With that, Cade left the chamber, the hatch shutting behind him. Tomorrow, if nothing went wrong, he would leave the Descartes and start on what might well be his last adventure.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cade thought it through. Halifax had made two attempts to kill him. The man now had a broken hand. Two and a half years ago, Halifax fled to Earth with the cyborg device pried out of Brune’s gray matter. That device was now in his head. How otherwise did he possess Brune memories? More recently, Halifax left the Graff bunker to contact Clarke. Clarke attempted to murder him, well possibly that was so. Clearly, however, someone had launched a missile at the IPO lifter and had almost taken him out too.
Was Halifax trustworthy? No. Did the Descartes need to make a turning maneuver after he exited the ship? Most certainly. Could a preset computer turn the scout? That seemed likely. Cade did not know how to set that up, though, and he hadn’t had time to study the reader manual, nor did he have time now.
It was a conundrum.
After careful thought, he believed he had reached a solution.
The hours ticked by as he readied his equipment. He was only going to have one chance to do this.
The Descartes neared Avalon IV. No other spaceship had appeared. At least, Cade couldn’t spot any on the sensor scope. The orbitals each increased the stridency of their warnings. Soon, each orbital would launch a pair of missiles at the scout.
Cade nearly lost his nerve about heading in closer. Leaving the Descartes at 700,000 or even 600,000 kilometers from the planet, however, was simply too far. Seven days seemed like the maximum he should attempt to survive in the drop-suit. Thus, he stayed on course. He had worked out velocities and thrust before this. Now, he slowed the vessel per his schedule.
Afterward, with a constricted chest, Cade entered Halifax’s chamber.
“Please,” the doctor groaned from the cot. “I can’t feel my hands and feet anymore.”
Cade drew his boot knife: seven inches of steel, a deadly weapon perfectly balanced for throwing.
“No,” Halifax said, as he paled. “You promised—Cade!”
Cade grabbed a wrist and sawed through the binding. It parted. Halifax screamed in agony as his shoulders moved because of the release of tension. Cade cut the ankle bonds as well. The doctor lay panting on his stomach on the cot, sweat drenching his face.
Cade squatted, putting his face near Halifax’s. “Listen to me, Doctor. I’ve placed a powerful explosive in a secret location aboard the scout. It’s on a timer. If you find the explosive and try to defuse it, it will detonate. To stop the timer and defuse the bomb, you will need a code. That code I promise to radio you once I’m two hundred thousand kilometers from the surface.”
“Cade, no, what are you saying?”
“That if you use the fifty calibers and murder me, you will die when the bomb detonates.”
“I’ve already given you my word. I won’t do that.”
“I know. And I appreciate it. Call this insurance. I suggest you stretch and get up as soon as you can. We’re almost six hundred thousand kilometers from the planet. Once I leave, you should turn the ship away.”
Halifax looked as if he wanted to say more. Instead, he groaned pitifully as he worked his shoulders.
“At least help me sit up,” the doctor pleaded.
Cade rose. “Good luck, Dr. Halifax. I wish you the best.” He headed for the hatch, stopped and faced the prone doctor. “Goodbye.”
Halifax’s mouth moved, but no words came.
Cade left the quarters, the hatch shutting behind him. He went to the piloting chamber, slowing the ship. The vessel had passed the 600,000-kilometer mark. He would leave the ship just outside the 500,000-kilometer mark. He waited, studying a timer. When he was ready, he slowed the ship one final time. Then, he strode for the airlock chamber.
Once inside, he donned the large and unwieldy drop-suit. He wrestled the thruster pack into the airlock. Inside his suit was a survival kit that included the WAK .55 Magnum. He took a deep breath and squeezed into the airlock. The inner hatch shut, and the air bled away. After a timer ticked off the needed seconds, the outer hatch opened into space.
Cade reveled at the sight of the stars and the nearby planet. He shoved the thruster pack out, following it, buckling into the thing.
