by Richard Fox
“I’ll give you that.”
“On the flip side, though,” Knight continued, “whoever it is, they’re more likely to make a critical mistake than not, which means catching them shouldn’t be that difficult. Theoretically.”
“Hell of a lot of assumptions.”
“Maybe, but they’re not—wait a minute…”
Martel scanned the street. The doughboys were starting to regroup, continuing on their patrol. “What is it?”
“Drone’s picking up a heat signature moving toward the patrol from the west. Looks like a single suspect. Definitely doesn’t want to be seen.”
Martel pulled her pistol from its holster under her arm. “Two nights in a row is ballsy.”
“I’m telling you, Shannon, this guy doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing. I don’t think he’s ballsy, he’s just ignorant—or at the very least, stupid. Three blocks up on your right.”
Martel left the alcove and crossed the street again, her eyes locked on the doughboy patrol. She could call out and warn them, but that would also warn her target.
“Can I flank him?” Martel asked.
The street was lousy for any decent ambush points. Several alleys and side streets gave whoever it was plenty of options to approach unseen and unheard.
“No, he’s too close, only half a block from the patrol now. You’ll never make it in time. Not without warning them.”
“Shit.” Pistol in hand, Martel broke into a run.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet.”
She was used to adjusting operations on the fly, especially during the missions Ibarra sent her on. Back then, before coming out to this godforsaken galaxy, things had been somewhat simpler, even with the threat from the Xaros. Infiltrate corporate offices here, put a bullet in the head of an executive there, steal secrets from a government over there. Straightforward, simple. Ibarra’s leash on her had almost been nonexistent. With Hale, though, things got a little trickier.
Martel kept her footsteps light as she turned a corner, jogging into an alley leading north. She adjusted her grip on the pistol, focusing on keeping her finger off the trigger. It wouldn’t do to snap off a round while sneaking into position.
“What’s he doing now?”
“He’s waiting in the alley just ahead of the patrol, behind a dumpster. Definitely waiting for them. You’re about forty meters out.”
Martel slowed her pace as she closed in. It would be a tricky shot if she was forced to take it, but not impossible. She brought the pistol up, tensing as the patrol moved past the alley’s opening, expecting her target to emerge at any second.
Nothing happened.
“Patrol’s passing him,” Knight said.
She slowed for a minute, confused. Why are you waiting?
Pausing at the corner, she watched as the patrol continued on down the street. Was he waiting to attack from behind? After another minute, she dropped her pistol. “What happened?”
“He’s still behind that dumpster. Hasn’t moved.”
Martel crossed the street and edged up to the corner. Peering into the alley, she saw the old blue dumpster, partially concealed in shadow. She waited, silently counting her heartbeats, watching for any sign of movement. After a thirty count, she slowly rounded the corner and, keeping low, approached the dumpster.
“I know you’re back there,” Martel said. “If you move, you die.”
A muffled whimper echoed from behind the dumpster. “Please…don’t kill me.”
Martel frowned. A kid?
She stepped around the corner and found a boy—he couldn’t have been more than sixteen—huddled against the brick wall, his knees pulled up to his chest. Tears were just starting to flow as he stared back at her through terrified eyes.
“Please,” he repeated, his voice quivering, “I don’t want to die.”
Martel’s eyes shifted from her sights to the face behind them. She lowered the pistol. “What the hell?”
“I…I…” He didn’t take his eyes off Martel’s weapon.
“Shannon, you OK?” Knight asked in her ear.
“Fine.” She scanned back down the alley then quickly stepped back into the street. The doughboy patrol was just turning the corner, two blocks ahead. She turned back to the boy, shaking her head. “You realize I almost killed you, right? Don’t you know there’s a curfew? What the hell are you doing out here?”
“I was…I was just going to meet my girlfriend,” he said, finally looking up to meet Martel’s eyes.
“What’s your name?”
“Anthony.”
“Do your parents know you’re out here?”
He shook his head. “No, I snuck out. They go to bed pretty early. It’s not too hard.”
“How long have you been sneaking out?”
“A couple days.”
“Go home, Anthony. And please, don’t sneak out anymore. There’s a lot of crazy people out here.”
The boy nodded his head vigorously and pushed himself to his feet. “I’m sorry! Please, don’t tell my parents. They’ll kill me.”
“I’ll make you a deal,” Martel said, sliding her pistol back into its holster. “You don’t say anything about me, I’ll keep my mouth shut about you and your girlfriend.”
Anthony looked like he wanted to smile but kept it to himself. “OK.”
“Deal?” Martel held out her hand.
The boy hesitated for a second then shook her hand. “Deal.”
“Now get out of here.” When he hesitated, Martel waved down the alley. “Go on!”
He took off at a half trot, then broke into a run, disappearing into the shadows a few moments later.
Martel stood watching the empty alley for a minute, again shaking her head.
In her ear, Knight laughed. “Ahhh, to be young again.”
“Dumb kid.”
“Oh, come on, you can’t tell me you weren’t like that when you were younger.”
Martel chuckled. “I’m like that now.”
