0240, Saturday, July 3, 2027
Karkin Four, Merchandise Processing Facility Six
Western Edge, Earth Rings
Half the refugees have crossed to Earth by the time the first of the enemy aircraft arrive. Three vessels probe the massive 500 meter-wide holes in the exterior before venturing inside. But when they do, the Blood Guard’s dropships are there to meet them.
Everyone knows the two-vs-three match wouldn’t hold up without the element of surprise. But Insarka’s people fly up from the city streets like mud hornets and drill the bogies’ bellies with missiles and blaster fire. The engagement lasts less than twenty seconds and results in all three enemy ships tumbling into the cityscape. We get lucky on this one. But word travels, and the next wave spreads out in a more cautious approach.
I ask Chuck, “How long do we need?”
Thank God he doesn’t want me to elaborate. “Twenty-eight minutes, Patrick.”
Twenty-eight minutes. Just twenty-eight minutes to get the rest of 1.9 million people back home. And something tells me these twenty-eight minutes are going to be a royal pain in our ass.
That said, some small part of my consciousness reminds me that even if the whole thing goes balls up right now, we’ve still successfully returned a million humans to Earth. Truthfully, that’s more than I’d hoped for back when we walked that first batch across the facility. Little did we know that the Sci-Rung invasion would be so fortuitous. And yet, still hella dangerous.
“Twenty-eight minutes, people,” I say over comms. “You do that, we get everyone home.”
“And drinks are on you, Wic,” Hollywood says.
“Deal. But I’m only springing for Redbreast. Anything else is BYO”
“That’s fair.”
The next enemy sortie is a combination of two gunships and three dropships. The attack elements enter first, screaming through the openings at high speeds and then doubling back to search for any vessels lying in wait. For one gunship, this is a costly mistake. It realizes too late that there’s no one cherry-picking around the holes and takes heavy fire from the Fashdew ’s spine turrets to the north. While both gunships take fire, only one succumbs and pops like an old propane tank.
The gigantic boom! rattles our ship, and I hear screams from the refugees come over the feeds. Seconds later, new reassuring voices from Neverland’s dedicated leadership team urge people to keep moving and stay calm.
As for the surviving gunship, it spins around and locks onto the Fashdew before releasing two missiles. The first is taken out by auto-turret fire and explodes violently in the oxygen-rich atmosphere. However, the second one avoids the anti-aircraft spray and strikes the Fashdew in the stern. The ship doesn’t budge on camera, but I know it probably feels like the end of the world for those inside. The feeds show people dropping to the deck and covering their heads.
Outside, more turret fire follows the gunship as it slips from right to left. Just then, a white trail of smoke curves up and away from the Fashdew . I can’t see the warhead, but I know that contrail. The gunship tries to flee and tips forward in a steep escape angle, but the ordnance is faster and strikes against the fuselage.
A voice from one of the Fashdew ’s spine cameras yells, “Boom! Good stuff, gooood stuff! Ha ha!” Then Yrag’s round face appears and takes up the whole lens. “You see, Patrick-Wic? Goooooood stuff. Ha.”
“Someone tell that crazy-ass Phantom to keep it up,” I say before turning back to the feeds that show dropships descending toward the city. “Don’t let them get to ground!”
The Porsavar ’s turrets join the Fashdew ’s and converge on the three personnel carriers headed for cover below the skyscrapers. The streaks of light look like a Fourth of July laser light show, only this celebration display has much bigger fireworks at the end. One dropship takes a direct hit through the shielded cockpit and into the drive core. It’s not the same kind of explosion as Chuck forced earlier, but it knocks the other two dropships aside and sends a shockwave north to our position. More voices from the refugee monitors urge people to stay calm and keep moving.
The haulers’ turret fire takes out a second dropship with much less fanfare, though death angels are trying to jetpack away as the ship rips apart. But instead of exfil becoming that of a specialized operations team, the plushies flip ass over elbow and crash against buildings or into one another.