With a squeeze of thrust, he left the Descartes. He squeezed off yet more, lengthening the distance between them. With more than a little skill, he turned, examining the sleek scout with its stubby wings. The ship was beautiful, a slice of atmosphere and gravity. Would Halifax regain mobility in time to turn it away from the planet?
Cade shifted once again, thrusting longer, sending him away from the ex-Patrol scout. Avalon IV loomed largest in the distance, a beautiful Eden world waiting for him to make his great attempt.
His helmet radio crackled. Using his chin, he accepted the hail.
“Cade,” Halifax said in a harsh voice. “Cade, you bastard, can you hear me?”
“I hear you, Doctor.”
“I’m tempted to blow your scheming hide into tiny pieces. There’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
“True.”
“I want you to ask me. Ask me to let you live.”
“Do as you will, Doctor.”
“You’re a lunatic. You’re going to die. Why are you taking me with you?”
Cade did not reply.
Halifax swore, stopping perhaps to concentrate on piloting the ship.
Yes. Cade noticed brightness. He looked back. The Descartes had begun a turning maneuver. Was it in time? They would find out soon enough.
Cade concentrated on Avalon IV. The world was so lovely. It beckoned to him, perhaps as the siren had done to Odysseus as his men with their plugged ears rowed past the treacherous rocks of her island.
Cade’s breath caught. That was one of his memories, a true remembrance. “An omen,” he said. A good omen, he decided.
An hour passed.
“Cade, can you still hear me?”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Give me the code.”
“Not yet.”
“Tell me where the bomb is at least. I have no idea where you hid it.”
“I know.”
“What’s that mean? Please, Cade. I didn’t kill you. I let you go on your damn quest.”
“Give me some more time and distance, Doctor.”
“Do you think I want to wait around here? You know the androids are going to show up, right?”
“I suspect you’re correct.”
“Is that what you’re counting on? Is that how you think you’ll get off Avalon IV?”
“It has crossed my mind.”
“Cade, you fool, you’ve already crossed the five hundred thousand-kilometer boundary. An orbital is sure to burn you with a laser. Please, for the love of all that’s holy, tell me where you placed the bomb and give me its code.”
Cade thought about that. Should he torment Halifax? He doubted the doctor would have the courage to turn back and try to align the guns at him.
“Do you want me to beg?” Halifax asked hoarsely.
“No,” Cade said, deciding then. “There is no bomb. That’s why you can’t find it. It was a trick to ensure you kept your word. I congratulate you, Dr. Halifax.”
There were several seconds of silence, then: “You’re an even greater ass than I thought.”
“Thank you.”
“Cade, Cade…good luck, you big oaf. I’d like to stay around and see what happens, but I’m heading out. I’m going to a nearby system and selling this death trap.”
“The ship is yours. Do as you please, Doctor.”
“No hard feelings, then, that I’m not sticking around?”
“None. This is my destiny. You must find yours.”
“Sure, Cade, I guess so.” Halifax cut the connection.
Cade didn’t mind. He settled himself for a long flight. He began his isometric exercises. He had many days to go, many kilometers to tr
avel. Would the orbitals burn him?
A grim smile twitched into place.
***
After six and three-quarters days of space flight, Cade was eager to exit his drop-suit. It stunk badly. His muscles felt tired and flabby.
He had not seen any explosions that would have meant the destruction of the Descartes. Would he have been able to see that, though, even at this short stellar distance? He didn’t know. The orbitals had not radioed any directives at him. He could see the one swing around the planetary horizon even as the other departed. From here, they were both the size of large dark dots against the planet. He could have used his visor’s zoom function to study them in detail, but he’d refused. How would it help his morale to see deadly weaponry aimed at him?
Instead, he focused on finding the surface crash site. Was there a way for him to find it with the suit? He did have some built-in sensor equipment but would wait to activate it. He feared active sensing equipment might trigger an orbital attack against him.
