by Cary Caffrey
Every moment he was allowed to spend with her was a gift and he knew it. But those shared moments were too few, and growing fewer still.
The cause. That was what drew her full attention. Never him.
Harry couldn't fault her for that. Their shared passion for freedom had brought them together, just as it had torn them apart. His beloved wife was nothing if not driven. And while he knew she loved him just as dearly, she loved the cause perhaps just a little bit more.
For the moment, at least, she was here with him, and all was right with the world. At least, it would be soon.
"You shouldn't call me that," Harry said. "Darling. If someone were to hear—"
"Then they would assume we were in love," she said. "And they would be right to think so, would they not?"
Harry turned to her and saw the hint of mischief in her eye. Shaking his head, he did something he had rarely done these past fifteen years. Harry Jones smiled. "Yes, my darling. They would."
"At the very least," Emily said, matching his grin, "it will give them something to titter about. Besides, these self-aggrandizing plutocrats couldn't be bothered to pay attention to the likes of us, ones so clearly below their station. See? Not one of them is taking notice. I daresay, if I were to stand next to the marquis himself, naked and shouting in his ear, he'd notice."
Perhaps to show he had nothing to worry about, she took his hand. It was a simple gesture, though it was done with great affection. And Harry had to admit, not one person turned their way. He envied his wife's confidence, her self-assuredness, and it made him love her all the more.
"Don't worry, my love," Emily said. "We have nothing to fear from these people. Whereas they have everything to fear from us."
"Perhaps."
"You still have doubts? After everything you've accomplished?"
Harry shook his head. "Not doubts. I've simply learned to be cautious."
"My poor dear. How difficult this must have been for you, alone all these years, no one to help you, no one to confide in." She gave his hand a firm, if reassuring squeeze. "But you're not alone now. I'm here."
"I know."
"You should be proud of your accomplishments. You have done well for yourself. And for us."
"Not well enough. We still haven't had any word on our guest. Do we even know if she's coming?"
"Don't worry about her," Emily said, with the kind of confidence Harry could only envy. "She will be here. I've seen to it personally. I've put in play a sequence of events that she will find impossible to ignore."
"If you're certain of that, then we should take our leave. It won't be safe for us to be here when she arrives."
"You still don't trust me, do you? You still fear her."
Harry turned slowly to her. He didn't want to question his wife—she was so rarely wrong—but the danger was too great. And after all this time, he couldn't bear to lose her again.
"I trust you. But Dr. Farrington warned us—"
"Farrington is a fool."
From her pocket, Emily Gillings-Jones withdrew a small cube-shaped object. A single button sat in its center. She pressed it with her thumb and a needle-thin probe snapped out. Emily regarded it, turning the powerful module over in her hand.
"You forget, husband. Ms. Novak is our friend. She will not harm us. I've seen to that."
"But why risk—"
"Why?" Emily said; her hand clamped down so hard on the data-module it threatened to crush it. Seeing her rage growing, Harry had to stop himself from taking a half step back.
"After all this time, how can you even ask that? I didn't come back from the dead just to run away. I will stay and see this through, husband. I will see this war end. Personally! I've earned that right. Just as I have earned the right to see Lady Hitomi Kimura die—and by her own hand. You may leave, if that is what you wish."
Harry's years of practiced dispassion served him well in that moment. His hands remained steady, and his face stayed blank. There would be no swaying his wife, and he was wrong to have tried. And she was right. The Kimura Corporation had taken her from him—they'd almost killed her. She would stay and see this through, and he would stay by her side. She would have the closure she so desperately desired—Harry would see to that—because only then would she truly be his again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Rolling Thunder
They were rolling now, heading west. Rain pelleted the front of the cargo transport, washing over the windscreen in heavy waves. Ahead of them and well out in front, 147 meters distant, Sigrid saw the trailing carrier of Tomás's train. The rear taillights were little more than red blurs amongst the pounding rain. Marta's rig would be equally as far out in front of his.
She didn't envy the colonel and his soldiers on their longspurs, having to ride out in the open through this mess. The road was in a horrible state. Rain washed rivers of water across the twisting tarmac. Vast sections lay crumbling or washed out entirely, slowing their progress. It had been raining like this since they left, and according to Victoria, who had linked herself to the weather sats, it wasn't about to let up any time soon.
Sigrid stowed the last of their gear away, slamming the compartments shut. The simple, swift motion made her wince in pain, and she paused to catch her breath.
It wasn't lost on her that the pain in her head was growing worse. It seemed to be growing stronger the closer they drew to their destination. When they'd left the Crossroads, it was its usual dull throb, but by the time they'd reached the first highway marker, that throb had grown to a steady ache. There seemed little her PCM could do for her either, as no amount of painkillers could ease her suffering.
Curling up on the back bunk, Sigrid put her head down on the pillow and pulled Jaffer's collection of plaid blankets up around her. Suko turned back from the front seat and leaned her head next to her on the mattress. Absently, Sigrid reached out and stroked her hair.
There wasn't any hiding the pain she was in, not from Suko, though she did her best to try, putting on a brave face. There was only one person who could end her pain once and for all, and that man was waiting for her in Portillo.