The third dropship meets a similar fate as the last gunship, only the white contrail comes from the Porsavar . I search the camera feeds to find out who beat Yrag to the punch.
“One to one,” Bumper says in comms to Yrag. “I’m coming for you, old man.”
“Ha,” the armorer exclaims. “You try in vain, Baby Pet Seal.”
Hobbs tilts her head. “That Russian accent’s really starting to come out.”
I call everyone’s attention back to the conflict. “Six o’clock, five bogies!”
Turret fire redirects, as do Yrag and Bumper with their shoulder-fired GCL-CHKs. The two of them look like old fisherman riding the backs of whales. It’s quite the scene, and they’re having quite the effect. Twin white streaks join the blaster fire and careen toward the enemy aircraft. The dropships dive for cover, but not before Bumper’s guided God Cake missile bends after a fast-moving target and punctures the hull. A large piece of the exploding aircraft tumbles through the sky and strikes a cross-sectional brace with a resounding gonnnnnng .
“Two to one,” Bumper yells.
But Yrag has reloaded and fires again, this time taking out two dropships. It’s a lucky shot, as the debris of one broken bogey rips the engines off another. But a kill’s a kill, and Yrag’s about to bust his vocal chords. “Haaaa! Three two, three two! No match! You are no match for Yraaaaag!”
Our AA guns put down the final two aircraft, but the following waves are getting closer to disappearing behind the buildings and dropping below the turrets’ effective fields of fire. Once they get boots on the ground, we’ll have a new fight on our hands.
I check the topo map for new elements, but Hobbs beats me to verbalizing the situation. “Looks like they’re pulling out all the stops. Count’s at thirty-seven bogies and climbing. And five more gunships detected.”
“Roger. Bumper, Yrag, I want you focused on that hard armor. Your missiles can track better. Insarka, use the turrets on the dropships. Get your pilots to do the same.”
Everyone responds affirmatively.
“Vlad wants shoulder toy,” the Russian says. He’s been clearing the turrets further down the Porsavar ’s length but has since started running back toward Bumper’s position. “Is more?”
“Help yourself, pal,” Bumper says. “Care of Insarka.”
“No,” Yrag shouts. “Care Yrag! Yraaaag. Major only send care package, but I make care package.”
“Next wave,” I yell. “Eyes up!”
When the enemy comes in this time, it’s like a flock of birds swarming a barn. Three white contrails streak after the gunships while blaster fire from Insarka’s dropships and the heavy haulers targets the troop carriers. We get several easy kills right off the bat, including two gunships, but the enemy eventually starts to find cover in the city. They also get several more hits on us.
One attack ship swings in from the east and fires on the Porsavar broadside. A missile strikes us amidships and sends a tremor through the hull.
“Felt that,” Hobbs says as she helps Chuck direct turret fire and sends orders to Insarka’s pilots. But the gunship flanking to starboard is still inbound. “You boys care to take that bogey out yet?”
“Vlad is turn. Vlad is turn!” He shoots, and his missile weaves through the latticework like a bird flying through brush. When the missile strikes its target, Vlad lets loose a holler that clips the audio system. “Vlad, one! One kill. Lookings out, Yrag and Bumpers. I come for you.”
“I have three,” Bumper replies. “Try and keep up.”
“And I have five,” Yrag roars in pride. “Five! Ha ha ha!”
“He and the Count would get along great,” Hobbs says without looking from her workstation.
In spite of our gains, we take the biggest loss yet when one of Insarka’s dropships collides with an enemy craft. The Blood Guard vessel tries to right itself, but smoke pours from both of its port-side engines. It spirals down, disappears behind some buildings, and then detonates. Damn, that’s gonna hurt us. And I send up a quick prayer on behalf of the fallen.
“Ghost,” I say. “You’ve got ground forces en route from the south. We count…” I glance at Hobbs.
“Nine dropships.”