“Fair point. Oh, shit—”
Martel flinched as a single gunshot echoed from somewhere in the distance, then another.
“Shit!” Martel burst into a sprint, charging after the patrol. Two more shots rang out. She drew the pistol, cursing herself for losing focus. “Where is he?”
“Next street. Take a right. He’s—”
A fifth shot ripped through the night as she reached the intersection, slowing briefly to peer around the corner before charging into the fight. Five doughboys lay sprawled out on the street, rifles still in their hands, unfired. Martel scanned the dark street, caught a flash of motion a block away, and charged forward.
“Left.” Knight said. “Left there!”
Martel turned and saw the figure dart around a storage container. “Stop!”
She saw the flash as the gun went off, then felt the bullet zip past her, inches from her face. She ducked, sidestepped, brought her pistol up, and fired. The rounds twanged off the container, sparking in the shadows.
“You’re going to regret that, asshole!” Martel shouted, charging forward, looking for another shot.
Three more shots rang out. Martel ducked to the side and looked up just in time to see the figure dart into another small alley.
“Where the hell is he going?”
“I lost him. I’m trying to get the drone back around into position. Hold on.”
“Goddamn it, how can you lose him? He’s the only other one out here!” Martel slowed briefly, peering around the corner, pistol up and ready. There was no one there.
She slowly stepped into the alley, sweeping her pistol sights up and down the long side street. “What the hell?”
Several dumpsters were clustered around a delivery dock for one of the buildings and bags of trash and empty crates were piled up along the walls. A single flatbed truck sat on flat tires, loaded with rows of yellow containers. The only doors she saw were closed and couldn’t be opened from the
outside unless she forced them.
“Shannon, you OK?”
“The bastard ’vaded me.”
“What?”
“He’s gone, Eric. Damn near vanished right in front of my eyes,” she said, thinking that he could’ve made it into any one of the entrances.
“How the hell did he do that?”
Martel snorted, eyeing every door again, making sure she hadn’t missed anything. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
She could pick one, knowing she had a chance to get lucky, but more than likely, she’d pick the wrong door—or worse, pick the right one and find it was booby-trapped. She shuddered at the thought. If there was one thing Shannon Martel hated, it was booby traps.
“Where the hell did he go?”
Martel checked the cab of the truck, already knowing she wouldn’t find anything, then slowly walked down the alley, shaking her head. “Bastard’s good, I’ll give him that. He anticipated our move to shadow the patrol and maneuvered himself into a better position.”
“We’ll get him next time.”
“Optimism doesn’t suit you.” She gave the alley one more cursory scan, then holstered her pistol. “Better call Hale.”
Chapter 11
“You know,” Jerry said, stepping over a fallen charcoal tree, his boots crunching on the damp pebbles covering the riverbank, “take out the horrifying six-legged man-eater and the flying dragon things, and this place wouldn’t be that bad. Kind of relaxing actually.”
“Relaxing?” Popov asked, her eyes constantly scanning the tree line to their right for threats. “No thanks.”
“I said without all the things that can eat you.”
“Yeah.” Popov shook her head. “No thanks.”
“Don’t like long walks on the beach, eh?”
Popov rolled her eyes.
Patches of afternoon sunlight dotted the rocky bank, where smooth, wet stones glistened. The steady rhythm of the water was hypnotic. The cliffs on their side of the river had been gradually moving away from the water, replaced by several steep, tree-covered hills. Charcoal trees, the size of large oaks back on Earth, lined the bank, their branches reaching over the water’s edge. Across the water, the jagged cliff face rose hundreds of feet into the air, broken occasionally by large circular openings—caves cut out of the rock, becoming tunnels that stretched back into darkness.
“What do you think those are?” Jerry asked, nodding at the caves.
“I don’t even want to think about it.”
Jerry hesitated for a minute, then said, “I wonder if they’re—”
“Nope,” Popov said, shaking her head. “Nope, don’t even say it.”
He looked up at the hyperloop tube three hundred meters above and followed it with his eyes, stopping at the pylon two kilometers ahead. The massive support was embedded deep into the rock bed along the river’s bank. Painted black, it was a stark contrast to the lush green of the jungle and clear blue water of the river at its base.
“You think that might have a relay station?” he asked, trying to change the subject.
Popov eyed him for a moment, one eyebrow arched, then turned her attention to the pylon. Even at this distance, the pylon was enormous, looming like some ominous black monolith against a pale blue sky.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Doesn’t matter anyway; we don’t know how to access it, much less call for help.”
“Well, but maybe—”
A deep, rumbling roar cut through the air, seemingly coming from every direction at once.
Jerry spun, bringing his rifle up, his heart pounding in his chest. He swept his weapon back and forth, frantically looking for a target, fearing in the back of his mind that the beast would appear from out of nowhere and maul him to pieces. “It’s another one of the ghost fangs!”
Popov had her rifle up as well, though her movements were more fluid, more controlled. “Easy.”
They turned in circles around themselves, searching high and low, but the beast never appeared. It roared again, echoing off the surrounding trees and cliff walls.
