As the fastest member of the team with the best eyesight and second-best hearing, James took point, Noa and Ghost beside him. Chavez, Manuel, and Gunny were at the end of the line, the rest of the group in between. James’s dancing neurons homed in on the distant voices of the Guard beneath the Central Authority. James expected at any moment that the darkness would be split by a UV spotlight, or laser tracer, but none came. Within a few minutes, they were at the first hurdle: a gate that spanned the width and height of the entire tunnel.
Most of the sewer lines were open; gates like this one were traps for garbage and debris that could block the flow of water during the flash rainstorms frequently experienced by Luddeccea Prime. But they were almost directly beneath the Central Authority, and as Gunny had explained it, “’ccasional floods are worth the added security of a gate.”
The gate was made of crossed steel beams seven centis in diameter, set at intervals of fifteen centis apart. Set at the center was a locking mechanism—a steel plate as wide as James’s spanned hands. He knew, without knowing how, that he wouldn’t be able to open it with brute strength. It was not like the lock on the train … That had been brute strength, hadn’t it? Not a rusty lock as he’d first believed, or wanted to believe. He felt a rush of static beneath his skin.
Putting these thoughts aside, James carefully focused on the ceiling by the gate. Something glimmered in the low light—a holocamera—just as Gunny had suspected there would be. Noa lightly tapped James’s arm. Turning, he took the cable she had between her fingers. Ghost took the other end. It was too dark for Ghost to see without augmented vision. They plugged the cord into their ports, and there was the familiar rush of electricity and connection as James shared with Ghost what he saw across the link. Ghost’s avatar flickered in his mind’s eye and said, “I can handle it.”
“They will have frequency jammers here,” James responded.
Ghost’s avatar rolled its eyes and smirked. “I told you, I have something special.”
James knew he did have something special—they would never have been able to retrieve data from the mainframe without it; but, still … he felt his skin crawl as though expecting a bullet. He wanted to know how Ghost was connecting to the central computer. Next to him, he heard Noa shifting slightly on her feet. She was so close he could feel the soft kiss of her breath against his cheek.
Ghost abruptly ripped the cord out, and the stream of electrons running between their minds stopped. For a moment James saw stars behind his eyes, and then his gaze slid to Noa. She was biting her lip so fiercely it went pale beneath her teeth. There was no link between them, but he knew what she was thinking. If Ghost got this wrong, the whole show was over. Noa’s eyes went back to Hisha, and then to Oliver strapped to her chest. The toddler was sleeping in a drug-induced stupor, drool slipping from his lips to his carrier. Oliver was, perhaps more so than Eliza, the most vulnerable member of their group. James’s eyes went back to Noa, and he remembered what she’d said, “The death of a child is the death of hope.”
He didn’t believe it—not for himself—but he took in her pained expression and realized it wasn’t just a cliché for her, a sound bite picked up from a political speech.
He heard a soft thud above, and looked up. “That’s the hover crash happening right above our heads!” someone whispered, before another person hushed them. From the Guards down the tunnel he heard someone say, “Did you hear that?”
He heard an intake of breath from someone on their team, and then a crackle of static from a radio in the distance. His neurons and nanos dancing in anticipation, James focused on the sound. He heard another person say, “There was a four-hover pile-up above. Looks like a bad accident—Yao, Parvati, and Khan, go offer assistance.” James’s dancing neurons almost relaxed, but then from the gate came a loud clanking, like heavy unused gears grinding into motion.
Ghost spoke sharply in the darkness. “It’s all done. Cameras are disabled. Run.” James’s brows drew together. Ghost wasn’t supposed to say that aloud. Hunching over his rifle, the little man ran down the tunnel toward the gate. That wasn’t the plan either; James was supposed to go first. Shaking his head, he ran after Ghost and quickly overtook him. He heard the team following, and down the tunnel shouts from the Guard. “What was that?”
James reached the groaning gate. It was slowly opening, the gears clanking faster and faster. James pushed against the ancient metal to hurry it along. Nothing happened.
Taking a step back, he rushed the metal bars, hitting them with his side with all his might. There was a loud groan, a snap, and the gate sprang open and James crashed through, just as a beam of ultraviolet light flashed in his eyes. “Incoming!” he said, flinging himself to the floor and raising his rifle as water trickled around his body. The rifle sights had built-in light adjustment; even without his augmented vision, he would have seen fine. Noa belly-flopped onto the ground beside him and lifted her own rifle. Ghost dove to the ground and crawled to the farthest edge of the tunnel before lifting his. There was the sound of rifle fire from the Guards, and bullets ricocheting off steel. Oliver screamed, and it pierced James’s consciousness just for an instant, but he blocked it out and fired. He fired off one shot, Noa fired off another; and from behind, two more went off simultaneously. He barely had a chance to blink … and it was over. Just like that. He looked back and saw no one else had come through the gate yet. Chavez and Gunny’s rifles were poking through the bars.
Manuel cried, “Is Oliver hurt?” and 6T9 said, “Eliza, this game doesn’t seem to be safe.”
“It is just a game,” Eliza said, “It’s safe.”
“He’s fine,” said Hisha. “Just scared.”