“…nine troop carriers deploying.”
“Roger. We’ll be waiting.”
More turret fire and God Cake missiles take out any birds unfortunate enough to linger too long above the city sprawl. And just like that, the air assault is over almost as fast as it began.
“Chuck, keep us informed of any new bogies en route from the Ops Center. Phantom Team, shift to ground. Primary assault coming from the south, but I want eyes on the subway trains too.”
“I can redirect some of my people down there,” Insarka replies.
“Make it happen. Chuck, what’s our window?”
“Nineteen minutes remaining.”
I take a breath and order my thoughts. “Make every shot count. Home stretch, Phantoms. Let’s get some.”
* * *
The next three minutes are a strange lull in the action as the enemy’s ground forces move north. Such is combat. You have intense highs and mind-numbing lows, and the pendulum can swing back and forth like the personality of your last crazy ex. But you? You have to remain vigilant. Steady. Cool as ice, and twice as smooth. Especially, when the crazy gets quiet, ’cause when the scales tip again, you know hell is coming for you.
“What if they keep coming?” Hobbs asks me without looking away from her screens.
I’m just as occupied tracking the intermittent thermal signatures on the team topo. “We just hold ’em off as long as we can. Home stretch.”
“No. I mean, what if they keep coming even after everyone’s through? How are the refugees prepared to defend themselves back on Earth? We can’t spread ourselves across thirty-some rings, Wic. And even if we could, we’re one defender per gate.”
“Insarka’s people will help with that. They can defend from this side.”
She squares with me. “Wic, we’ve held off the plushies so far, but you know they’ll keep coming and eventually overrun the Blood Guard. Hell, even if we stay back in support, we’ll only be able to protect the gates for so long. And you know that all it takes is the Anderkins making it through one of the portals with a security force, or sending bots like they did on Septus Minor, or—”
“Or another God dammed biological weapon.” I roll my neck. “Shit.” We’d planned for a prolonged defensive campaign and knew we’d be poking the bear. But no plan survives contact with the enemy. I check the time—fifteen minutes to go. “You’re right. We’ve gotta solve this. You got something in mind?”
Hobbs shoots me a look that says, yes, she does have an idea, and no, I’m not gonna like it. Splick.
“Yup,” she says. “But some of us need to stay behind for it to work.”
And there it is. Some of us need to stay behind. God damn these alien bastards. “Will it work?”
“Maybe.”
I frown. “That doesn’t sound great. We need to consider the chance that the Anderkins won’t pursue through the gates.”
Hobbs straightens her back. “I’ve only known you for a short time, but that’s long enough to know that you don’t exactly leave things to chance.”
Damn. She’s got me there. “No, I don’t. How many need to stay back for your plan to work?”
“Only a couple. And I’m willing to be the first.”
I pause for a second before saying, “Okay.”
“Okay?” Hobbs gives me a confused look.
“Yut. We get the rest of the people and the Phantoms through the portals and back home and then you and I stay and finish this.”
“Patrick,” Chuck interrupts. “Now would be the ideal time in the film for you to toss your helmet aside, grab Hobbs in a strong embrace, look into each other’s eyes with heated passion and desire, and—”
“This ain’t a movie, Chuck.”
Back on the main display, currently a mirror of Ghost’s visor cam, I see him take aim at the first ground forces moving north.
“Contact. Seven-hundred meters.” Ghost fires his ASS-CHK at a death angel in the back of the enemy’s V-formation. The tango goes down without anyone else noticing, so he picks off two more. Alvin York did this to a squad of Germans in WWI. Effective as hell. The next round knocks the fourth tango’s head back and sends its feet skyward. Now everyone knows, and the patrol scatters. “Four down.”
As the sniper zooms in for a better look, a dropship hovers into view just above the bodies. It’s acting as escort armor.
“Ghost! Down!”
His POV ducks behind cover just as the dropship fires on his nest.
“SITREP?”
