Cold Planet: A Gateway Universe Story Read online

  As the minutes ticked away, Martin struggled to push the myriad of nagging sensations from her mind. The swarming insects were making a buffet of any exposed flesh, and she felt the skin on her lower body, submerged in the muck, growing clammy and soft. To make matters worse, with only a few hours of sleep in the last two days, her eyelids began to feel like bricks. ‘Keep it together.’ She bit her lower lip to the point of drawing blood for the stimulation to keep her awake. Her gaze locked on the open ground in front her, she slowly moved her left thumb to direct the drinking tube routed through her vest toward her lips. Feeling the tube touch her lower lip, she opened her mouth and gathered the tube with her teeth, taking in a soothing drink.

  Suddenly, movement fifty meters to her left drew her attention. She was slowly shifting her rifle when she sensed something behind her. Her adrenaline immediately kicked in, all notions of exhaustion evaporated in an instant as she waited for another sign. The subtle sound of a disturbance in the water behind her triggered her to roll onto her back just as a Phelian warrior lunged toward her, driving his sword at her chest.

  Martin grasped the attacker’s arm, pushing the blade away from her body and into the muck as she felt the weight of the Phelian on top of her. Grabbing his hair with her left hand, she smashed her right hand into his temple and reached for her pistol. She slid the weapon from its holster and swung it toward her attacker’s body, but he recovered and pivoted his body to direct the muzzle away with his leg as she fired.

  Martin turned the pistol back toward the Phelian again but felt his powerful hands wrap around her gun-hand and twist it backwards. Forced to drop her weapon, Martin snatched a knife from her vest with her left hand and drove it deep into her opponent’s upper back. Using the embedded blade as leverage, she swung her legs over her attacker’s body to straddle the Phelian. From atop her opponent’s back, she yanked the blade free and drove it toward the back of the warrior’s head. Her opponent was quick, however, and spun onto his back, blocking her thrust with his right arm and landing a stinging blow to her jaw. Dazed by the punch and with the Phelian still controlling her left arm, Martin slammed her forehead into the warrior’s face. His grip remained strong, so she drove her head into his nose again.

  With the second blow, her enemy’s grip on her hand slacked and she broke free, pushing herself to her feet and drawing her sword in one fluid motion. Gripping the handle tightly, she drove the sword into the Phelian’s chest as he attempted to stand. Letting out a guttural groan, Martin pushed the sword into the warrior to the hilt.

  Martin placed her foot against the warrior’s opposite shoulder for leverage to withdraw her sword, but as she pressed against his body, she felt his right hand grasp her leg at the ankle. Pain shot through her leg as he bit hard into her calf while at the same time forcing himself upward, sending her tumbling backwards. She let her momentum take her airborne, crashing her right boot into the chin of the Phelian as she fell.

  Landing in the muddy water, Martin scrambled to her feet as she pulled a second blade from her belt. The Phelian, Martin’s sword still protruding from his chest, slowly stood to face her.

  “Fin-ish,” he spat in broken Humani as he grasped the sword and pulled it from his body with a grunt.

  He lunged and Martin stepped into the attack. She pivoted her body and caught the Phelian’s right arm, deflecting his slashing attack. With the knife still in her right hand, she swung and sank the blade deep into the warrior’s neck just below the ear. Martin released the blade, still embedded in her attacker’s neck, and spun the opposite direction, taking her sword from the Phelian’s hands as she did.

  With a primal scream, she snapped her torso around, focusing all her strength into the force of her blade as it sliced through the Phelian’s neck. Her motion stopped with her facing away from the Phelian as his head fell into the muddy water. A metallic sound caught her attention and she spun to her right to see two more Phelians standing a few meters from her. Her heart raced and she panted heavily, her chest heaving with deep breaths as she stared down the barrels of the Phelian warriors’ weapons.

  The warrior to the left was clearly senior. The tall, olive-skinned man stood with his body taut, ready to pounce. The man’s graying black hair fell to his shoulders, his salt-and-pepper beard doing little to conceal a powerful, square jawline. Proud, confident, and defiant, his amber eyes showed not a hint of fear. If this was her time, she would die on the attack. She let out another heavy breath and took a step forward but paused when she saw the elder Phelian glance toward her sword and then to dead warrior behind her.

