Exiles of Earth: Rebellion

by Richard Tongue

  Zhao raced to the nearest panel, tapping open an intercom, and said, “Anyone on the sensor decks, this is Zhao. Reply at once, reply at once.”

  “That area wasn’t locked down,” Khatri said. “And that area was under Fitzroy’s command. Part of his duties at Tactical. If he’s got any friends on this ship, that’s where we’ll find them.” His eyes widened, and he added, “As well as the armory.”

  “The bulkheads,” Schneider said. “Let’s try the same trick to them that they tried to us.”

  “That won’t work,” DeSilva replied. “If I can work out a way to beat that, you can be certain that Fitzroy and his friends can as well. We’ve got to think of something else.” She moved over to Zhao, brought up a schematic, and said, “We can jam the elevators. Cut them off there. The only other way to move a large number of men is through this corridor, the main transverse passage. They could try rummaging around the maintenance shafts, but we’d be able to detect their moves and catch them in an ambush, and they know it. There isn’t even any really sensitive equipment down there, not ship-critical stuff. They could try smashing the sensor feeds, but if Fitzroy’s hoping to fire off some missiles, he’s going to want his targeting systems working at maximum capacity.”

  “We might be able to hold them for a while,” Khatri replied. “Not for long, though. We only have the weapons that were in the engineering locker, and we’ve just wasted half our ammunition.”

  “You don’t have to hold them for long. There are enough weapons in the armory to handle a hundred men. And only, what, a dozen or so on the sensor decks? I’ll take a small party through the shafts and attack them from the rear.”

  “I thought you said…”

  “There are ways through the tunnels that aren’t on the internal sensor net,” Zhao said. “Including a few that Danny didn’t know about. I can get you through.”

  “How many?” Khatri asked.

  “We keep it small. Three, no more than that.” Turning to Thiou, she said, “One of them has to be an officer.”

  “Khatri,” the historian replied.

  Shaking his head, the engineer said, “Love to, but I’ve got to lead my men. This is going to be a pretty tough fight.”

  “I can’t,” Thiou said.

  “Come on, Doctor, we need you now,” DeSilva pressed. “All you’ve got to do is slam your palmprint on the lock, and it’ll open instantly. Without your help, we can’t pull this off.”

  “I’m not a soldier.”

  “None of us are soldiers,” Zhou said. “We’re spacers, but right now, we fight, or we die, and I’m too pretty to die this young.”

  “Quit tempting fate,” Schneider said.

  “Are you sure about this, Spaceman?” Khatri asked. “If this goes wrong, you’ll be stuck behind enemy lines, and there won’t be a damned thing we can do to help you.”

  “I’m aware of that,” she replied. “I don’t think we have any choice other than to take the risk.”

  “I wish I could disagree,” Khatri said, shaking his head.

  “Here,” DeSilva said, passing him her pistol. “Lieng, Doc, hand over yours too, and any ammunition you’ve got. We’re not going to need it where we’re going.”

  “Wait a minute,” Zhao protested.

  “Either we get to the armory and we’ve got all the weapons we need, or they shoot us down before we get there, in which case none of this really matters. If we run into the enemy before we’ve equipped, we’re dead, and one more round won’t make a difference. But it might to the decoy force.” She looked at Khatri, and said, “No offense, Chief.”

  “None taken,” he replied. He glanced at his watch, and said, “We’d better move. I’ll try and get internal communications fired up, but I don’t know how much we’re going to do while Fitzroy holds the bridge.” Turning to his people, he said, “To me, everyone! Deck Nine, on the double!”

  Tugging open a maintenance shaft, DeSilva climbed inside, sliding nimbly down the ladder, the eager Zhao rushing behind her, Thiou slower to follow. She rapidly descended, hand over hand, illuminated only by the flickering lights overhead. She started to swing down a side shaft, but Zhao shook his head, tapping her on the shoulder and gesturing in the opposite direction.

  “That leads down to the algae tanks,” she replied.

  “I know. You wanted a route that goes off the grid? That’s where we’ve got to go.” He paused, and said, “I helped install the damned things. Trust me.”