“I’m good. Moving.” And just like that, Ghost is on his feet and hauling ass to a new position.
Hobbs jumps on general comms. “All forces, be advised. Enemy is inbound with dropship armor support. Ensure your—”
Hobbs’s interrupted by three consecutive explosions along our port-side. Warning indicators show hull breaches along sections five and six. In space, that would be bad. Here? Less bad. But still not good.
To me, Hobbs complains, “Eh, they’re coming up along the western edge.”
“The gates?”
“Roger.” Her fingers are flying over her computer controls like she’s done this before. Damn CCT showoff. “Phantoms, I’m updating your target priorities. Do not deviate. I say again, stick to the tangos I assign you.”
Everyone acknowledges and begins to engage the enemy.
“I’m headed out,” Hollywood says.
“Same,” adds Aaron. “Don’t stay too long, Pat.”
“We’ll see you down there.”
For the next several minutes, Hobbs and I watch the progress as AE ground forces approach from the south and west. Their dropships are using the buildings as cover and poking out to take pot shots whenever possible. This provides all the means necessary for troops to advance and gain ground on us. Still, our people are equal to the task, especially Insarka’s operators who already think like Androchidans because, ya know.
But even with our superior position and better skill sets, the enemy has numbers. Hobbs’s latest thermal and drone data have the revised figure at ninety-eight tangos. We still have plenty of fight left in us, but munitions will eventually run out, and the one thing we don’t have is a funnel. Meaning, sure, put this whole enemy force in a line and let us take them out one at a time. But split them up and randomly assign both sides to any one of thirty-two gates? Now you don’t have a fight. You just have accidents. Even if we all stay together and rally around one ring, that doesn’t mean a damn thing if the enemy decides to go after a few other rings that aren’t ours.
The Phantoms continue calling out “Contact,” “Changing,” “Frag out,” and “Moving” like it’s lyrics to a song with repeated verses and choruses, sometimes yelling over each other’s parts. To anyone else, it may sound chaotic. But to me, it tells me how my team is doing. It’s the cadence of operators in the heat of battle that says we’re bringing the hurt and making the enemy pay for every meter they try to gain.
“Watch your left,” Hobbs yells to someone. I check her channel send and see it’s Lada.
“Rogers,” the minx replies and shoots a death angel flying through the air using its jetpack. The blaster rounds kill the plushy, but the thruster stays engaged and carries the limp body out of sight.
“Note to self,” Lada says. “Don’t drink and fly. Bad trips with long hangovers.”
Bumper and Vlad are still firing from atop the Porsavar , while Yrag stands alone on the Fashdew . The metallic blimps still give their GCLs amazing coverage over the urban landscape. Their missiles streak down the streets and blow gaping holes in the side of buildings and pavement. Any explosions that don’t kill the enemy outright flush others into the open where Phantoms are more than happy to divest them of life and limb.
As the last of the refugees disembark, we’re forced to give up our position and follow them into the tubes. I order everyone off the haulers and instruct them to defend the refugees closest to the enemy. The fire teams comply and start hustling.
“This plan of yours,” I say to Hobbs. “Do we need to stay on the ship right now for it to happen?”
“Well, that’s the thing.” Hobbs looks down and goes silent.
“You want to blow it up, don’t you.”
“Yeah.”
“And you expect us to die in the explosion.”
“Yes.” This time Hobbs looks at me directly. Her mind is made up. “But it gives them all a chance.”
“It does.”
“Might I get a word into this Shakespearean plan of yours?” Chuck chimes in.
“Make it quick.”
“I can access the ship’s computer remotely. You don’t need to remain on it, and you just might survive. Although staying inside the ship as it blows up would have made a brilliantly tragic ending. Ooo, and if we got Danny Elfman to do the soundtrack, it would be simply smashing!”
“What about detonating it remotely,” I ask. “Can you do it after we cross through the portal?”
