by Jay Allan
Whoever was out there, they were enemies.
“On the way, Barret.”
“Doc, I know you’re not normally part of our muscle, but…”
“Don’t worry, Barret. I’m handier in a fight than you think.”
“Here you go.” Lex crawled up the ladder and leaned into the bridge, pulling the rifles from his back and handing one to each of his two shipmates. “These will do the job in here, but if we’re going out, we’ll need the underwater ones.”
Barret frowned. Durango had provided them with all the undersea gear, and the fact that a full suite of weaponry had accompanied each suit told him their mysterious benefactor and taskmaster had likely expected them to run into a fight.
Barret had never liked the shipyard manager, and he found himself hoping Andi rethought her opinion of the man…maybe even dealt with him the way she usually did with those who stabbed her in the back.
“We’d better take this outside. If they forced their way in, we may lose pressurization…and any fighting inside will tear the ship apart.” A pause. “But if we leave them out there, it won’t take much for them to cause some real problems. I don’t know if they want to take the ship or not, but if they’re just looking to disable us, we’ve got to hit them soon or they won’t have any trouble doing it.”
“I agree. We should suit up.” Barret could hear the nervousness in Righter’s voice. As far as he knew, none of the three of them had ever worn undersea gear. A fight to the death was a rough initiation for underwater operations, but it didn’t look like they had any choice.
Or did they…
Barret turned and looked back at his station. “How long would it take to get the reactor powered up?”
Righter looked across the cramped bridge. “Powered up? To what level?”
“Enough to fire the topside laser.” Barret gestured toward the gunnery station as he answered.
“You want to fire that thing? At this range? What if you hit the entrance to the station? You could flood the facility, kill everybody inside. Hell, you could bring down half that rock wall on top of us.”
“I can handle it. Don’t you worry about that.” Because I’m worried enough for both of us. “It’s a better bet than waddling out there in those suits and fighting it out, don’t you think? Those are Foudre Rouge, most likely, and we’ve got a ship’s gunner, a medic, and an engineer to throw at them. You think that’s a guaranteed win for us? What if Andi and the others get back to find the ship in the hands of the Foudre Rouge, or just gone?” A pause. “Besides, I don’t have to fire at anything like full power to take out a couple of Foudre Rouge a few meters away. The problem’s likely to be getting a shot. I’m not sure how low an angle I can manage.”
Righter looked like he still wanted to debate, but a few seconds later, he let out a deep breath and just nodded. “Right. Bad choice…but all the others are worse.” He had already turned, and he was climbing down the ladder. “Get your targeting ready…I’m going to crash start the reactor. I’ll have you power in a minute, ninety seconds, tops.” A pause. “At least those guys out there don’t start shooting at the ship…and if the reactor can handle the stress.”
He didn’t say anything else.
Barret just stared at the empty space where the engineer had just been.
There hadn’t been anything else to say.
Chapter Thirty-One
Unidentified Imperial Ruin
Somewhere Under the Endless Sea
Planet Aquellus, Olystra III
Year 302 AC
Vig reached out, grabbing onto a support bar, and easing down another half meter. He was tall, and his feet were about a meter from the flat top of a section of machinery below. Perhaps a bit more than a meter. It was a feasible drop, but not one without risks, not when a broken ankle would likely strand him there beyond reach of the others, and leave him to his death.
He let go and let himself fall, repeating to himself silently as he did to let his legs give as he hit the metal below, to reduce the shock of impact as much as possible. He felt his heels land, and then his knees bent, and he rolled forward, landing in a prone position…about five centimeters from the edge of the platform.
He felt some jarring pain, but he realized almost immediately, he’d come down with no serious injury. He stared down for a few seconds, trying not to imagine what would have happened if his momentum had taken him over the edge and down the ten or fifteen meter drop looming before his eyes.
He pulled back cautiously, rising to his feet and gently putting weight on each leg. He was sore, and a little banged up, but he confirmed again to himself that everything seemed to be in working order. He took a deep breath and looked around. He was on top of a large structure, some component of the reactor, he supposed. He looked around, relocating the bomb. There was a small ladder built into the side of the structure, and he climbed down to the floor below. He looked up. He was about ten meters below the catwalk where he’d started, and the bomb was above him, at the top of a large cylinder.
He walked around the structure, towering about six meters above him. He looked all over, searching for some way to climb the thing. There has to be some way up. Someone planted that bomb up there.
But there was nothing, no ladder, no way to climb to the top of the smooth cylinder. He looked again, running his hands over the cool imperial alloy, looking for some kind of switch or other mechanism that might expose a way up.
Nothing.
Then his eyes looked beyond the cylinder. There was another structure, on the other side, close to his target.
Close enough?
He scrambled over toward the rectangular bank of equipment. There was some irregularity to it, places he could plant his hands and feet and just maybe climb up to the top. It looked like a dicey proposition, but it was all he could see…until he walked around to the other side. There was a ladder of sorts there, or at least a series of hand and footholds stretching up to the top. It was still a tricky climb, but he was sure he could manage it.
