ll be there soon. We were headed that way, anyway. Do you think you can manage until we get there?”

  “We’ll do our best. Thank you, Alpha.”

  “If you run into trouble, reach out to Doctor Craft in Research. He can relay a message down to us.”

  ‘We’ll just have to make do. Hurry, Caleb.”

  “Roger that, Sheriff. We’ll be there ASAP.”

  “Thanks. Sheriff out.”

  “Lily, wait,” Caleb said before the comm link went dead.

  “What is it?” she replied.

  “Maybe we can talk again soon. Once the trife are gone. Even if you can’t come out here.”

  “You get all the trife off the ship and we can talk as often as you like.”

  He could sense the smirks and soft chuckles from the Guardians in the CIC with him. He didn’t care. He had already prayed because he would take every edge he could get. Having something to look forward to wouldn’t hurt either of them.

  “Confirmed. Talk to you later, Sheriff.” The link fell silent.

  “Doctor Craft,” Caleb said. “We’re moving out. Guardians, let’s go. Make sure you grab a trap on the way.”

  “Oorah!” they replied in unison.

  Caleb picked up his MK-12. His P-50 was already stuck to the back of this SOS, a blaster clasped to his hip. The other Guardians followed his lead, grabbing their weapons and moving into line.

  They approached the hatch leading out of the module and it slid open. He paused to grab one of the containers of urine, snapping it to his hip opposite the pistol. Then he entered the passageway, scanning it quickly. There were scratches on the walls and floor, claw marks from the trife who had been banging on the door earlier. There was no sign of the demons themselves.

  “Once more into the breach,” Sho said behind him.

  They started along the corridor, trailing away from the Marine module toward the stairwell that would take them up to the higher decks. The Marines behind him were silent and focused. Washington moved to the left of Caleb as they walked, his plasma rifle leveled and ready. Shiro was bringing up the rear, also armed with a P-50.

  They advanced at a steady pace, making it to the stairwell without confrontation. Caleb could tell his body was regaining its strength, the pain medicine beginning to wear off slightly as they continued. His legs felt stronger and lighter, and less like they had lead weights tied to them.

  Craft continued to maintain comm silence as they started the ascent. He had only planned to speak if he saw anything unusual happening on the sensor grid, and thankfully there was nothing to report.

  The Marines rose quickly, making the trip from Deck Twenty-nine to Deck Twenty within a few minutes. The Guardians were expecting to stop there, but Caleb didn’t slow as they reached Twenty. He went right past it, continuing the climb.

  “Alpha, aren’t we supposed to be helping Metro?” Hafizi asked.

  “We will. The more trife we take out on this side of the seals, the fewer can sneak in through the vent.”

  “Roger that.”

  They kept climbing to Deck Fourteen, coming out near the central lifts. Craft still hadn’t said anything about the trife, leaving Caleb to assume the area was clear. Of course, the doctor couldn’t see in the walls or vents any better than the Guardians could, so they still moved cautiously, maintaining their formation as they made their way to the first choke point.

  “Raptors, split here to take a position on both sides of the fork,” Caleb said as they neared the Y-intersection. “Flores, load a pair of Dragonflies in these two vents. Be ready to run when we call for you.”

  “Roger that, Alpha,” Corporal Wagner said. “We’ve got your back.”

  “Roger, Alpha,” Flores said, unslinging her hard pack, the one with the Dragonflies inside. She laid it on the ground and flipped it open to take out two of the small robots and release them into the vents.

  “Vultures, let’s go. Stay alert.” Caleb led the Vultures forward, coming from the left corridor of the intersection toward the choke point. “Sho, Washington, wait here.”

  “Roger that, Sarge,” Sho said.

  Caleb and Hafizi continued forward, entering the intersection. Caleb took the container of urine from his hip and unscrewed it, turning it over and dumping the contents out onto the floor. Hafizi opened his and splashed it onto the walls.

  “Do you think they’ll fall for this?” Hafizi asked.

  “We’re about to find out. Let’s move back.”

  They retreated to where Sho and Washington were waiting. They would find out if the smell of urine was enough to bring the trife to them or if they needed to be physically present to entice them.

  “Raptor Four, do you have anything?” Caleb asked.

  “Negative, Alpha,” Flores replied. “Vents are clean. No visual, no… wait. Onboard microphones just started picking up sound. Gathering telemetry. Standby.”

  Caleb shouldered his rifle, waiting for Flores’ report. He still didn’t hear or see anything. “Craft, nothing?”