“Unfortunately, no. While I don’t need to be on the vessel, I need to be in the proximity of it.”
“What about setting a timer for it, like Gornath did to his ship?”
Chuck lets out an exasperated sigh. “Sorry to be a downer again, but no. Gornath’s ship was made with a proprietary self-destruct mode. Most starships don’t have a system like that. They try hard not to blow up. Therefore, someone needs to stay on board for a manual override, or I can connect to the main computer and override it remotely. But, as I said, I need to be in proximity. And in the same universe.”
“Copy that. Time to get off this ship,” I say to Hobbs and hand her the helmet on her workstation. “You can keep monitoring from the HUD.”
“But it’s easier from—”
“From your HUD.”
She locks eyes with me for a beat but then accepts her helmet and puts it on. “You’re a stubborn pain in the ass, Wic.”
“Takes one to know one.”
“Shut up.”
I smile back, secure my helmet, and then pull Chuck from his cradle. “Say goodbye, Chuck.”
“Goodbye, Chuck.”
I can practically hear him smirking at me.
Then he adds, “Not sure what that accomplished, but I did as you said.”
“Smartass.”
Hobbs and I take the elevator to level one and head toward the nearest exit. We find a ramp that descends seven or eight meters to pavement well marked by recent foot traffic. A million pairs of feet will do that to a street. We run down and join Bumper and Vlad, who point south toward the rest of the team, but I get interrupted by an incoming comms ping.
“Phantom One,” Ghost says. “This is Watch.”
“Send it.”
“We have civilian casualties to the south west.”
“How bad?”
He hesitates. “Bad enough.”
“Shit. Range?”
“Thirteen hundred meters. No shot.”
Dammit. Looks like Ghost’s apprehensions are coming to bear. “Phantom Fury, this is One.”
“I read you, Patrick-Wic.”
“Link up with Ghost. He’s got enemy contact and heavy civilian casualties to his southwest. Support requested.”
“Copy.”
“Wic?” says a new voice over comms—sounds distressed. I double-check the ID. It’s Winters.
“Go.”
“This is, uh, Bob Winters.”
“Copy. Whaddya need?”
“I’m, uh, not sure we’re gonna be able to make it to the rings.”
Hobbs meets my eyes and gestures to the southwest. Over a private channel, she adds, “He’s at Ghost’s hot spot.”
Son of a bitch. “You have good cover and plenty of ammo?”
“Sure.” He breaks to fire. “But… there are a lot of them and—”
“Aim and shoot, Winters. Keep firing.”
He breaks again. I hear his blaster fire in the background. “I’m trying to hold them off so more people can get out, but there’s—dammit!”
“Winters?”
More incoming fire.
“Winters. Help is on the—”
I lose the signal.
“Winters!”
Hobbs shakes her head at me.
Back to Insarka, I add, “Phantom Fury, need your units to confirm Bob Winters’s status when you have visual.”
“Roger.”
In the far distance, the Fashdew is taking fire from a few dropships who are apparently becoming more fearless in the recent lull of return fire.
I turn to Hobbs and hold up Chuck. “You both still have some fire control down there?”
“On it,” Chuck says.
“And I’ll paint your targets,” adds Hobbs.
The turrets perk up again and swing around to the dropships. I imagine the plushy pilots freaking out as the lifeless weapons come back online and stare them down. They scream at each other in their weird alien language as their meaningless lives flash before their eyes. And I wonder if they have any idea that their executioners are the galaxy’s first female Combat Controller and a talking gun from Monty frickin Python.
The turrets open up on the first dropship. It tries to escape but slams into the side of a building and skitters backward. All the while high-powered blaster fire tears through the fuselage and delivers a smoking pile of metal to the deck.
The next ship, one block over, must have seen the fate of its friend and tries flying for cover. But Hobbs has already locked on, and Chuck is quick on the trigger. The turret nails the starboard-rear engine, which starts the dropship wobbling. The oscillation fuels a feedback loop from the autopilot, but the stabilization system overcompensates, which sends the ship into an uncontrollable gyration. Chuck continues firing until the vessel careens due west.
