Wrath of the Lemming-men (Space Captain Smith) by Toby Frost

Author:Toby Frost [Frost, Toby]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Sci-Fi, Wrath of the Lemming Men, Toby Frost, Science Fiction, Space Captain Smith, Steam Punk
Publisher: Myrmidon Books
Published: 2010-10-14T16:00:00+00:00

‘That is enough, scum!’ The Ghast tossed Benson into the far wall and whirled at Smith, raising its gun – and Smith shot it in the side. It stumbled and Smith closed one eye, aimed and fired twice more.

The shots rang around the corridor. Smoke rose from torn leather. Smith kicked the Ghast’s gun away and hurried to Benson’s side.

Rhianna crouched beside the old spy. His glasses were broken and a thin trickle of blood ran from a gash in his forehead. ‘He’s alive,’ she said. ‘It knocked him out.’

Carveth glowered at the dead Ghast, screwdriver in hand. ‘Nobody eats my hamster,’ she said, and she ducked back into the cockpit.

‘It is dead,’ Suruk said, prodding the corpse.

‘Right,’ Smith said, getting up, ‘Benson’s out of the running. Let’s get him to the medical bay.’

‘We don’t have a medical bay,’ Rhianna replied. ‘We could use the kitchen table, I guess. . .’

‘Good plan. We can eat off trays for now. Can you and Suruk get him down to the kitchen?’

‘Easily,’ Suruk said. ‘The seer here can lift his legs and I will take his head. . . not like that.’

‘Thanks,’ said Smith. ‘Good chap. Carveth,’ he called, ‘set a course for Paragon Docks, Albion Prime.’

The simulant called back, ‘No can do, Cap.’

‘What? Why not?’

‘Well, there’s a space battle in the way.’

Smith thought: I am in a nightmare.

‘ What? ’ he cried, and he ran into the cockpit. Far off, in the very centre of the screen, lights flashed. It looked like a strange mix of neon and flame: lasers and burning ships.

Smith dialled up the scanner. ‘Bloody hell,’ he said.

‘Carveth, keep on course. We’ll need to help out.’

She whirled around in her seat. ‘Are you mad and stupid? Boss, we’ve got no guns! They’ll fry us alive!’

Smith frowned. ‘I don’t care, Carveth; we have to help defend the Empire.’

‘But—’

‘Now, look: if we’re to have any chance of getting out of this mess, I need your complete co-operation. You’ll have to forget about your inherent cowardice for a moment. Remember, Carveth, there’s no ‘I’ in teamwork.’

‘Yeah, but there’s a messed-up “me”. Cap, this isn’t just stupid, it’s – wait a moment, incoming message.’

The radio crackled. ‘Smith? That you?’

‘W!’

‘Where are you, Smith?’

‘In orbit. Bloody enemy raided Tranquility. We got out just in time.’

‘Did you find Benson?’

‘Sir, yes. A dirty Ghast jumped him in the loo.’

W spluttered with fury. ‘Bollocks!’

‘He’s still alive, but out cold. We’re headed for Albion Prime right now. If you’ve got a medical team—’

‘Keep away!’ W barked. ‘For God’s sake, Smith, the Ghasts and Yull have raided the system. There must be two dozen warships up against us. Albion Prime is under siege. We’re holding them back, but there’s no chance of getting anything past them.

‘They want you, Smith; they want Rhianna Mitchell!

We’re holding them as best as we can, but we’ve lost the Frobisher and the Staines. I don’t know how long we can hold them back.’

Fuzz rose up and swallowed W’s voice. There was a muffled, distorted explosion on the far end of the line.

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