  “Negative, Alpha,” Doctor Craft said. “I would have told you if there was movement from the group in the aft.”

  “Alpha, I have it,” Flores said. “We have motion through the vents, approaching the intersection.”

  “They must have been close to get there so fast,” Sho said.

  “Alpha, they stopped,” Flores said. “Twenty meters back of the intersection.”

  “Check the map, is there a vent back there?”

  “Standby.” A moment later. “Confirmed. “They probably have line of sight.”

  “And they can see nobody is there,” Caleb said. “I’m going in. Hafizi, wait here. Let’s see if we can draw them out with one piece of bait.”

  “Alpha, it should be me,” Corporal Hafizi said.

  “Negative. My plan. My risk. Sho, Wash, get ready.”

  “We’re ready, Sarge.”

  Caleb started forward, heading back to the intersection. He walked into the area, rifle up and ready, turning slowly and pretending he was searching for the trife.

  “They’re moving, Alpha.”

  “Alpha, I’ve got movement in the corridor ahead,” Craft said. “About twenty trife.”

  “They think you’re alone,” Hafizi said.

  “Good. Haffy, have Wash and Sho move in closer.”

  “Roger.”

  Caleb looked back toward the Vultures. Then he started to sing. “From the Halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli…”

  His voice echoed in the corridors. His ATCS picked up the trife, and he turned back around to face them.

  A single demon charged him from the corridor. He shot it in the chest, sending it sprawling, still singing.

  “We fight our country's battles in space, air, land, and sea..”

  “Alpha, I’m picking up audio from the second vent,” Flores said. “It’s getting loud.”

  “They’re sending a lot of bugs your way, sir.”

  “Good. Don’t let me down.”

  “We’ve got you covered, Alpha.”

  Caleb stood in the middle of the intersection, trying to watch all of the avenues of attack at once. He could hear the trife in the corridor now, sharp claws clacking and clattering against the floor. They were going to rush him en masse, and use their vastly superior numbers against him.

  Except their numbers weren’t as superior as they thought.

  “We are proud to claim the title Of U.S. Space Force Marine.”

  “Watch the vents, Alpha,” Flores said, giving him warning. Caleb looked over. He could swear he saw the yellow eyes looking back at him.

  “Haffy, send Washington in,” Caleb said, stopping his singing and starting to backpedal away from the corridor. The trife came around the corner in the distance, moving on all fours, a scrambling black slick of aliens with only one motive — erasing him from the universe.

  He reached the right fork, crouching against the wall and shooting, taking out the lead trife. Most of the demons behind the leaders leaped over, but a few stopped to put their hurt brethren out of their misery.

  It didn’t matter. Washington emerged from the tunnel, P-50 at the ready. The demons hissed as he came into view, taken by surprise by the quiet Marine dressed in black.

  Their hisses turned to screams, the superheated gas of the plasma rifle washing over them and burning them to death. Nearly twenty trife had come after him. They died in seconds.

  But what about the creatures in the vents?

  “Alpha!” Flores shouted. “They’re on the move, headed back toward… shit! The Dragonfly is out. We’re blind.”

  “Fall back to the rendezvous point,” Caleb said. “Now!”

  He heard more claws in the corridor ahead. “Craft, what the hell is happening?”

  “They’re coming, Alpha,” Craft said. “They’re still coming.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I’m in communication with Metro,” Craft replied, his voice stiff. “The trife are attacking them too.”

  “How many?”

  “I don’t know. All of them?”

  Chapter 39

  Caleb continued to back up, joining Washington in the corridor. What the hell was happening? The plan was to draw in a few of the trife, not bring the whole damn nest running. Of course, they weren’t all chasing after him and the Guardians.

  They were heading for Metro.

  Lily had said the one they caught came in through a jammed vent, the space too small for most of the trife to get through. But what if the hole was larger than they thought? Or what if the creatures were able to dislodge it? Somehow, they knew that one of their number had made it inside, and they wanted to do the same. Did they know how many people were hiding in there? Did they know how many they could kill?

  There were somewhere near thirty law officers in Metro. That wasn’t nearly enough. They might be former Marines, but they didn’t have armor, they didn’t have assault rifles, and they definitely didn’t have plasma.

  “Craft, location?” Caleb asked. He heard a crash behind him, and his ATCS lit up as Hafizi’s sensors picked up the demons emerging from the vents. He heard gunfire a moment later, and then the hiss-whine of plasma.