  She looked up at him, nodded, and ducked down the indicated passage, crawling on her hands and knees, her palms slick with residue from the tanks overhead, slimy drops of water raining down on her as she walked. One more part of the ship that hadn’t been properly maintained. The stink burned her tastebuds, growing worse the closer she got to the primary tank. After what seemed like hours, she reached the ladder at the end of the passage, wiping her hands on her jacket to remove the residue before sliding onto the rungs, the metal as slick as the floor of the passage, eerie green light from the wall mounted illumination.

  Down again, faster this time, sacrificing safety for speed. This was one of the longest shafts on the ship, a hundred meters, straight down, directly to the lower decks. She heard a muttered curse from above, saw Thiou hanging grimly onto the ladder with one hand, her other free in the air.

  “Watch yourself, Doctor. It’s dangerous out here.”

  “I’m beginning to get that idea,” Thiou replied. “I’m with you. Don’t worry.”

  With a smile, DeSilva continued to descend. Despite the situation, despite the danger she was in, somehow she felt safer than she had since she’d first boarded Endurance, and it took her a few moments to work out why. She’d chosen a side. Not one of the options provided to her by Romanova and Nguyen, but one of her own making. She was fighting with people she could trust, for a cause she knew was good, the safety of this ship and of the planet below.

  For the first time in a long time, she knew what she had to do, and more importantly, why.

  Her feet finally made contact with the ground, rattling on the deck plating, and she turned down a side shaft, ducking under a bundle of cables swinging from the ceiling, the connectors snapped free long ago. She spotted a camera in the corner, and for a second, she froze, before realizing that the monitoring lights were dark. Zhao dropped down after her, looked at the camera, and smiled.

  “All part of the show,” he said. “Just in case somebody decided to try a snap inspection, we wanted it to look as though Security could keep an eye on this area if they really wanted to. It’s never come up, though.” Tapping the walls, he added, “Even Danny didn’t come down here. I never got around to telling him about it.”

  “You didn’t trust him either?”

  “Out here, paranoia is a survival trait.”

  She walked down the passage, ducking low, then finally reached the hatch at the end, gesturing for Thiou to step forward.

  “That’s the control panel. It should pop open as soon as you put your palmprint, and we’ll be right over the armory. That’s our way in.” She smiled, then said, “Either that, or we’ve gone a long way for nothing.”

  Nodding, Thiou slid her hand on the control, and for a heart-stopping moment, nothing happened, the system struggling to decide whether her slime-smeared hand was sufficient proof of her identity for admittance. Finally, the door slid open, and the trio stepped out into the armory, right behind a single guard, pistol in hand, standing in the room.

  Zhao reacted first, charging forward, yelling a battle cry as he slammed into the man, sending the two of them sprawling. DeSilva raced after him, delivering a sharp kick to the guard’s side, while Thiou ripped open the wall medical kit, fumbling through the contents to find the strongest sedative in the pack. Finally finding what she was looking for, she injected the hapless guard, and he slumped to the deck, battered and bruised, while Zhao snatched his pistol from him.

  “That should hold him for an hour. Long enough, anyway.” He looked
around, and said, “I think we found what we came for.”

  Nodding, DeSilva looked around, her eyes gleaming as they ran over the loaded weapon racks, rifles, tasers, smoke and tranq grenades on every wall, heavier equipment stowed in lockers below. She snatched a suit of riot armor from the floor, sliding on the jacket, and Zhao did the same, taking a low-powered rifle for himself, gleaming and new.

  “Hey, take a look at this,” Thiou said, calling up the local sensor network. “I’ve got access to the surveillance system.”

  Zhao walked over to her, and replied, “This place is supposed to be a last bastion for the crew, in the event of a boarding action. There’s about a month’s worth of emergency rations tucked away in underfloor lockers, and if we hadn’t played some games with the installation, it would have been pretty much impossible to get into.” With a smile, he said, “Which explains why only a single guard.”

  “I’ve got the main body of troops,” she said. “Heading away, though. They’re moving faster than we thought. Chief Khatri’s going to struggle to stop them before they reach the bridge, but I think we can still get around to catch them in the rear.” Tapping the screen, she added, “There’s someone else, though, heading off by himself.”