  “Guard-man…Off-cer,” he said, again in broken Humani.

  She saw a hint of confusion in his face. He might not have been expecting an officer and definitely not a woman. She nodded in confirmation and then pointed toward the body behind her. “Phelian…dead Phelian.” She smiled.

  “Mur-der-er,” growled the elder Phelian, his amber eyes burning with hatred as he threw his rifle to the side and withdrew his sword. “You die by steel…my steel.”

  Glancing at the other warrior, Martin saw him lower his rifle but stand at the ready.

  “Screw it,” she said aloud and rushed forward.

  The Phelian leapt toward Martin and the two combatants collided in a flurry of thrusts and slashes. Martin soon began to lose ground as the two skilled warriors sludged through the mud while carrying out lightning-quick movements with their swords. Stepping backwards to block a slashing attack, Martin’s foot slid ever so slightly but it was enough for the tip of the Phelian’s blade to slice into her right thigh. Letting out a grunt, Martin stumbled but swung her other leg forward as she fell, knocking the warrior’s feet from under him in the calf-high muddy water.

  As the warrior’s back hit the water, Martin lunged forward. Pain exploded from her right knee from a powerful kick by her opponent. Staggering, she fell to one knee and barely had time to block another attack, their swords coming together with a metallic screech.

  Martin pushed herself upward and away from the warrior. Limping slightly, she slid to her right as the Phelian moved to the left.

  “Good fighter.” He smiled, his eyes still burning dark amber with rage.

  ‘This guy is better than me,’ realized Martin as she planned her next move. ‘At least with a blade.’ In uncharted territory, her mind raced. And then she remembered training as a cadet when then-Captain Stone had said, “If the enemy is stronger, remove his strength.” She didn’t understand it at the time, but she now knew what she must do. She had to get that sword out of his hand, even if it meant giving up hers. But she would have to get close.

  “Come on!” she shouted, and the Phelian rushed toward her.

  Martin blocked his first thrust but a quick upward slash of his sword tore into her right arm, leaving a large gash. Gritting her teeth, Martin dropped her sword and grasped the attacker’s upper arm with one hand and his wrist with the other, extending his arm upward as she quickly brought her right boot down toward his exposed knee. Although the warrior shifted his stance to prevent her from destroying his knee, she still had enough force to drive him into the swampy water. Sensing an opportunity, she spun her body underneath the Phelian’s out-stretched arm and turned quickly to force his arm downward as she drove upward with her knee.

  The sound of the Phelian’s forearm breaking sounded like a gunshot. The warrior let out a groan and dropped his sword, but to Martin’s surprise he quickly rose up and landed a powerful blow to her jaw, knocking her backwards.

  Shaking her head to clear the cobwebs and spitting out at least one bloody tooth, Martin again scrambled to her feet. The warrior was standing again, the bones of his forearm jutting from the skin in a jagged, bloody mess. The Phelian grabbed what appeared to be two neuro-injectors from his pocket and, with a growl, drove them into his wrecked arm.

  “Son of a bitch,” said Martin aloud in amazement and awe of the warrior’s determination.

  She could see the hatred radiate fro
m the Phelian as he pulled a knife from his belt with his good hand and motioned for Martin.

  “Not done,” he said.

  Martin moved in again and landed a left hand to the Phelian’s jaw but quickly had to pivot to block a thrust at her right side from the warrior’s knife. A bolt of pain pulsed threw her back and she instinctively spun, crashing her fist into her opponent’s temple. Stepping back, she placed her hand to her lower back and felt the warmth of her own blood before turning toward the Phelian.

  The warrior held his broken arm outward, showing the sharp fractured bones soaked in Martin’s blood.

  “You fucking stabbed me with your own broken arm?” cursed Martin in amazement.

  The warrior smiled. “Ever-thing weapon.”

  “Let’s end this,” Martin snarled.

  She sprung toward the Phelian, dropping to the ground and sliding across the muddy surface as she reached her opponent. Grabbing the Phelian’s leg, she lifted his foot into the air as the warrior spun to face her.