“Shit,” Hobbs shouts. “Civilians!”
The ship heads for the western tubes, and there isn’t a damn thing we can do about it. Smoke continues to trail as the dropship crashes into the structures and explodes. An eruption of fire and debris backfills the tunnels, but the scope of the destruction is limited to a small number of the civilian escape routes.
“Wic?”
It’s Cortes.
“Go.”
“We just had something explode further back.”
“Roger. It was an enemy dropship. What’s your position?” I scan the topo map even as I ask the question.
“Almost to one of the rings. But I need to go back and—”
“Negative. Get yourself through.”
“But Bob is—”
“Bob’s gone, Monica.” I don’t have confirmation from Insarka yet, but I know what my gut says, and it’s rarely wrong. Plus, Cortes needs to get to safety, and closure will help.
“What?” she asks with a tight voice.
“He was defending people in a bad part of town.”
“I can’t believe that…” She takes a breath and seems to find some sort of inner resolve. “He knew the risks.”
“Yes, he did. And since you know them too, I want you getting clear.”
“But I think I can do more good if I—”
“You’ve done enough, Cortes. And I’m not asking. Now go.”
She hesitates, then says, “Thank you, Wic. For everything.”
“You’ve done a lot more for these folks than we have. So thank you, Cortes. Live well.”
“You too, Wic.”
As Chuck finishes off one more dropship, we catch up with the rest of the team currently taking on a squad of death angels about fifty meters to the southwest.
“Nice of you to join us,” Hollywood says. Then she brings up the question that I don’t want to answer. “So. We going home or what, Wic?”
* * *
The fact is, I didn’t think we’d get this far. Every time we come up with a new plan, I keep thinking it’s our last. And then fate surprises me.
So, Hollywood’s right to ask. And I need to tell her.
Standing here, looking at the team as we shoot it out with a bunch of death angels for the last time makes me… I was gonna say pissed. But it’s more than that. That this is the end of us Phantoms being together, well… it makes me sad. The conversation with the old woman building the funeral pyres comes to mind.
But this is what I need to do. And maybe this is as much as St. Michael the Archangel, the patron saint of rescue workers, had assigned to me. How the hell should I know? I’m just one white-ass Irish Catholic trying to do his good turn for the day and who has to keep giving up his peaceful cabin in the woods. If heaven wants me to do something different, then now’s the time to speak up, St. Peter .
* * *
“Wic?” Hollywood asks.
I snap out of it. “Home. We pick a gate.”
I can’t be sure, but her shoulders seem to slump a little. Then the moment’s gone. “Roger that.”
“Hey, Hobbs?” I call.
“Send it.”
“Time to pick a gate, any gate.”
She furrows her brow. “Me?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, but you have a better read on the tactical advantage of the next best position. So factor that in, and then choose us a ring for the Phantoms.”
Hobbs lets out a whistle. I know she feels like it’s a weighty decision, but honestly? It’s not. It’s just chance. One means nothing more than the next. But I also know that she is waiting for me to tell the others about us staying back. Guess I am too.
A blue waypoint indicator appears on our team HUD due west of our position.
“Done,” she says.
I nod and thank her. “There’s it is, people. The trip home.”
The plushy advance is picking up steam as Insarka steps out of the Fashdew and runs to cover beside me. “Heard you’re headed home.”
I switch to a private channel. “Most of the Phantoms will be.”
“But not you?”
“No. Let’s walk and talk.”
* * *
We meet up with the last hundred meters of refugees headed into the ring Hobbs chose for us. They’re excited to be at their journey’s end, and even more excited to see us on their six. One boy about nine years old tugs on his dad’s shirt and points back at us.
“Look! It’s the Phantoms, Daddy! Look, look.”
