“Come on,” he replied. “You don’t really think you’d stand a chance?” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small metal ball, and said, “Flash-bang. Nobody’s got any protective kit on, so it should work pretty well. Best guess is that you’ll have about ten seconds. Make them count.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because sometimes you’ve just got to trust your gut and hope for the best. Close your eyes and run on my mark.” She nodded, tensing for the run, eyes closed. “Mark!”
She felt the flash, even through closed eyelids, and the guns were silent for a heartbeat as she sprinted for the control panel, her nimble fingers flickering through the launch sequence as she released the docking latches, the elevator airlock bursting into life as the shuttle fell through the decks, dropping away from the ship.
“What have you done?” Ikande said, charging towards her, pistol in hand. As he reached her, a shot rang out, and the Captain collapsed on top of her, blood spilling from a gaping wound on his back, spurting onto the deck. She ducked out of the way of the dying man, spotting Fitzroy in the door of the office, pistol in hand, a smug grin on his face. She reached for Ikande’s pistol, snatching it from the deck and firing twice, both bullets going wild but forcing him back into the office. Ikande looked up, eyes wide, and reached for her, trying to speak.
“We’ll get you to Sickbay, sir,” she said.
“Try the morgue,” he replied, shaking his head. “It’s too late. My crew. Save my crew.” Looking into her eyes, he said, “Promise me.”
“I will, sir. I swear.”
“Good,” he replied, his words overwhelmed by a paroxysm of coughing, his eyes drifting shut as he slumped to the deck, the life fleeing his body. Thakur raced over to her, pistol in hand, and looked at the office, grimacing.
“They’re pulling out. There’s an emergency exit in there. I guess they’ve finally managed to crack the access code.” He looked down at the Captain’s body, and asked, “Dead?”
“Yes,” she replied. “I hated him, despised him, right until the last few seconds of his life. Now…” She turned to Thakur, tightened her grip on her pistol, then charged towards the office, firing through the open door. She heard a scream from inside, then felt the breath of a bullet flying past her face, charging on despite the danger, Zhao running to her side, tackling her to the deck before a burst of automatic fire flew through the air above her, ripping into the hull of a shuttle.
“Are you crazy?” he asked. “You’d never make it!”
“They’ve got to pay,” she replied. “They killed a dozen people. Killed the Captain. They’ve got to pay for that.”
“Yes, and they will, but not yet.” He looked around, and asked, “Where’s Danny?”
“Gone with Wagner, probably,” she replied. The firing finally stopped, and some of the braver technicians began to creep out of cover. DeSilva looked around, then said, “Break out the medical kits. Someone see if they can get through to sickbay. We need an emergency team here on the double.”
“They’re not going to get past the bulkheads,” Thakur said. “Once they’re sealed, they can only be overridden from the bridge.”
“The office exit?” she asked.
“Seals shut when used, after a minute. Automatic defense feature.” Grimacing, he said, “We’re trapped.”
“You don’t keep an engineer trapped for long. Not with this many tools on hand. Break out the cutting lasers. We’re getting out of here. Before it’s too late.”
Chapter 32
Thiou looked at the screen, rapt with attention, her eyes dancing from one entry to another. The discovery of the hyperdrive had come so close to the collapse of the Nationalist governments on Earth during the Last World War that so many of the details had been forgotten, only the bare facts of the drive itself surviving. All those records were here, stored for centuries, many of them never accessed by the colonists. The technical data was of only limited interest, but the mission reports were far more significant. An expedition to Barnard’s Star, decades ahead of the first known exploration of that star, by a Nigerian ship that must have returned in the middle of the fighting, all records lost. Planned trips to Epsilon Eridani, Delta Pavonis, a dozen other worlds, missions that soon became unrealistic as the conflict intensified.