He looked up. Andi was leaning over the rail, staring down at him. He couldn’t make out her expression, but he could feel her tension. He reached up, slipping his hands into one of the small openings, and then bring his feet up as well. He climbed, methodically but quickly. He might have preferred to go a bit slower, but he had no idea how much time they had. He didn’t like the idea of risking a fall, but he preferred it to being caught in a titanic antimatter explosion. It wasn’t even a close call.
He scrambled up and over the top, and he stood up, looking across, back at the cylinder. He could see the bomb now, at least part of it protruding from the place where it was set. There was a gap between the structure he was on and the cylinder, close to two meters, he guessed. He could jump it…but he’d have to do it just right. Too soft, and he’d fall short. Too hard a jump, and he might lose balance and tumble right off the other edge of the cylinder.
He could feel his heart beating, pounding in his chest like repeated claps of thunder. He walked to the far side of the structure, and he took a series of deep breaths. Then he crouched down, and he took off, racing for the edge, trying with all his self-control not to think too much about what he was doing. He saw the edge coming up, and he lunged across the gap.
He came down hard on top of the cylinder, stumbling across, out of control for a few seconds before he managed to grab onto a protruding conduit and steady himself. He looked up, his attention drawn to the concerned gasps of his shipmates. All but Andi. He could see her, but she wasn’t looking any more. She was crouched down, doing something he couldn’t quite see.
He turned and walked over to the branch of smooth metal pipes. The bomb was set just under them. He looked all around, trying to get an idea of the thing’s makeup. He didn’t touch it—he didn’t dare. He had no idea how sophisticated a device it was, or how well booby-trapped. But he needed to figure all that out. He had to determine if he had a chance to disarm the thing, and if he didn’t, h
ow long they had before it detonated.
He leaned over the conduits, bringing his face closer…and then he saw it. A cable protruding from the bomb into a small hole drilled into the metal of the piping. For an instant, he considered cutting it, but even as the thought entered his mind, he could feel his head shaking. There was no way. Whoever had placed that thing had connected it somehow to the mechanism. Lex Righter might have had a chance to disarm the thing, but Vig didn’t dare touch it.
He looked all around, almost frantically. Then he saw the timer, tucked almost under the main body of the bomb. He twisted and turned and tried to squeeze as deeply into the nest of pipes as he could. He squinted, trying to make out the time on the tiny screen. Just as he’d almost despaired of reading it, his eyes teared up, and the extra moisture sharpened his view just enough.
Fifty-three minutes.
He pulled back, looking up and waving his arms to the others, even as he fought to keep the contents of his stomach in place. “Fifty-three minutes…and there’s no way we’re going to disconnect the thing, not without taking a real chance at detonating it now. This place is done for.”
He turned and ran hard, jumping back to the other structure before he had time to think about it. He landed hard again, letting out a yell as his knees hit the hard metal, and pain radiated up and down his legs. For an instant, he thought he’d really hurt himself, but a quick lunge to his feet confirmed that everything was still working.
He made his way down the makeshift ladder, and back to the original bank of machinery. He could get back to the top, but he had no idea how he was going to make it to the catwalk above. Dropping down had been one thing, but he couldn’t leap high enough to grab hold of the edge of the floor above.
But he’d have to try, at least if he didn’t want a front row seat to an explosion that would make the term gigaton look like a flickering candle.
He scrambled up, struggling to hold back the panic. You can do it, he told himself, not believing it at all. He walked to the center of the structure, and he looked up, trying to get a fix on the right place to jump…and he saw something in front of him, dangling down.
He saw Andi, stripped down to the light shirt she wore under her jacket. Then he realized what was hanging down. She had cut the coat into long strips and tied them together. A makeshift rope, long enough to reach him.
And the other end was gripped firmly by Gregor. The big man was clearly in pain, but the expression on his face was the personification of determination.
“Come on, Vig…get the hell back up here now!” Andi was waving her arm as she leaned over.
Vig stood there for just a few seconds, coming to terms with his amazement at the whole state of affairs. Then he reached up and grabbed the cloth rope and started pulling himself up, counting down with each pull.
His mental clock was at forty-nine minutes when Gregor and Andi hauled him up over the rail.
* * *
“Okay, Lieutenant, it’s time to pull your people off search detail. We’ve found enough imperial artifacts to make this the most successful Badlands mission on record. Whatever we haven’t found will have to stay. We’re down to fifty minutes. It’s time to haul this stuff back to the ships and get the hell out of here. Get the materials crated up and ready for transport. We’re heading back in five minutes.” Caron couldn’t help but feel destroying the place so soon was a terrible waste, and he certainly wished he’d had more time to complete the withdrawal of his people, but his instructions had been utterly clear. Get in and out quickly, and leave nothing behind. Nothing. The time limits had been set on a fixed schedule, and the fact that an unidentified ship had been found in the system and hostiles engaged in the facility itself mandated the fastest set of timetables.
