Earth Unaware (First Formic War)

opened on the side of the Formic ship, and a large mechanism extended. Mono couldn’t begin to guess what it was for or how it operated. Vico would probably know. Vico could look at anything and know exactly how to fix it or what it was good for.
    The mechanism rotated and pointed its many shafts at El Cavador. There was a flash of light, and then a wall of hot glowing globules of radiant plasma shot forth from the shafts, rocketing toward Mono like ten thousand balls of light.
    *   *   *
    Segundo tumbled through space, struggling desperately, fighting off the last two Formics clinging to his body. One of them crawled onto his back, opened its maw, and reared back its head, ready to bite and tear and puncture his suit. Segundo thumbed the propulsion trigger and hit the Formic with a blast of compressed air, startling it and knocking it away.
    The last Formic was kicking at him, swatting, biting. Segundo spun it around, grabbed it below the jaw, and twisted its head until he heard things break inside. The Formic thrashed and kicked and then went still. Segundo released it and hit his thumb trigger, shooting away from it. His breathing was labored. He had little air. He was bleeding. There were holes in his suit. Several alarms were going off on his HUD. One showed a silhouette of his suit dotted with flashing lights, indicating where there was a rip or tear. The worst was on his leg where the Formic had bitten through. The emergency system had cinched his leg’s strap tight, sealing off the escape of air in the tear, but it wouldn’t hold for long. He fumbled for the emergency tape in his pouch. He pulled a strip free and placed it across a hissing puncture on his arm. He tapped the tape mechanism to release another strip. Then another. His gloved fingers were big and cumbersome and kept sticking to the corners of the tape strips before he could apply them. Twice he had to throw bent, twisted strips to the side, which was maddening since he knew he would need every strip. He covered as many holes as he could, but then the tape ran out. There were still a few torn seams, nothing big, tiny holes, but his HUD continued to sound its alarm.
    Segundo blinked a command to shut off the alarm. The computer asked if he was sure since life-threatening damage to his suit was still unrepaired. He blinked the affirmative, and the alarm went silent.
    His oxygen tank was nearly empty. He was desperate for air. He had a spare tank in his pouch with fifteen more minutes of oxygen, but he knew it probably wouldn’t last him five. He ditched the spent tank and screwed in the spare. Cool oxygen came into his helmet. He’d enjoy it while it lasted.
    He turned back toward the direction of the ships and saw nothing but empty space. He knew he was still moving incredibly fast in that direction, but he would never see the ships again. The WU-HU ship would have passed him a long time ago, trailing behind the Formic ship, recording everything. They wouldn’t see him. He was a speck in a sea of black.
    Rena.
    She was safe at least. She would take this hard, but she was with others. They would comfort each other, strengthen each other. They would survive. He wanted her to know that she was the last thing on his mind, and that he hadn’t died in agony. Well, not total agony; the wound in his leg had settled to a burning numbness. Some of the others had suffered much worse. He focused on the spot in space where he assumed the WU-HU ship would be and told his HUD to give the remaining power to the radio transmitter to boost the signal.
    “Rena. I don’t know if you’ll receive this, but my suit is punctured and leaking air. Even if the WU-HU ship decelerated now and you knew exactly where I was, you’d still never reach me in time. So don’t stop. Keep going. I don’t know if El Cavador got out, but I don’t think so. Tell Abbi that Mono was sorry for lying to her. Tell her he loves her. Tell her we couldn’t have done this without him. It’s the truth.
    “The women will be looking for a leader, Rena, someone to help them navigate all this. Don’t be modest. We both know they’d appreciate you guiding them. Work with the captain. He strikes me as a good man. Don’t rush to Earth. I don’t know what will come of this, but I’d prefer you stay away from it and survive. Do that for me, mi amor. I’m sorry we won’t share a hammock when you read my letter, but know that I mean every word. Te amo, Rena. Para siempre jamás,