  “Let me at the controls,” Zhao replied, his hand sliding across the touchscreen, magnifying the image. “Wagner. Where are you going, you miserable bastard?” Looking at the deckplan, he said, “I think he’s trying for Auxiliary Control.”

  “Didn’t we secure that?”

  “Last report had it held by our people, but with internal communications out, there’s no way to check.” Turning to DeSilva, he said, “There’s an awful lot of damage he can do up there if he wants to.”

  “How much?”

  “If he can hack into the command network, he can take over every system on the ship.” Turning to Thiou, she added, “We’ve got to assume he’s got those skills. The Coalition would have given him all the training he could possibly have wanted.”

  “Let’s go after him,” Zhao said.

  “No,” she replied. “We can’t all go. Someone’s got to help Khatri.” She paused, then said, “You two go. Take as many weapons as you can. I’ll go to Auxiliary Control. Maybe I can beat him there.”

  “Be careful,” Zhao replied. “He’ll shoot first, and he’ll shoot to kill.”

  “Don’t worry. So will I.”

  Chapter 36

  Mitchell sprinted towards the corridor leading to the bridge, Watson and her soldiers barely keeping pace. Sirens wailed overhead, warning of intruders on the deck. As he turned the final corner, he saw Diaz running in the opposite direction, pistol in hand, Bianchi behind her. She raised her weapon as he approached, uncertainty in her eyes, and Mitchell raised his hands, shaking his head.

  “Stand down, Midshipman.”

  “What are your intentions, sir?” she asked.

  “I need to take command of this ship before everything goes even more to hell than it already has. We’ve got to stop this before it destroys us all.” He paused, then asked, “Whose side are you on?”

  She looked at him, nodded, and said, “With Captain Ikande dead, command passes to you, sir. I acknowledge you as Captain of this ship.”

  “This is all great,” Watson said, “but I think we’d better get on with this.” She walked up to the door, hardened alloy, the toughest security hatch on the ship, and pounded on it with the butt of her pistol. “How do we get inside?”

  Glancing at Diaz, Mitchell said, “It’ll take both of us, on my mark, Midshipman. Everyone else take whatever cover you can find. Anyone who is armed, take them down. We can’t afford to waste time, and we can’t afford to take prisoners. Shoot anyone with a gun in their hands. And anyone else who makes any hostile moves. And for God’s sake, use fire discipline. One bullet in the wrong place, and we could hit the surface in a single orbit.”

  “We’ve got this, sir,” Pope said, a smile on his face. “Ten years of drills and simulations, and we finally get to do the real thing.”

  Turning to him, Diaz said, “You’ve never actually fought a battle before?”

  “Atlantis hasn’t ever fought a real war. When would I have had the chance?”

  “This just gets better and better,” she replied, shaking her head. Placing her hand on the security panel, she said, “He’ll have locked out some of the systems, sir.”

  “Not all of them, though. If we have to trigger the emergency release, we do it. And if we can’t do this any other way, I’ll plant a charge on the outer hull big enough to crack it, and we can take over from Auxiliary Control. I will not let that man continue in command of this ship for any longer than I can help.”

  “Understood, sir,” Diaz said. “I’m ready.”

  Nodding, he replied, “On three. One. Two. Three.”

  At the same instant, the two officers triggered the release. The first attempt failed, producing nothing more than an anticlimactic click, and the second yielded only a series of flashing red lights, running up and down the display. The third time, however, was the charm, and with an angry whine, the doors slid open, a pair of bullets fired blind into the corridor, one of them catching Diaz in the arm, sending her sprawling against the wall.

  Mitchell ducked back, diving into cover, taking a single shot that slammed into the command chair, sending Fitzroy diving behind the flight engineering station, firing back and narrowly missing Pope. With a loud scream, Okolo died, caught by a bullet in the chest and knocked into the helm, the ship surging forwards as he collapsed on the throttle, acceleration building as the engines roared.