“Move!” said Noa, already on her feet. “We may encounter more resistance!”
And then it was chaos. Ghost was running ahead again, Noa was screaming for him to get back, Oliver was crying, and 6T9 was saying, “I am not allowed to play games like this with children!”
“It’s not a sexual game,” said Eliza. “Just exciting.”
James heard shouting down the tunnel, footsteps, and the hiss of the old-fashioned radios the Luddeccean Guard used. But then the footsteps stopped. James heard one of the Guards say, “Protect flight control and the Central Authority.” He felt a jolt of shock hit his system, a cocktail of relief, and bewilderment. He hadn’t, he realized, believed that this plan would really work, but Noa had been right. They weren’t expecting an attack on the museum, and no one thought about the flight capability of the Ark.
They swung a hard right and entered a narrower dead-end tunnel just as gunfire erupted behind them. James stood back with Gunny. The older man handed him a case of women’s makeup powder that belonged to Eliza. “Check to see if they’re approaching.” James flipped the mirror open, held it around the corner, and shook his head. “They’re not moving.”
“Not yet,” said Gunny.
“James!” shouted Noa. He turned. She stood in a natural spotlight cascading down from the manhole cover that was at the center of the courtyard that the Ark was housed in. Manuel was climbing down. “It’s heavier than I thought.” Manuel panted and dropped to the ground. “Have to lift it up and over.”
From behind him, he heard the Guard in the tunnel approaching.
He appraised the height from the top of his head to the manhole cover … two and a quarter meters. He remembered the tree he’d hurdled in the forest without a second thought. He felt as though he could do this … not knowing how he knew made him uneasy, but the footsteps were getting closer, and Oliver was crying.
“Out of his way,” Noa cried, motioning people to the side.
Sprinting forward, James leaped into the air. Electricity and pain shot down his shoulder. He heard the scrape of metal on metal, he felt the manhole give, and then collided with the wall of the dead-end, barely grabbing the ladder with one hand. He looked above. The manhole cover was only partially covering the drain.
“The human cannonball,” some
one said.
“Are you sure you’re not Fleet?” asked Manuel.
“Your arm and shoulder!” Noa cried, voice strained.
At that moment, he realized he was cradling both against his side. “Will be fine,” he ground out. His neurons weren’t dancing anymore. They were red and angry. And his vision took that odd moment to blur and tell him he was hungry. He forced the arm he cradled to move—and it did, slowly, at first, but then with increasing ease. Managing to climb a few rungs, he turned his head sideways and pushed it through the narrow gap between the cover and drain wall. From the sewer he heard Gunny say, “They’re almost here. Now!” There was the crash of glass, and he knew they’d set off the Molotov cocktails. From above, he heard an alarm go off and screams. Ignoring the screaming of the nerves in his shoulder and the alarm and cries of tourists, he pushed his head completely through the manhole, effectively using it as a wedge.
The heavy metal cover slid to the side and his top half emerged into the warmth of the Prime mid-morning. The sun had come out and it was hot. The only sign of the rain was lingering humidity in the air. He found himself in an empty, paved, circular depression that was slightly taller than him. At the top of it were decorative planters filled with two-meter tall tropical grasses. In the rainy season, they would be deep purples in hue, like the pines in the north, but now they were a faded violet. Above the tops of the decorative plants loomed the Ark. There were stairways at north, south, east, and west, and the rest of the perimeter of the circle was ringed with a bleacher-like seating area. Half-eaten food and food wrappers littered the seats. A woman carrying a baby was rushing away. He lifted his eyes up and saw more tourists at the base of the spaceship dodging through more decorative planters, making a break for the exits. His eyes drifted upward again along the lines of the ancient craft. There was a wide awning surrounding the vessel—it looked like what it was … an exhibit, a curiosity, a relic. His eyes went upward and he felt as though all his neurons and nanos had come to an abrupt halt. There was probably a reason why no one expected the Ark to be used as an escape vessel.
16
Noa hung on the ladder in the wall next to the manhole. “James, what’s wrong?” she half-shouted over the sound of screams, rifle fire, breaking glass, and the museum alarm. Her partner in crime … or whatever … stood half-in, half-out of the tunnels. He didn’t answer. Perhaps his injuries were worse than she’d feared? “James, can you move? Can you climb out of the way?”
She could feel the heat of the flames from the Molotov cocktails against her back. They’d hold the Guard back for a while, but soon they’d figure out their ruse and their destination.
James quickly shimmied up the ladder, and Noa felt relief uncoil in her belly. She scrambled up as he gave the signal for all-clear above. Gunny must have seen because he shouted, “Everybody up!” Noa popped out into the hot sunshine of the Prime morning. James stood, a rifle sagging in his arms. His neck was craned upward. Noa looked beyond him, out of the artfully-designed picnic area that could serve as a catch-pond during the rainy season, to the hulking shadow that was the Ark.
“I remember it as being bigger,” James shouted over the roar of the museum alarm, stretching out the arm he’d just been favoring, and giving his hand a shake.
Noa squinted up at the vessel. “It’s large enough for our founding families.” She took off toward the steps.