“It’s hunting us,” Jerry said, trying—and failing—to keep the rising panic out of his voice.
“Just keep moving.”
Something in the distance caught Jerry’s attention, his ears straining to hear. He put a hand up. “Hold on, you hear that?”
Popov paused as well. A second later, a burst of fire echoed in the distance—faint but audible. Jerry turned to the Pathfinder, eyes wide. “The Chief’s fighting them.”
Popov nodded.
Jerry keyed his IR. “Chief Carson?”
“What are you doing?” Popov hissed, picking up the pace. She led him across the rocky bank, weaving around large boulders and a few fallen trees.
Jerry started to answer, but then realized he didn’t know why he’d called. It wasn’t like the rest of the team would be able to help them.
Regardless, the Chief didn’t answer.
“Do you think the link is fouled again?” Jerry asked, breathing hard with the effort of keeping pace with the Pathfinder.
“I don’t know.”
****
Carson charged into the clearing, her boots making hardly any noise at all as they crushed the grass beneath. Her HUD counted down the distance to the shuttle, tracing a best-speed path through the clusters of boulders littering the clearing. The rocks were sporadic, but as cover and concealment went, she couldn’t have asked for a better approach. The rocks, combined with their Pathfinder camouflage, made their attack almost perfect.
She split her attention between watching the Zeis soldiers and the maze of boulders as she crossed the clearing. Keeping her rifle at low-ready, she rounded one of the larger rocks. Halfway there, Carson told herself. If I could just—
Something washed over her, pressing against her entire body, slowing her to a walk. Her stomach turned and her hair stood on end, as if she just passed through some kind of electromagnetic…
“Look out!” she shouted, already looking for cover as her HUD flashed warnings.
Her camo cloak flickered, some sections turning off completely.
“Chief,” Birch said over the IR, “your cloaks are—”
“I know!” she shouted, sliding behind a boulder.
The Zeis soldiers hadn’t seen them yet. She brought her CL1 into her shoulder, centering her sights on the closest alien. Her suit’s targeting computer automatically registered which Zeis she was aiming at and sent that data to the rest of her team, allowing them to pick separate targets.
“Birch,” Carson said, trying to control her breath, “can you—”
A Zeis solider appeared at the top of the ramp, his weapon already leveled, shouting alarm to the rest of them. A split second later, he opened up with his rifle.
“Down!” Carson yelled, ducking behind the boulder.
Plumes of dirt erupted behind her as gunfire echoed through the clearing. To her left, two Zeis stopped working on the weapon turret and scrambled to grab their rifles. She turned, leaned her shoulder against the rock, and fired. Her first shot missed, but the second smacked into the Zeis’s upper leg, knocking it out from under him, sending him falling forward. Two more rounds took him in the shoulder and neck before he hit the ground. He landed hard and didn’t move.
The second managed to get his rifle up and fire before Carson could transition between them. His rounds went wide, and Carson dropped him with a five-round burst, center mass.
Screams and shouts from the Zeis echoed through the clearing and the whine of the shuttle’s engines pitched up as its pilot fed more power into the turbines.
They’re going to take off, Carson thought, getting to a knee and peering over the top of the rock.
“Chief, you OK?” Birch asked over the IR.
“I’m fine,” Carson said, putting her back against the boulder. “I need some covering fire.”
“Already on top of it.” Gunfire from Birch’s weapon punctuated his words.
Benit dropped down beside Carson, breathing heavily. “They’re lifting off!”
“I know!” Carson scanned the battlefield again as shots from the Zeis on the shuttle’s ramp ricocheted off the front of the boulder she was crouching behind.
A second later, the Zeis jerked back, disappearing into the darkness of the shuttle’s interior.
“Target down!” Birch reported. “Looks like they’re retreating, Chief.”
Carson peered out around the edge of the boulder, keeping her head low to the ground. They’d left the open crate and spilled equipment on the ground and were all disappearing inside the shuttle’s bay as the ramp began to close.
“They’re getting away!” Benit shouted.
“Get to the other shuttle!” Carson pointed.
“What are you going to do?” Birch asked.
Carson watched the closest shuttle’s turbines rotate down and gritted her teeth. “Something really, really stupid.”
As she pushed herself to her feet and sprinted for the shuttle, another Zeis appeared in the opening, rifle pulled into one shoulder. Carson raised her carbine to fire, but the alien’s head snapped back before she could get her weapon on target.
“Target down!” Birch announced.
“Go!” Carson shouted, pointing at the second shuttle. “Get the other shuttle! Hurry!”
The screaming turbines kicked up a maelstrom, pushing against Carson as she neared the shuttle. She let out a wordless cry, pushing herself forward with everything she had as the landing struts lifted off the ground.
“Chief, no!” Moretti shouted.
She ignored him, slapping her CL1 onto its mag clamps on her back. She had a split second to consider the ramifications of what she was about to do, then pushed the thought aside and jumped. Her gloved hands grabbed hold of the landing strut and held tight as the shuttle continued to raise her into the air.