He had other concerns. For instance, had Halifax left the star system? If the androids hadn’t intercepted the doctor, he believed he would have.
The planet loomed larger as Cade ran his final computations. It would soon be time to start deceleration with the thruster pack. Meteors burned up entering a planetary atmosphere due to friction because they zoomed in too fast. He had to slow almost to a stop and slip through slowly and thus softly.
As the planet stretched across his horizons, a feeling of familiarity grew. He had done things like this before. Maybe he had worn an armored shell the other times, though.
A high-speed orbital insertion.
Inside the spacious helmet, Cade’s head jerked as another of his real memories popped into place. He remembered in a vague way, an assault ship maneuvering into low orbit. The ship would fire his people like shells in a shotgun, sending the insertion pods screaming down for the surface.
Cade shivered. They had gone down that time onto a cyborg-held planet, one with a pink sky. They had inserted after fierce asteroid bombardments struck the surface, softening up the enemy. The officers called their going down, “Boots on the ground.”
Cade tried to remember more, but the memories faded away. With a start, he realized that he was almost in position. Avalon IV loomed massive before him, his world now. It was time to discover if he could find anything technological down there.
He switched on the suit sensors. Several minutes later, he received a ping. He pinpointed the cause and realized the targeted continent was slowly moving or spinning away. He had to stay up here long enough for the targeted spot to rotate back into place.
That wasn’t going to happen because it would take too long. So—
“Thruster-pack time,” Cade said. He nodded. He would have to continue skimming the highest upper atmosphere, maneuvering into position over the pinged location. The best way was to add just a little to his present velocity. He would slow down later.
Suiting action to thought, Cade switched on the thruster pack. It was time to get real. His heart raced, and his groin felt tingly with excitement. He was doing it. He laughed, enjoying the moment. He was Cade. He was a soldier and this was his element.
“Rock and roll,” he whispered. He depressed a gloved thumb on the outer joystick button, and thrust left the pack, jerking him forward. He laughed again, his concentration narrowing to the immediate task. This…this was living.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The soldier raced the rotation of the planet, and that might have been a mistake versus the orbitals. He gained velocity skimming the highest atmosphere. He raced toward the sensor-spotted location. The tech activity definitely woke an orbital trigger. He heard a hiss of warning in his helmet.
Cade studied the HUD. Apparently a laser warmed up on the orbital behind him. It readied to fire.
Cade applied more thrust, gaining velocity and distance from the platform. He had seconds to do this—in his estimation. Abruptly, the hiss quit. No laser reached out and stabbed at him. He had put the planetary horizon between him and the orbital.
What about the other orbital he was approaching?
There was no target lock from it yet. It would seem the orbitals scanned ahead with greater dedication than behind. That was interesting. Perhaps there was a narrow sweet spot between the two. Maybe the orbitals weren’t set up to stop this kind of infiltration. Maybe Rohan Mars knew that. Or maybe the computers had developed malfunctions. Maybe some of their scanning equipment had malfunctioned. Or maybe when the woman escaped, and others followed trying to recapture her, they had fired at the orbitals, causing damage to the weapons platform.
Thus, if he stayed in this sweet spot—
He began using the suit computer, making new calculations. He could do this for several more minutes. The planetary gravity was sucking him lower all the time. Soon, the friction at this velocity would cause his drop-suit to heat up and cook him alive.
His lips tightened as he calculated swiftly. He was gaining on the continent. He could see it, a mass of green with many large blue lakes. It was an Edenic world with alien ruins here and there. Humans had long ago landed on Avalon IV, maybe changing in the new world, mutating or evolving to its conditions. The primitives had captured shipwrecked spacemen before, killing them for witchery.
Cade cocked his head. How had Rohan Mars acquired his information? It was actually quite detailed for so long ago.
He studied the green down there. The targeted location was upon a brownish area—mountains, it would appear.