The dad almost dismisses his son but then catches sight of us coming up behind him. The guy’s face is priceless. “Hey, uh… It’s… you’re…”
“Wic,” I say extending my hand. “You folks okay here?”
“We’re going home,” the boy says proudly.
I kneel down to his level. “You certainly are.”
The kid pulls himself close using my helmet until he’s got his eye pressed against my visor. “It’s really him, Dad. It’s Mr. Wic.”
“It’s just Wic.” Why does everyone keep putting prefixes on my name?
The man finally dials down his starstruck paralysis a little and gets some words out. “Thank you for helping us.”
“Just doing our job.”
“You saved us again, Mr. Wic,” the boy adds.
“Again? Pretty sure we haven’t done this before, kid.”
I pull away from the child as the Dad says, “What Scotty means is, well, when we were first brought here, the aliens were making all the kids go through some sort of security check. You know, like at the airport, but they were just scanning the kids. I don’t know what they were checking for because we were all—” The man looks embarrassed. “Well, we were naked. So, we didn’t have anything on us, right? Anyway, when Scotty walked through the machine, some of the lights on it started blinking, and the aliens got really excited. They grabbed him and started pulling him away.”
The father gets choked up for a second.
I wait.
“I tried to get to him but, but my hands, they…” He pulls Scotty close. “Well, that’s when you and the Phantoms started blowing things up and everything went crazy. Scotty slipped out of their hands in the confusion, and we ended up making it to Septus Minor together.”
Insarka’s voice comes over a private comm. “We are familiar with the AE separating some of the enslaved species children from their parents, but we are unsure of the purpose, although I do have a theory.”
I nod, both for Insarka’s sake and the dad’s. “Well, I’m glad you guys are still together. And now you get to return to Earth. How ’bout that, kid?”
“I like it very much, Mr. Wic.”
“We’re so grateful.” The dad seems to relax a little more but then winces when an explosion echoes down the tunnel.
“It’s nothing serious,” I say to him and the kid. “Just our friends wishing us a safe journey home.”
Scotty’s father nods but doesn’t seem convinced. “You’re coming through with us?”
“Well—”
“Can they come over for dinner?” the boy pleads with his dad. “Please?”
“I’m sure they have a lot to do, Scotty. They’re busy people.”
Scotty looks like he just found out Santa isn’t real.
“But you know what, kid?” I say. “You do us Phantoms proud and take care of your family when you get back to Earth. Copy?”
I see the kid beam and stand up straight. “Copy okay, Mr. Wic. And my name’s not kid. It’s Scott.”
“Alright, Scott.”
“Bye, Mr. Wic.” He waves and heads off with his dad.
Meanwhile, I find myself slowing down and studying the crowd heading toward the massive wall of blue light.
“Everything okay?” Hollywood asks me.
“Sure, yeah.”
She eyes me. “You don’t sound sure.”
“Cause I’m not.” I pick up the pace again and walk a few more steps. We’re about forty meters from the ring, and the gap between us and the last of the refugees is widening.
“Listen up, Phantoms,” I begin to say as I face them. “You all did a hell of a job. We did the impossible, again. But there’s a kink in our plan. Once we all go through that portal, each one is vulnerable to the enemy sending soldiers, bots, or God knows what kind of weapon through. I know the Unity Arc timeline-something-or-other closes the door to Earth in a few days, but that’s still a lot of margin for the plushies to exploit. And it’s too much for Insarka and the Blood Guard to mount a defense against. The enemy will eventually overwhelm them and kill them because I know they’ll die trying to protect us. So Hobbs and Chuck have come up with a plan to blow up a lot of this and keep the AE from following you through. She and I are gonna stay back and make sure of it.”
No one replies right away. Instead, the Phantoms just stare at Hobbs and me.
Hollywood looks the most pissed. “Thanks for waiting to share your grand plan till the last minute, Wic. Shit.”