There was something else, something buried deep in the data. She had records of the four sleeper ships she’d known about, but there was a hint that other expeditions had been planned, two more ships that had been scheduled to depart during the War Spasm. Frustratingly, some of the files were incomplete, written citations suggesting that there had been insufficient data upon Challenger’s departure, but she was convinced that there was something, somewhere in the records that would give her a lead.
“Doctor?” Clayton said, entering the room.
“Come in, come in,” she replied. “I need to know if you have any more information on the sleeper program, anything that isn’t in the general database. There’s some interesting security classifications, and I wondered if…” She heard a pistol being cocked and turned to see the historian standing at the door, gun in hand, his expression bleak.
“I’m sorry, Doctor. This isn’t my idea.”
“What’s happened?” she asked.
“Orders from the President. The three of you are to be held in close confinement until further notice. The speech was cancelled, and he’s coming down in critical condition. There’s talk of Martial Law.” He paused, then asked, “Is it true? Are you coming here to conquer us?” At her expression, he sighed, and said, “I see. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Everything seemed too good to be true. If you’ll come with me?”
“Come on, Doctor, I’m no threat! There’s something here. If I can add some of the material I brought with me, then I think…”
“Maybe there will be a chance later, after the battle.”
She slowly rose from her chair, and asked, “Battle?”
“The High Guard is on full alert. Endurance is their target. We’re going to do everything we can to capture or disable your ship before it can deploy its orbital bombardment array.”
“What?” she asked. “Our ship…”
“Don’t try and lie, Doctor. We know everything. One of your people told us. We owe that person a debt we can never repay.” He looked at her, and said, “You really didn’t know, did you?”
“I knew we wanted a base, that…” She paused, then replied, “It doesn’t make any difference. Not now. I’ll come quietly. You don’t need the gun.”
Nodding, he replied, “I give you my word that you won’t be harmed. We’re taking you to a holding area at Government House for questioning, but we don’t use torture. You’ll be treated as prisoners of war. I’m afraid that just about describes the relationship between our two nations now.” Shaking his head again, he said, “It’s such a god-damned shame.”
They stepped into the elevator, the doors slamming shut, Clayton keeping his pistol aimed at her the whole time. One floor down, the doors opened again, and Mitchell stepped inside, anguish on his face as he looked at Thiou.
“I couldn’t contact the ship,” he said. At Clayton’s expression, he added, “They’re not talking. Anything could be happening up there.”
“From what I heard, a full-scale mutiny might be in progress. Your Captain is dead.”
Mitchell’s face fell, and he replied, “With me on the surface, that means Fitzroy is in command. Good God, he’s got his finger on the trigger of forty nuclear warheads, and he’s crazy enough to use them. You’ve got to get me in touch with my ship.”
“You tried. Nobody answered.”
“I had a few seconds…”
“You tricked us once, Lieutenant. I don’t intend to let you trick me again.”
“Romanova,” he said.
“Being held under close confinement. I understand Colonel Brock is personally conducting her interrogation as we speak. I’m under orders from the Acting President…”
>
“Which is Brock, right. Damn it, this is a military coup!”
“Maybe. Under the circumstances…”
Thiou stepped forward, and said, “Shoot me.”
“What?”
“Shoot me. Right now.” Looking at the door, she replied, “You’ve had a great dream. I was privileged to see it, at least for a moment, before it turned into a nightmare, but I don’t want to live to see the nuclear holocaust you’re going to suffer. Fitzroy is a fanatic. It’s not about his own personal advancement, though certainly that plays a part. He genuinely believes in the superiority of his people, that the Fifty Families should be running the universe. And to him, you’re just pieces on a board. If he thinks he’s losing, he’ll be happy to tip the table.”
“I don’t have a choice,” Clayton said, as the doors opened.
“Sure, you do,” Neville replied. “There’s always a choice.” Turning to Thiou, he said, “Doctor, what would you do, if you had to make the decision.”
“Find a way to make peace.”
