Wormhole (The Rho Agenda #3)(108)

Turning to the left, Ketaan-Ra identified the human female operating the workstation on the third stair-stepped platform that wrapped behind the gateway. With a red numeric countdown in the corner of his sensory display, he leaped onto the first platform and grabbed the human male who had just begun to rise from his seat, impaling him on the dual-edged kedra and tossing the body aside as he prepared to leap to the next level.

A tactical alert triggered his attention, a human moving up behind him, fast. Very fast. The force of the blow staggered him, caving in the right rear section of his skull as he started to turn toward his attacker. For a matter of seconds Ketaan-Ra lost all tactical, while the nano-bots swarmed to repair the brain injury. Ignoring the loss of awareness, he whirled toward the human, pulling the second kedra from his equipment belt and driving his bulk forward with all the power his legs could deliver.

As his upper two arms reached to embrace his opponent and pull him into the sweeping blades, the human dropped to his back, his feet catching Ketaan-Ra in the junction between his legs with surprising force, adding a vertical component to his forward momentum, launching him over his target, one blade barely nicking the human’s head. He hit the ground and rolled to his feet as tactical came back online. Ketaan-Ra knew he’d failed to compensate for this planet’s lower gravity. Compounding that error, the human showed startling dexterity, far greater than anything he’d seen from the world ship’s periodic reports on this planet.

One of the Graath had taken out a guard, but the other was having its own problems, taking fire from a human female who displayed traits similar to the one he was fighting. The tactical network incorporated this new data, adjusting the team’s tactics as they moved.

A projectile flew from his opponent’s hand so fast that it hit his lower left hand before he could move it out of its path, breaking the bone just below his wrist and sending the kedra skidding across the floor toward the portal. Again his tactical display shifted dramatically, showing a gateway connection to another point on this planet, a connection to the Kasari’s own world ship.

Shrugging off this distraction, he prepared himself for the human male’s charge. It never came. As Ketaan-Ra’s wrist knitted itself back together, the human broke into panicked retreat. With his legs providing more controlled explosions, Ketaan-Ra gave chase, smiling at the cascading displays in his head. The chase wasn’t going to be a long one.

The human cut to the right and, once again, the absence of sufficient gravity betrayed Ketaan-Ra, robbing him of the friction necessary to match the human’s two tight turns. At least now the other’s plan was clear. Get to the dropped kedra. He planned to stop and fight. Ketaan-Ra relaxed, letting his pace slow just enough to make sure the human got there first. It was the kind of fight he wanted, kedra to kedra, his four hands and superior strength and healing against this human’s quickness. A truly worthy opponent.





Mark’s finger closed around the alien sword’s haft, feeling the grip adapt to his hand. As he whirled to face his pursuer, he measured the weapon’s weight and balance, his eyes caressing the black sword’s three-foot blade. Two razor-sharp edges swept to a Roman point, practically screaming for blood. He liked it.

The big alien came to a controlled stop three paces from where Mark waited, its own sword gripped in its lower right fist, the other three arms reaching toward him like a wrestler’s. Like a couple of wrestlers’.

So it had learned Mark’s momentum tricks. No more bull rushes. Just good old-fashioned man-versus-giant-four-armed-alien combat. A mental image from the classic B movie Clash of the Titans brought a grin to his face.

Amazing. The alien warrior appeared to be waiting for him to make the first move. As Mark raised the sword in front of him, another thought filled his mind.

Hail Caesar! We who are about to die salute you.

Then Mark’s body blurred into motion.





Heather tossed the M25 rifle up onto the third level of scaffolding, swinging herself up along the rifle’s arc, ejecting one magazine and slapping another into the Glock as she landed. Fifteen feet below, the ugly beastie righted itself from the impact of fifteen nine-millimeter Parabellums, the holes in its body healing as it moved to follow her.

With visions filling Heather’s mind, rearranging themselves as she and the alien creature danced their deadly waltz, she emptied the fresh magazine into the gorilla-spider, each round striking a different body part as she sought lethality data. The bullets tore the alien from its hold on the railing, sending it sprawling onto the floor below. And once again, Heather grabbed the M25 and tossed it to a higher level, following it up along the metal latticework with all the speed her body and training could provide.

Her vision shifted and Heather leaped to her left as a long blade flashed through the space she’d just occupied, clanged off the wall, and rattled down through the spaces between the steel walkways. Then, with a thin, mewling squall, the alien propelled itself up after her.

Click. Clack.

Another magazine replaced its predecessor. Once more the Glock spewed its lead saliva into her pursuer, this time targeting the small bulbous knobs Heather believed to be the thing’s sensory organs. And although it continued its upward climb, it failed to follow her as she picked up the M25 and ran east along the north wall.

Realizing it had lost her, the creature paused, allowing the nano-bot healing process to restore its sensory array. It didn’t take long. A mere eight seconds. But as it reacquired her, Heather finished lasing her target.