  “Give it up, Fitzroy!” Mitchell yelled. “You’ve got nowhere to run! The lower decks are secured, all critical systems are under our control, and there are hostiles incoming! There’s nothing more you can do. Surrender and I will guarantee you a fair trial.”

  “A fair trial?” he replied. “With you and your band of murderers? You’re out to destroy the Commonwealth, and if you want the bridge, you’ll have to take it over my dead body!”

  “You killed Captain Ikande, and you call me a murderer?”

  “I did what I had to do!” He paused, and said, “Back off. I’ll let you go down to the surface without hindrance. You can join the rest of your traitor friends down there. I’ve got reinforcements on the way.”

  “Christ,” one of Pope’s soldiers said. “We’ve got incoming, sir! Multiple contacts, heading down the corridor, armed!”

  Looking around, Mitchell raced for the Captain’s office, quickly opening the door with a pass of his hand and urging the others inside, heading back to help the wounded Diaz get to safety. Bullets cracked through the air all around them, ripping into the bulkheads and the deck plating, and Pope leaned out with his rifle, firing a pair of shots in quick succession, before ducking back into the room.

  “At least a dozen, sir. They’ve got us pinned down. We don’t have anywhere to go, and they can take us out whenever they want to pay the bill.” Looking at his rifle, he said, “Four of us aren’t going to be able to stop them. Is there any other way out of here?”

  “No,” Mitchell said. “Midshipman, how’s that arm?”

  “Fine, sir,” she replied, her face locked in a grimace that belied her words.

  “It’s not that bad, Captain,” Watson said, struggling with a medical kit. “The bullet missed the bone and the artery, a nice clean shot, but it’s made a pretty comprehensive mess. We really need to get her to a proper medical facility as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll keep, sir,” Diaz insisted.

  Gunshots echoed outside, Pope and his men periodically firing bursts down the corridor, unable to do anything other than keep them pinned down. Mitchell looked around the room, his eye catching the holographs along the far wall, Ikande playing with his children, sitting with his wife. He’d be the one who would have to tell them how he died. They deserved the truth, not Fitzroy’s twisted version of the story, a version that would be designed with no other purpose t
han to place his takeover of the ship in the best possible light.

  “I’m going to try and run for it,” Mitchell said, moving to the door. “Give me covering fire.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Watson replied. “You wouldn’t get ten feet out there.”

  “If I can get to the bridge, then I can override some of the command functions, activate the security bulkheads. It’ll at least give you a chance to live through this nightmare, maybe even make it to the escape pods.” Another bullet hammered into the door, ricocheting back into the office, narrowly missing Pope. “We’ve got to change the game if we’re going to live through this!”

  “There’s another option,” Fitzroy said. “Surrender, and I’ll let you take one of those escape pods to the surface. All except you, Mitchell. I want you locked up before you can betray anyone else. I know what you were doing down there. You sold us out, and you’re going to pay for it.”

  “He’ll shoot you out of hand,” Diaz said. “The guy’s gone crazy.”

  “No,” Watson replied. “He’s building his narrative. Getting everything ready for when his reinforcements show up. Everyone’s going to die to make sure there are no people left to contradict his story, and he ends up as the hero.”

  “Hey, sir,” one of Pope’s men said. “The firing. It’s dying away.”

  Frowning, Mitchell leaned out, and said, “Then that’s my chance,” just as another salvo of shots rang out, followed by a series of angry screams. He peered around the door, risking exposing himself to enemy fire, and saw a wave of technicians racing down the corridor, Khatri and Zhao at the lead, firing tasers and rifles at the enemy forces, the remnants of Fitzroy’s squad sprinting for the bridge.

  “Take them down!” Mitchell yelled, firing into the mob as it raced past the office, then charged after them. Fitzroy was standing in the door, pistol in hand, a blank expression on his face, as though realizing that all his plans had failed, that his hopes and dreams of a glorious return to Mars had ended. Mitchell raised his pistol and fired in a single, smooth action, placing a bullet carefully between the renegade officer’s eyes, the man slumping to the deck, blood spilling from the gaping wound in his head, finally collapsing to the side. Mitchell stepped over him, looking at the stunned crewmen beyond.