“I’ve seen Earth, from orbit,” Mitchell pressed. “I’ve seen the dead cities, still glowing at night. The craters encompassing whole countries, lands where nothing will ever live again. The graveyard of billions of people. Do you want that to happen here? Because those missiles could start falling today!”
“The High Guard will stop them,” Clayton protested.
“If they can,” Neville warned. “They’re not ready for this, and you know it.”
“And say they do,” Mitchell added. “Best case scenario, you’re still facing a Coalition invasion. And if you think we’re bad, you haven’t seen anything yet. Every political leader, every academic, every priest, murdered. Their families, murdered. Children forcibly implanted, their souls enslaved by the Central Committee. The slightest rogue thought punished with death. That’s what you’ve got to look forward to.”
“Can you stop it?” Neville asked.
“I’m next in line. If Captain Ikande is dead, then I’m in command.”
“Let him try,” Neville said, looking at Clayton. “What harm can it do?”
“It might get me thrown in jail,” Clayton mumbled. “I thought you tried already.”
“Doctor, give me your communicator,” Mitchell said, taking the proffered device and clipping it to his own. “I can boost the signal strength. It’s not designed for dense atmospheres like this, anyway. I was getting a lot of interference before the fighting started.” His finger slid across the control panel, finally rewarded with a gleaming green light.
“Got it.”
“The High Guard will be monitoring,” Neville said. “Make it quick.”
“Mitchell to Endurance. Mitchell to Endurance. Reply at once.”
“Endurance Actual here,” Fitzroy replied. “Report.”
“Never mind me. What the hell is going on up there?”
“Captain Ikande is dead. I have assumed command.”
“Fine. Disarm all missiles, and contact Acting President Brock. Maybe we can still straighten this mess out. Under no circumstances are you to undertake any offensive action. Keep the crew on lockdown until I can return to the ship.”
“No.”
“What did you say?”
“I’m in command, Lieutenant. The satellites are being armed as I speak, and I will be issuing surrender terms to the surface in due course. I might have to fire off a few warning shots to get their attention, but they will yield, or they will die. And the same is true for the crew.”
“Like hell,” Mitchell said. “I’m next in line, and you know it. You’re…”
“Do you really think I would obey the orders of someone like you? Victory is going to require courage and determination, Lieutenant. It’s going to require the will to seek it. Something you would never understand. I will attempt to rescue you when the opportunity allows.”
“Damn it, Fitzroy, this won’t stand up and you know it! I’m First Lieutenant, next in line, and you will obey my orders! Stand down all offensive operations. Contact the President and request a ceasefire. Lockdown the crew quarters and wait for my arrival.”
“History won’t wait, Lieutenant. Actual out.”
Mitchell looked up, rage on his face, and said, “That crazy bastard is going to get us all killed!”
“Is there anything you can do from down here?” Neville asked.
“Nothing. If I could get on board, I could use my command codes to lock him out, but that requires direct contact.” Turning to Clayton, he said, “I’ve got to get up there.”
“Out of the question,” Clayton said. “I’ve gone along with you this far, but I’m not going any further. I don’t dare take the risk. You’re going to High Guard Headquarters, and that’s the end of it.”
“What could you do?” Neville asked.
“The ship’s computers are programmed to accept me as commanding officer upon the death of Captain Ikande. It’s a process that takes hours to change, deliberately. Fitzroy won’t be able to suborn them.” He paused, then said, “If I know him, he’s about to massacre anyone on that ship he doesn’t deem loyal. Then he will force your people to either surrender or face total annihilation. I can’t just sit here on the surface and watch while that happens.”
“That’s not my decision,” Clayton said.
“No,” Neville replied. “It’s mine.” He drew a pistol, levelling it at Clayton, and said, “I’m sorry, Fred, but this is more important than either of us.”
“You’re not going to shoot me, Bill.”
“I won’t kill you, but I don’t have to. The leg would be enough to keep you busy for a while, and I’m still a good enough shot that it wouldn’t be fatal. You want to spend the next four weeks in a cast?”
