The Black Seas of Infinity by Dan Henk

like being caught in a rainstorm on a
motorcycle, minus the unpleasant sting. When I was upon them, they
withdrew, firing away as they walked backwards. I could see now it
was a whole team in the corridor, partially concealed by the
increasing smoke. They posed no threat. I continued my approach.
Out of the lab, the passageway grew much darker, lit only by the
overhead glow, a few small lights marking the wall. My eyes, unlike
the human orbs I was so accustomed to, adjusted immediately. The
low light was being amplified, allowing me to see clearly into the
dark corners. This promised a clear advantage over my would-be
assailants.
    I strolled toward the soldiers, six in all,
clustered loosely together in the opaque smog. They maintained a
constant barrage of fire, walking backwards and pausing only to
reload, their teammates continuing to deliver a steady stream
whenever one rapidly changed clips. A few of the bullets ricocheted
off me and back into the soldiers, two of them curling over with
pained animal sounds. One withdrew a Navy Seal SOG fighting knife,
squared up in front of me, and delivered a couple of Philippine
knife-fighting slashes. The blade cut across me with a scraping
noise, like an edge over a sharpening stone, leaving no mark. I
raised my right hand, extended two fingers, and jabbed at his face.
My fingers struck the optical lenses of his mask, shattered them
inwards, and continued halfway through his head. I was stuck and
had to use my other hand as a brace against his throat to withdraw
my fingers, now slick with blood and bits of gore. A sudden
repulsion overtook me as I grew viscerally aware of my own
strength. I wanted to get the blood off my fingers but didn’t have
any clothes to wipe them on. The dead soldier collapsed, the gash
in his face accusing me as his body dropped. I needed to get out of
there. The others were backing away, and I could make out the
porthole I had used for my descent. I was sure there was some
anti-gravity or air-bed utility, something to make the transit
between levels more comfortable, but we never figured that out. I
took a running leap, the soldiers scattering and hugging the walls
on either side, and jumped. Grabbing the rungs, I scampered up. The
frayed nylon cord was still there, drifting listlessly to and fro.
I was near the top when a soldier dared stick his head in. Then
bullets began flying up at me, a few rebounding and striking the
soldier in the head. I could hear his cry, followed by the sound of
his collapse. I didn’t look back.
    Two levels up I disembarked, crawling out of
the tunnel and running toward the aperture. I encountered even more
soldiers, clustered near the entrance. When they saw me they opened
fire. What if I had been a friendly alien emerging to greet them?
Then again, maybe they had seen some of the gore still clutching to
my arm and deduced otherwise. Or maybe they were in radio contact
with the team below. I charged straight through them, roughly
shoulder-checking one, and burst into the harsh light of the
hangar. There were now bullets whizzing all around me. I lunged
forward, the spinning projectiles buzzing past me like annoying
mosquitoes. Landing with a collision that cratered the concrete
floor, I kept running without missing a beat. Out in the open they
would probably use grenades. I didn’t know what the limits of the
suit might be, and I didn’t want to find out while RPGs or mortars
were being shot at me.
    I headed back the way I came, ducking under
the overhead walkway, and headed toward the stairwell next to the
elevator. Picking up speed, I launched a flying blitzkrieg,
smashing through the glass door in a cascade of glittering shards.
My feet crunching down onto stone carpeted by fragments of silver,
I bounced back up in one smooth motion and ascended the stairs. I
twisted around a bend, and the steps let out onto a grated balcony,
the metal latticework riddled with holes that only partially
concealed the floor below. There