“My apologies. When we planned this crazy op, we failed to take this eventuality into consideration. We messed up… No, I messed up. But I’m correcting it now, and you can get home safe. I’m sorry to say goodbye like this, I am. But you all need to go, now.”
“Another terrible motivational speech brought to you by Master Gunnery Sergeant Patrick Finnegan,” Hollywood replies.
“This is splick, Master Guns,” Z-Lo adds.
Bumper cuts in. “Did I hear you say you are gonna blow something up? And you’re not inviting me to the party?”
Hollywood nods and steps forward. “Phantoms stick together.”
“Dammit, guys. I don’t think you—”
“I was the one who activated the ring and started all this,” Aaron says. “If there is anything I can do to protect humanity, I’ll do it. I’m staying with you, Patrick.”
Lada rests her helmet against Aaron’s as if their foreheads are touching. “I stay with brave doctor warrior.”
I appreciate his sentiment, but he’s not seeing the danger here. “Aaron, this is—”
“Thicker than blood, Pat,” he cuts me off. “I’m with you till the end.”
“We’re staying,” Hollywood states.
“But why? We’re probably gonna die here. You know that, right?”
It’s Bumper’s turn to speak up. “The way I see it, we’ve been thinking we were gonna die how many times in the last few days? Yeah, we might die. But it’s worth it. Those people, they’re headin’ home. But not just because it’s Earth. Because it’s where they belong.”
“And we belong out here,” Hollywood says and takes Bumper’s hand.
I thumb back to the gate. “Guys, this is your last shot. We don’t get any do-overs.”
“We know, Wic-Pops,” Sugar says. “Thing is, all I got back there is the streets. At least here, I got family. So if the Phantoms are stayin’, I’m stayin’. Well, if you’ll have me.” He holds up his stump. “Can’t do what I used to and—”
“Of course we’ll keep ya, kid,” Bumper says. “Worst thing to tell a fighter is that they’re no good anymore just ’cause they ain’t all there. Know what I’m saying?”
Sugar looks down and nods.
I take a second to process what they’re saying, but it’s not computing. “I don’t think you understand. Once those gates close—”
“It means we die in a universe not our own,” Ghost says. The king of awkward holds eye contact with me while the silence extends to intolerable lengths. Finally, he adds, “But as long as we’re breathing, we make it ours. And we’ll keep making it ours because there are millions more little Scottys who need to know someone’s looking out for them. Someone who can tell them that this universe is where they belong too. Not lip service. But by example. ’Cause we chose.”
“We choose to stay,” Z-Lo says and puts his hand out.
Sugar puts his only hand on top. “Stay.”
“Vlad represents first Russian cosmonaut to sex alien planets. He stay”—and puts his hand on the stack.
“Eh, first male cosmonaut,” Lada says and adds her hand. “But is old news. Male this, male that . Blah, blah, blah. Me? I am first female to sex alien planets. Is headlines.”
“Keep me in, coach,” Bumper says.
“And I’m with you,” adds Hollywood.
Ghost places his hand in the middle. “Stay.”
“I’m staying, too,” Chuck adds. “Not that that’s a big deal, since it is… kinda, you know… where I’m from and all. So, it’s more like I’m just inviting all of you for a really long extended sleepover while my parents are out of town. Fun, right? Who brought the beer?”
I glance from the team to the portal and back. “Even if we survive this, you’re all really set on staying here. Forever.”
Heads nod.
“And ever.”
“Till death do us part,” Hobbs says.
I… don’t… know what to say to that. So all I manage is “Son of a bitch,” and then I step forward to add my hand to the stack. But no sooner do I put my hand down than a massive explosion comes from somewhere in the city.
“Patrick-Wic,” Insarka says. “I see you’re all still here.”
“Yut. Decided we kinda like it here. How’s everything out there?”
“We have a problem. A big one.”
The Phantoms and I exchange looks. “Guess it’s time to defend our new home. Let’s get back into the fight.”