“How are you going to do it, anyway?”
“Leave that to me. I’ve got transport outside.” Turning to Mitchell, he said, “Are you coming?”
“Do I have a choice?” Mitchell replied. “Doctor, you’ll probably be a lot safer down here on the surface. Maybe you should stay with…”
“Not a chance. That’s my ship as much as it is yours.”
With a smile, Mitchell nodded, and said, “We’re yours, Colonel. Lead the way.”
The trio sprinted through the foyer, running down the steps to a waiting car, sealed and vacuum-rated, the doors popping open as they approached. Driving down the road, a black ATV raced towards them, screaming to a halt as the three of them climbed inside, a machine gun on the roof turning to cover them. Ignoring the threat, Neville threw the engine to full power, and they sped down the road, the Colonel weaving from side to side to dodge the expected bursts of machine gun fire.
“Just in time,” he said, a smile on his face. “I haven’t had this much fun in years.”
“You’ve done this before?” Thiou asked.
“Only in VR,” he replied, taking a corner on two wheels. Behind them, the ATV started up, roaring towards them, struggling to match their speed. “We’re sealed and proofed. This was an experimental military prototype. They didn’t put them into production, and I ended up buying the only model they made.” Turning to Mitchell, he added, “One more thing my granddaughter was hoping to sell.”
“Where are we going?” Thiou asked.
“Vehicular airlock,” he replied.
“Won’t it be guarded?”
“Probably,” he said. “That’s going to make life a little interesting.”
Thiou squinted through the windscreen, spotting a group of blue-uniformed men racing towards the hatch, while Neville played with the controls, lining up a comm laser on the release mechanism. Sirens wailed as he raced forward, the heads-up display warning that they were moving too fast, that they were in danger of an imminent collision. Ignoring the alerts, Neville calmly drove onwards, headless of the police attempting to stop him and the soldiers still chasing them from the rear.
Just as a crash appeared inevitable, the hatch slid open, and they raced into the long tunnel beyond,
the outer hatch cycling them through with a puff of escaping atmosphere, the buggy bouncing across the surface of Atlantis. Neville patted the walls, turned to the right, and gunned the engine further, sending them rocking from side to side over the unsteady terrain.
“Not bad,” Mitchell replied. “Not bad at all. Where are we going?”
“Curtiss Incorporated,” he said. “We’ve got a facility not that far from here, a small spaceport. With two shuttles waiting on the pad, ready for immediate takeoff. I think Liz was on the verge of selling tickets. There’s a list of researchers and businessmen a mile long, wanting a look at that ship of yours.” Turning to Mitchell, he continued, “Don’t forget, I’m still at the top of the list.”
“I don’t think a shuttle’s going to do the job,” Mitchell warned. “We’ve got to get through your defense network, and those missiles looked pretty effective. And I wouldn’t put it past Fitzroy to open fire on us when we’re on approach.” Shaking his head, he added, “Maybe I can find a way to hack into the systems from down here, but I doubt it. That would be hard enough using a reliable communication link and Martian equipment…”
“Don’t worry about it,” Neville replied. “I’ve got you covered.” A smile on his face, he said, “Those shuttles of ours are built for low-orbital flight. They’ve got a lot of atmosphere to get to, operating from the surface of Atlantis, and we overengineered the hell out of them so that they’d still be useful fifty years from now, when the atmosphere thickened some more.” Shaking his head, he said, “The better this world is to live on, the harder it gets to leave it.”
“A booster stage?” Thiou asked.
“In a manner of speaking,” Neville replied.
“It’ll have to be pretty damned big to make a difference,” Mitchell said.
Gesturing to the horizon, Neville said, “Will that do?”
The two of them looked at a tall tower in the distance, a winged shape atop it, before belatedly realizing that it was a rocket. A multi-stage rocket, shuttle in place at the top, ready for launch.
Exiles of Earth: Rebellion Page 26
