Angry Ghosts Read Online Free Page A

his face plate, revealing a sweaty young man with thick stubble, already going gray. Scars cross his eyes and lips like topographical features on a map.
    “Maiella, this is Thompson, over.”
    Via radio a female voice replies, “Go ahead, Thompson.”
    “We’re clear. Let’s get under way.”
    “Roger, that. Coordinates set.”

Bitter Harvest
     
     
    Thompson slings his rifle and walks slowly to the bridge, looking carefully at the ship around him. Along the way, he stops to investigate a curious panel here and there. Soon, he strides through the twisted and wrecked doors of the bridge where a gargantuan man in bulky armor steps into his path and salutes briskly.
    The big man’s faceplate is raised, displaying a great round face more weathered with lines and old burns His free hand grips a massive cannon still wavering with heat. Grenades and detonators encircle his waist. There are many gaps in the ring.
    “At ease, Brick,” Thompson says. He looks the huge man over, taking in the numerous new blast and burn marks his armor shows. “Good to see you’re all right, Argo.” Thompson claps the Brick warmly on the arm.
    Argo smiles back wr yly. “They’ll have to build better guns.”
    Thompson grins then becomes stern. “Was anyone injured?”
    “Some laser wounds and contusions but nothing serious.”
    Thompson raises his hand to Argo’s shoulder. “I want you, Brick Brahe, and Brick Talu to set up a medical facility. Treat every wound, no matter how slight, understood?”
    Argo stands straight and salutes again.
    “Aye, sir.”
    The huge man hefts his massive weapon in both hands and jogs down the corridor, his hefty footfalls reverberating solidly.
    Thompson looks around the damaged bridge, kicking lifeless blue bodies aside as he goes. Scorch marks streak the walls and panels where precision shots burned through the blue-skinned defenders. There is still a thin layer of acidic smoke, just enough to scent the air and sting his eyes.
    Sweat rolls from his forehead in a sudden deluge as his body tries to return to normal temperature. The end of combat stress sends his super-stimulated Limbic system into rest, and the tall soldier nearly collapses on wobbly legs. In another moment, his blood pressure stabilizes and his shoulders, pectorals, and thighs twitch with residual adrenaline.
    Seated in the midst of the disarray is a slim woman in armor, wearing large goggles that flash with data. Various cables extend from her oversized headgear to the consoles like a web . She plants one boot at the console’s edge and casually twirls a machine pistol around her finger. Thompson makes his way over, careful not to disturb her network of lanyards and data leads.
    The goggles cease their flashing of code , and she lifts them to get a better look at her superior. Like the other soldiers, she bears her share of scars.
    “Geek Maiella,” Thompson hails, “how much of the ship’s systems have you interpreted?”
    “Sixty-seven percent, including navigation, main drive, and weapons.”
    He nods, folds his arms, and leans back against the console. “So what do you think we have here?”
    Maiella looks forward again, lowering her goggles. “She’s fast and light, but with very good weapons—probably designed as a first responder.”
    Thompson kneels beside her. “How fast?”
    “Well, the freighter departed over a month ago, but we’ll catch up in about two days.”
    Thompson’s brow rises in pleasant surprise. “Two days? What kind of drive system is it using?”
    “I’ll let you know when I find out. It’s definitely new.”
    “Two days, eh?” He stands and activates his radio. “Gun Setee, Gun Drusus, respond.”
    “Drusus, here.”
    “Setee, here.”
    “Is your sweep complete?”
    “Yes, sir,” replies Setee. “All crew confirmed dead.”
    “Is there a place we can store the bodies?”
    “Affirmative,” answers Drusus. “We can disable the heaters in one of the compartments near the hull.