  Martin pounced as the warrior hit the water, landing on top of her opponent just as he spun onto his back. He thrust toward her side with his knife but she grabbed his left arm with both hands. She felt the pressure of the blade against her hip but held his arm locked in her grasp.

  Looking down, she saw the Phelian’s right shoulder pivot as he drove the sharp bones of his broken arm toward her neck. Releasing her grip, she let out a groan as the knife sliced into her hip. But as the Phelian’s blade cut into her flesh, Martin grabbed the broken arm at the elbow and mid-forearm, twisting it downward and driving the jagged bones into the warrior’s neck. She pressed hard, forcing the bones into her enemy’s flesh and then pulled the grizzly makeshift weapon out as blood gushed from the open wound.

  Martin rolled off the Phelian onto her knees and let out a primal scream, releasing the tension and pain from the fight. As the scream subsided, she let her head drop toward the ground, exhausted. She had fought and killed men in hand-to-hand combat before, but it had never been this close. The mixture of fear, adrenaline, and rage coursed through her body. She’d never felt so drained and yet alive before in her life. After a few heavy breaths, she realized there was still another Phelian to deal with.

  She looked upward to see the remaining Phelian’s rifle pointing directly at her. She could tell the younger warrior had no intentions of fighting her—he just wanted her dead. For what seemed like an eternity, Martin locked her gaze on the young warrior. Her emotions still swirled inside her. He, in turn, let his yellow eyes absorb her gaze and projected back a hatred so pure, Martin could almost feel it on her skin.

  “Now you die,” said the warrior.

  Martin closed her eyes and the eerie quiet of the swamp exploded with the sound of gunfire.

  ***

  She opened her eyes as the echoes of gunfire faded away to see the body of the Phelian half-submerged in the muddy water.

  “You okay, LT?”

  Martin turned to her left to see Grenadier Jolly emerge from behind a large tree. As he did, he stumbled and fell to his knees.

  She rushed toward the injured Guardsman.

  “Thanks,” she said, helping the wounded Jolly lean against the large tree. “How bad are you injured?”

  “I’ll be okay,” he grunted.

  The grenadier’s body was a mess. Bruised and bloody, the left side of his face was swollen to twice the normal size and his left eye was puffed out and swollen shut. He had a bullet wound to his left shoulder and his right thigh was oozing blood from a large gash.

  “Blake?” mumbled Jolly through swollen lips.

  “He didn’t make it,” she answered as she applied the last of her meds to Jolly’s wounds.

  “Damn it. They just came out of nowhere. I—”

  “It’s okay. Don’t worry about that now,” said Martin, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Let’s just get you mobile again.” Martin felt her data pad rumble. “Shit,” she cursed as she looked down to see the time flashing; the cold would be coming soon and they were stuck outside without gear.

  “Everything okay?” asked Jolly.

  “Yeah,” lied Martin as she racked her brain for a solution. Jolly wouldn’t make the trip back to the base camp and the cold would hit soon anyway. She could leave Jolly and go for help, but she would have to face hours in the cold and the injured Jolly would be left in the elements for almost a day before help would reach him—if Martin didn’t run into any more Phel or Terillian Scout Rangers along the way.

  “Lieutenant?” asked Jolly, his voice weak.

  “Stay here,” replied Martin, having decided her course. “The Phel probably have meds in their camp, so I’m gonna check it out.”

  “But you don’t know how many are left. And with the gunfire, they’re probably ready for you.”

  “That doesn’t matter. We need the meds for you—”

  “I can hack it, Lieu—”

  “Just shut up, Grenadier,” interrupted Martin. “I don’t just need them for you. The captain needs them and if we take any more casualties or run into any more lancecats, others will need them. Corporal Shara went to warn the others, so even if we don’t make it back, the others will be ready.”

  “Your family will honor your bravery,” coughed Jolly, his voice faint.