Time passed as he overtook the targeted location. The orbital was ahead and higher than he was. His helmet beeped.
It was time to begin the plunge. He was sinking even more. If he didn’t slow down, he might skip like a stone flung over water and bounce higher up into space. He would not have the fuel to maneuver back down into position and slow his velocity enough.
Could he slant toward the targeted location in order to reach it?
He made mental calculations, as he didn’t have time to use the suit computer. He had a vague memory of how to accomplish that.
“Now,” he said.
He turned himself. With his right gloved thumb, he pressed the joystick button. The thruster-pack ejected particles at full volume. Likely, the orbital would not give him long to do this. He grunted at the force, slowing more.
A hiss sounded in his helmet. He knew what that meant. The orbital had target lock on him. He did not lift his thumb off the fuel button or eject the thruster-pack from him. He needed to shed more velocity.
The hiss sounded, according to his HUD, and a laser line passed him in space to his left.
Sweat popped onto his face. The soldier knew what that meant. Either the orbital had fired a warning shot or it had tried to hit him and missed. If the latter, it was good to know the thing wasn’t perfect.
Seconds passed as he decelerated more. The warning hiss in his helmet grew louder—he jerked, no longer slowing. His back grew hotter, but that stopped.
He knew what must have happened. The laser hit this time, hit his thruster pack, stopping its operation.
He hit the eject button. That shoved him forward and down. He twisted his body in time to see another red laser strike against the thruster pack. His shoulders hunched and tightened. He expected an explosion. That would surely hurl shrapnel at him, ripping his drop-suit and maybe ripping into him.
To his amazement, the pack did not explode.
He checked the drop-suit sensors. He was going down, but he was also heading at a slant in the general direction of the targeted surface location. He was going too fast.
“Damn,” he whispered.
There wasn’t much he could do about that yet. He had to wait even as he built up speed going down. Luckily, he was no longer going fast enough that he would skip off the atmosphere. The space around him was dark, and he could still see the curvature of Avalon IV. He dropped at a slant. It would have been better—
“F
orget that,” he said, making himself say it in a calm voice. He sought even greater calm, knowing that he had to use his head. He had trained for this. It didn’t matter if that was three hundred or one thousand years ago. The laws of physics hadn’t changed during that time.
He plunged toward the surface even though he could not feel any speed. He was in a spread eagle position like a skydiver as that would create the most resistance. He watched a speed dial and altitude monitor. Now! He pressed a control, and a drogue chute exploded from its pack. It jerked him hard, wrenching at him. He groaned as his muscles twisted at the strain. Then the chute ripped away. The jerk might have torn a lesser man’s muscles. He dreaded doing it a second time, but remorselessly did so nonetheless. The same thing happened. He checked his HUD controls. The angle of his drop had changed, and his speed had decreased. Three more times he deployed drogue chutes. The process repeatedly tore at him. He would be black and blue tomorrow—if he were still alive.
His speed had lessened considerably, and he was dropping almost straight down now. At this point in the drop, he needed that. He would try to angle later when he was lower in the thicker atmosphere.
The darkness began to dwindle, turning into atmospheric blue. He could no longer see the curvature of the world. He was coming down onto Avalon IV. He checked the HUD. His speed was within the acceptable limits. He wasn’t going to burn up like a plunging meteor. He concentrated on the task. He had one more drogue chute—this one for lower atmosphere where he was. He deployed it and felt the mighty yank. That slowed his speed. The space around him was fully blue. The ground was rushing upward. He held himself rigid in his skydiving pose, used the drop-suit compass and found his targeted location. It was almost one thousand kilometers away.
He changed his position, aimed that way and slanted toward it the best he could. He could perhaps gain two hundred and twenty kilometers before he landed by activating glide wings from the side of his suit. It was going to be a race. He waged it with all the cunning and strength that he could muster. Then, he found a computational error. The targeted location was half the distance from what he originally thought.
The Soldier: The X-Ship Page 14