He understood the rationale for all of it, even the destruction of so much precious technology. If the materials in the facility fell into Confederation hands, it would give the Union’s enemy dominance on the Rim for generations. At least obliterating it all would ensure the crates of imperial electronics his people were hauling out would do much the same, if to a lesser degree, for the Union. It might take a few years to truly research and exploit the ancient materials, but he had no doubt they would ensure victory when war came again.
And they would certainly guarantee him considerable wealth and advancement, even after Aimee Boucher claimed most of the credit for herself. Sharing spoils wasn’t part of the Union creed, but in this case, Caron had to admit, there was very likely enough to go around.
Waste of precious technology or not, it didn’t matter anymore. That die had been cast. The bomb was in place, and booby-trapped against any attempts to disarm it. If Gaston Villieneuve himself walked through the door and ordered the station preserved, there was nothing Caron could do.
His thoughts now were on getting out with as many artifacts as possible. He had to have his people on the ships in twenty minutes, twenty-five at most. His mind raced, calculating the size of the likely explosion in the vaguest terms. He had no idea how full the antimatter containment tanks were, and he lacked the knowledge of physics to accurately calculate the energy of the explosion. But the numbers didn’t matter. If would be big. Big enough to obliterate the entire facility, and probably the undersea mountain in which it was built.
Maybe even big enough to tear away a good portion of the planet’s atmosphere. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he intended to be in orbit by the time the bomb blew.
“Let’s go, all of you. We’re out of here in three minutes. All Foudre Rouge are to carry a single crate.” He’d have preferred to have his soldiers out in front, ready for battle, but he had to get the cargo back somehow. He reached around and pulled the rifle from his back, looking across the room toward the other two agents present. They followed suit, clearly understanding his intention.
He looked around again, watching as the soldiers finished resealing the crates and began to pick them up. The boxes were cumbersome, and reasonably heavy, but the Foudre Rouge maintained themselves in constant combat condition, and the clone soldiers carried the burdens with a fair amount of ease. A moment later, they were all ready to move out, a good ninety seconds ahead of schedule.
Which was just fine with Caron. The sooner he and his people were out of the haunted and doomed ruin, the better. He nodded, and he walked toward the door, looking out into the corridor before he set out, turning his head back only once, to confirm his small column had followed his lead.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Free Trader Pegasus
Rocky Shelf Under the Endless Sea
Planet Aquellus, Olystra III
Year 302 AC
“Unidentified ship, this is your last chance. Surrender at once and open your airlock, or we will open fire.”
Barret stared at the comm unit, listening to the harsh tone blaring from the speaker. So, is that what a Foudre Rouge soldier sounds like? The gunner had served in the navy, but only in peacetime, or what passed for that state between declared wars. He’d never seen a Union clone soldier, but he’d known Marines who had fought them. The leathernecks had always held their own against their principal enemies, and he’d never run into one who’d admitted fear at the sight of one. But, without exception, they were always deadly serious when they spoke about the Foudre Rouge, and overtly admitted or not, Barret knew that was a kind of respect.
He hadn’t answered, not yet. For an instant, he’d hoped they might leave if they thought Pegasus was unoccupied. But then he remembered the Union ships were all destroyed. The Foudre Rouge in the facility, if that’s what they were, had no way out.
No way except capturing Pegasus.
He looked down at the control panel. He trusted Lex, a surprising realization considering the engineer’s personal issues, and the short time of their acquaintance. He knew enough about reactor operations to realize what Righter was about to attempt was no easy feat.
And no sure thing, no matter how skilled he was.
Righter ne
eded all the time he could get. And Barret had to get it for him.
He reached out and tapped the comm. “identify yourself,” he snapped, with all the apparent confidence and self-assurance he could muster.
“Surrender at once,” the voice on the comm repeated. Barret was listening for signs of tension or fear, any indication he could bluff his opponent. Not if they’re Foudre Rouge, he guessed. At least not from what he knew of the clone soldiers.
Come on, Lex…we don’t have much time…
“I will not discuss any kind of terms until you identify yourself.” If they were Foudre Rouge, he might have one advantage. Badlands thugs, and even Confed Marines sometimes, could be goaded into rash action. But the Foudre Rouge were conditioned from ear to ear to act rationally and methodically. That didn’t mean whoever was out there wouldn’t open fire, but they likely wouldn’t do it in a fit of rage at his goading.
“You have thirty seconds to surrender.” The voice was cold, almost unemotional.
Barret’s eyes dropped to the screen. He sighed softly as saw the indicators were still where they had been. No sign of energy generation, not yet. He turned away, and then his eyes darted back. He’d seen something, just before he’d turned his head, and a few seconds later, he heard a dull whine, and Pegasus began to vibrate.
Way to go, Lex…
His hands moved over the gunnery controls, bringing up the targeting scope. He looked at the images from outside, getting a fix on the soldiers with the newly repaired scanner suite. He cycled from one dish to the next, doing all he could to keep movement to a minimum. But the soldier saw it anyway.