  Martin pondered what would be said of her if she died. No doubt a few would praise the bravery and sacrifice of the first female Guardsman—she hated the way every discussion of her service, good or bad, involved her gender. All she had ever wanted to do was be the best. Not the best female officer—just the best. She also knew others would use her death as an example and an excuse to prevent other women from serving in the Guard. She pushed the thoughts from her mind with a shake of her head. None of that mattered. What mattered was the mission, her men…and Jackson.

  “As will yours,” replied Martin. “But how ’bout we just go ahead and live.” She rose to her feet. “The Phel and the Ter families can honor their dead.”

  Jolly coughed. “Uu-ah, LT.”

  “Let me get some furs from these Phel to keep you warm while I’m gone.”

  Martin took the next few minutes gathering ammunition and fur cloaks from the dead Phelian warriors. Jolly would need the warmth and she would need the ammo. Her arms full of furs, she made her way back to Jolly.

  “All right, Grenadier,” she said. “Just cover yourself in—” Martin dropped the furs to the ground and rushed the short distance to Jolly.

  Still leaning against the tree, the grenadier’s face was pale and his gaze was locked forward. Martin knelt next to him and placed her hand to his neck to feel for a pulse. He was dead.

  “No. Damn it,” she cursed as she struggled to understand what had happened. Jolly was badly injured but nothing was immediately life threatening.

  Looking for a cause, she leaned Jolly’s lifeless body forward. She let out a heavy, frustrated sigh as she saw the bullet hole. The lower back of his uniform was soaked with blood and it had also begun to pool around his body. “Liver,” she said, shaking her head.

  She placed her hand on the dead Guardsman’s head.

  “You will become immortal, your shining glory never forgotten,” she whispered into Jolly’s ear as the piercing sound of the coming cold whistled through the forest. Standing again, rage flooded her senses. She would kill every single Phel on this damned planet or die trying.

  Chapter 10

  The cold enveloped her as she crawled toward the entrance to the Phel outpost. The furs she had taken from the dead warriors kept her from freezing, but just barely. Her body screamed for her to jump up and sprint the remaining fifty yards to the entrance to escape the frigid air but her training restrained her. Despite the bone-chilling ache of the cold, Martin slowly and meticulously made her way over the tundra. Each shift of her body, each movement of her hands, each slide forward could alert a Phel marksman. She had no idea what communications the Phel had. She didn’t know how many warriors were left or eve
n if they had been alerted by the gunfire. Either way, she needed to get to the outpost. Maybe there would be meds there…definitely warmth. She continued on toward the entrance.

  Finally at the edge of the cover, Martin scanned the few meters of open ground between her and the entrance. Directly in front of her lay the body of the sentry on the embankment she had killed earlier. She inspected the access. No cameras. No thermal sensors. Everything looked clear. She took a slow, contemplative breath. If she had missed something, she would know it soon.

  With an exhale, she rose and rushed toward the embankment.

  Her back slammed against the moss-covered concrete of the embankment as she looked back over the tundra for signs of danger. Still nothing. The quick burst of adrenaline from her sprint gone, the bitter air stung her like hundreds of angry bees as she quickly searched for the mechanism to open the heavy metal door. Finding a heavily oxidized lever in a recess in the concrete wall, she pulled hard. The metallic clanking of the gears was much louder than she expected as the door ratcheted open.

  Martin brought her rifle to her shoulder and peered into the entrance. The door continued to rattle open as she stepped inside. “So much for sneaking in,” she said softly to herself.

  The vestibule at the entrance was dimly lit, with a ramshackle fluorescent lighting strand hung in the overhead and similar lights leading down a long corridor. The light flickered, evidence of an inconsistent power source.

  The moldy air was cold and damp, but it was a warm, welcome reprieve from the icy bite of the outside. Martin shrugged the furs from her body as she slowly moved down the barren corridor. Her vision soon adjusted to the limited light as she crept her way down the passageway. As small droplets of rusty water fell to the damp floor, she scanned the walls. She could make out faded Terillian designators, generations old. More prominent were painted-on script and symbols, most likely Phelian.

  Martin soon reached the next barrier. In front of her was a rusty metallic door with the same Phel symbol she had seen in the swamp. Looking upward she saw another faded Terillian sign. It read: Secondary entrance to maintenance area via security point C.