  Washington started shooting beside him, switching his P-50 back to bolt mode. The red-blue lines of heat sank into the incoming slick of trife, blasting through the front lines.

  “Alpha, Metro requests immediate assistance,” Craft said.

  “A little busy,” Caleb replied. “Maybe you can go help them out?”

  “We don’t have any weapons here. We’re scientists, not Marines.”

  “Have to do everything myself,” Caleb muttered. He glanced over at Washington, making a quick decision. “Fire in the hole!”

  He squeezed the secondary trigger on his MK-12. A loud thunk followed, and a silver ball launched from the barrel into the crowd of trife ahead.

  It exploded a few seconds later, the detonation shaking the corridor and rending metal, tearing the incoming trife apart and leaving the path behind them clear.

  Washington smiled and flashed his upturned thumb as they turned around and sprinted along the corridor. His ATCS was registering more of the demons closing on the Raptors, who were trying to make their way to the rendezvous point -- an adjoining corridor half a klick back.

  “Raptors, this is Alpha. Vultures are headed for the stairwell. We’re heading to Deck Twenty to support Metro. Cover our movement.”

  “Roger that, Alpha,” Wagner said. “We’ve got them.”

  Caleb heard the gunfire echoing through the corridors. He could see the targets vanishing on his ATCS, cut down by the Raptor’s fire. The trife were coming on hard, but the combination of advanced weaponry and enclosed space gave the Guardians an edge, and the demons were out of tricks.

  He hoped.

  The trap he had tried to lay had failed, not because the trife were wise to the plan, but because they were able to sense living humans beyond the scent of urine or sound. He didn’t know how. It couldn’t be that their hearing was so acute, or Washington wouldn’t have taken them by surprise. The same went for registering vibrations on the floor or having extra-fine vision. And yet they knew all of the Guardians were there. Not only there, but where they were within the confines of the ship. They had known about the bridge, the Marine module, and maybe Research. Valentine probably wouldn’t tell him if the trife had attacked; it might give him some satisfaction.

  So what was it about those things that separated them from Washington in his current ninja state?

  His thoughts were interrupted as he caught up to Hafizi and Sho. There were dead trife all around them, both burned by plasma and shot with conventional rounds. The two Vultures were standing in the middle of the scrum. Sho was bleeding from a large gash across her face, which Hafizi was in the process of patching.

  “Sho,” Caleb said, rushing over to her.

  She turned to look up at him. Her left eye was gone, torn out by a demon claw.

  “Too many,” she said. “Bastards.”

  “Hold still,” Hafizi said, holding the patch up. It had a strong smell of its own, a chemical cocktail of healing agents that would stop the bleeding and begin repairing as much of the damage as it could.

  Washington put a hand on Sho’s shoulder to comfort her. She reached up and squeezed his wrist. “I’ll be okay,” she said. “Ugly, but okay.”

  He motioned to his own face, more heavily scarred and malformed than hers would ever be.

  “But you’re a man. Nobody cares about an ugly man. And you didn’t lose your eye.”

  “You won’t come out ugly,” Caleb said. “Just stay alive and you’ll see.”

  “Roger that, Sarge.”

  “This is going to hurt,” Hafizi said. He used his free hand to pinch Sho’s face, bringing the cut skin back together. At the same time, he pressed the patch against it, holding it there while it reacted with the blood and skin, fusing to it.

  Caleb was impressed when Sho didn’t make a sound. He knew how much the patches hurt. He shifted his attention to his HUD. The Raptors were closing on the rendezvous point, managing the trife coming after them. Another group of the demons was headed toward his team, closing from the corridor they needed to go down.

  “Alpha,” Craft said. “What the hell are you doing? Metro needs assistance, asap.”

  “We’re on our way, damn it,” he snapped back. “It isn’t exactly a picnic up here.”

  “I’m good to go,” Sho said, wrinkling the undamaged side of her face. “Wash, keep my right side covered, will you?”

  He nodded.

  “We’ve got to go through them to make it to the nearest stairwell,” Caleb said.

  “Roger that,” they replied, moving into position with Sho in front. Caleb didn’t love putting her forward like that without a SOS, but he would be able to cover her bad side more easily.

  They continued ahead, a small boat powering into a rushing tide. Sho adjusted her P-50, switching to stream mode as they closed on the demons.

  “Be careful not to slag the corridor,” Caleb said. “We still need to get through.”