James caught up to her. “It looks older than I remember. And … mutated.”
Noa scowled. Picky off-worlder. True, the ship looked a little beat-up. The sides were scarred with over a decade’s worth of asteroid impacts, and the Central Authority hadn’t bothered to give it a paint job—paint was chipping off its dirty, rain-streaked hull. Also, the holo Ghost had projected for them was of a ship of the same class, but new. The ship in the holo hadn’t spent years in deep space, endured a rough landing, and served as housing for the First Families for over a decade. It was evident from the Ark’s not precisely streamlined form that the crew had had to make some special modifications during that time—however, “By Republic law, it has to be space worthy!” she shouted. “It looks old—”
“It looks mangled,” James interjected.
Ignoring the comment, Noa continued, “It has all the comforts of modern times—real grav and food.” Pausing almost at the top of the steps of the picnic area, she ducked to scan the courtyard through her sights. The base of the Ark was surrounded by a decorative awning that allowed tourists to walk the perimeter of the base without being drenched in the rainy season or scorched in the summer. No one seemed to be hiding in the shadows, and she caught no signs of movement through the decorative planters. The Ark’s exhibit was situated between two prongs of the Tri-Center Building. On one side was the museum. Through glass walls she could make out three stories of exhibits. On the other side were walls of stucco and less glass—the wing of the spaceport. She saw no one in either direction; no tourists, no passengers, no members of the Guard. Just to be sure, she tapped James’s shoulder. Sparing her vocal cords, she pointed to her eyes, and back to the building, a silent sign for, “See anyone?” Meeting her gaze, he shook his head. She took a deep breath. The tourists and guides had fallen back into the heart of the Tri-Center building. This was working too perfectly, and she felt a stab of dread.
Bringing her focus back to the courtyard, she muttered, “This is too easy,” too softly to possibly be heard, but James’s head whipped in her direction faster than a gray snake. She couldn’t hear him, but she saw the startled, “What?” on his lips.
She gave as much of a shrug as she could with the rifle in her hands. There was no way she could explain it. She glanced back quickly in the direction they’d come. Ghost was cowering in the depression with Hisha and the students. Oliver was stirring on Hisha’s shoulder, and 6T9 was standing up, shaking his head, blindfold still in place. Manuel was trying to push him down. The ‘bot was frowning, saying something to Eliza that Noa couldn’t hear over the alarm. Gunny and Chavez were standing over the manhole, Molotov cocktails in their hands. Gunny met Noa’s eyes and Manuel did, too. They both gave curt nods. Leaving Manuel to keep 6T9 in line, and Gunny and Chavez to keep any pursuers from below confused—or at least busy—Noa and James darted quickly to the awning surrounding the Ark.
The contents of shattered souvenir hologlobes dropped by tourists crunched beneath their feet. She heard far-off screams, muffled explosions, and the alarm—she knew it would be ringing in her head for days. She wished she could turn down her hearing and use the ethernet to communicate to James and with her team. She wanted to feel the gentle flow of electrons that would let her know they were well, even without their conscious thoughts. She silently cursed having to rely on her battered eardrums.
Reaching the base of the Ark, Noa and James put their backs to the hull in the same heartbeat. Noa glanced toward the picnic area again. She couldn’t see the team—Manuel must have convinced 6T9 to sit. As she thought that, Manuel’s head popped over the top of the steps. He met Noa’s gaze. Noa gave him the all-clear. Manuel disappeared for a moment, and then reappeared carrying his rifle and seemingly dragging Ghost by the collar toward the Ark.
The rest of the team hid in the depression, taking cover in case they had to beat a fast retreat. Noa took a deep breath. She didn’t believe there could be a retreat now. This had to work. Just before Manuel and Ghost reached them, she turned to James. He gave her a tiny nod, and raised his weapon. Together they walked around the Ark in opposite directions, like well-oiled parts of the same machine … even without the ethernet.
Rifle raised, Noa was ready for incoming fire. It never came, which made her gut constrict. Her eyes met James’s as he rounded the base from the other side. Noa darted to the cage-like elevator for tourists that ran up and down the side of the Ark while James covered her. Whoever had been operating the elevator when the alarm went off had had the presence of mind to lock it. The doors wouldn’t budge. Cursing, Noa tested the buttons. Nothing hap
pened. She thought of asking James to try, but brute force might damage the lift and make it unusable, and then they’d have to climb twenty meters up to the entrance. There might be a better way … Giving the signal for “wait” to James, she ran around the base, the alarm still blaring in her ears.
Ghost was cowering beneath the awning, back pressed to the hull in the cluster of thrusters at the base.
“Ghost!” Noa shouted. “Need you! Elevator locked.”
“What?” Noa saw the word on his lips, but couldn’t hear it over the sound of the alarm. Grabbing his arm, she pulled him toward the lift. For an instant, he dug in his heels, and her heart skipped a beat. But then, overcoming his fear, he followed her, letting his rifle hang from his back and covering his ears.
As they rounded the base, the alarm abruptly shut off.
“The elevator,” Noa shouted, her ears ringing even with the alarm gone. “It’s locked—”
Rogue Stars Page 32