Not for the first time, Sigrid wondered what she would do if she actually found him. She wanted Jones dead. More than anything. But the words of the courier—and the commands of his patron—lingered in her mind. Return with Harry Jones "alive and in good health." Do this and her memories would be returned to her.
After everything, could she really let him live? Could she trust this patron, whoever he or she was? Could she sacrifice her stolen memories to kill him, and lose those years forever?
Thinking about it only made her head hurt more, and she curled up ever tighter in the pile of blankets.
When Suko reached out and took her hand, Sigrid held to it, practically curling around it, holding it nestled under her blanket. Perhaps there was one other person who could make her feel better after all. Suko. Her beloved Suko.
Clutching her lover's hand, Sigrid closed her eyes. And while she feared the dreams that would come if she fell asleep, it seemed she had little choice in the matter. Spent, burned out and otherwise exhausted, Sigrid fell instantly into a deep, if fitful sleep that not even the bouncing, rumbling and shaking of Jaffer's rig could wake her from.
She slept hard. And she slept long. And she dreamt. And it was exactly the same dream as before.
~ - ~
The black-haired girl lay at her feet in a crumpled heap. Wisps of black smoke rose from the scorched hole in her chest. Staring down at the corpse, the girl knew she had killed her beloved. She knew this, yet she couldn't recall her name.
"I knew her," the girl said.
"You did," her mistress said; the girl turned, only then noticing that her mistress had reappeared at her side. "Once."
"She said she loved me."
"If she loved you, she would not have tried to stop you. She would have come to your aid."
"She said she was here to save me. She said she would take me
home."
"Yet you killed her."
Indeed, she had. She did, because the girl had lied. There would be no saving her. Not after everything she had done. She was beyond salvation. She knew this because her mistress had told her so.
"Do not grieve, Sigrid," her mistress said.
There it was again. That name. Her name.
"Look at all that you have accomplished." With a wave of her hand, her mistress revealed the bodies of the dead. Dozens of them. Hundreds. They littered the floor, piled at her feet. She saw their lifeless eyes staring at her. "Earth's finest. The Federation's most powerful. Yet they were powerless to stop you. Their dominion over the Earth is finished. You have seen to that. Is this not worth the price of freedom?"
"Then, I'm free? This is over?"
"Oh? Over? Not yet. One more target remains."
"Who, mistress? Who must I kill?"
"Come. I will show you."
Taking her by the hand, she led her to a set of sealed double doors—doors that moments ago hadn't existed. They were wide and constructed of thick wood, stained and old. "She is waiting for you, Sigrid. She is here."
Her mistress opened it slowly, and the girl saw who it was that awaited her.
"Must I kill her, mistress?"
"To end your suffering? Yes."
~ - ~
Sigrid awoke, jolting upright and hitting her head on the bunk above her. The nightmare was over. She was back in Jaffer's cab. And Suko…she was here, and she was alive.
Relieved, Sigrid lay straight back down. Though that relief was muted, if short-lived.
Unlike her last dream, this nightmare clung to her and the images refused to fade. It was like being smothered, gagged, and she was sure she was going to be sick. The sight of Suko lying dead, killed by her own hand, it was all too real. There was something waiting for her in Portillo, and it wasn't just Harry Jones. This was something else. But like her stolen memories, whatever it was, it refused to come out, remaining hidden, lurking in the shadows of her mind.
Still reeling from her dream and listening to the driving rain on the roof, Sigrid lay quietly on the bunk. Her Primary Control Module confirmed she'd been asleep nearly seven hours. Seven hours? It felt like only moments ago that she'd closed her eyes. They should have arrived in Portillo by now. They should be moving with haste, yet she sensed the train slowing, braking.
Tossing the pile of blankets aside, she drew the partition open—and gasped. The clouds were heavy and black, and the rain showed no signs of letting up. Worse, they were losing what little light was left as the sun dropped below the mountains rising around them and ahead of them to the west. The road ahead was in horrible condition. It was all but flooded, with nearly a foot of water rushing across its surface. All the trains were forced to slow to a near crawl of less than a hundred kph.
But that wasn't what gave her pause; there was something else, something gnawing at her, and it was making her skin crawl. They were passing through a particularly narrow stretch of road with only two lanes moving each way. High cliff walls rose up steeply to either side, practically boxing them in.
No, not practically, Sigrid realized. They were boxed in, and they were moving far too slowly for her liking. Sigrid stared up at the walls looming on either side. While her scans revealed nothing, the jagged shale of the high cliff faces could hide any number of dangers. They were vulnerable here. They were in danger.
"Jaffer," Sigrid said, leaning forward, "we need to get out of here."
"Moving as fast as we can, kid. All this water on the road—"
"No, Jaffer. We need to get out of here now!"
It happened suddenly. Too quickly for even her PCM to warn her. A heavy rumbling that shook the road. Sigrid saw it, then Nuria, and she screamed. To their right, the entire cliff face came loose, sending thousands of tons of mud and rock sliding freely down in an avalanche of earth that threatened to sweep everything away in its path—including the three cargo trains.
"Jaffer!" Sigrid shouted.
"I see it."
Jaffer floored the engine, pulling hard on the air horn, signaling a warning to the others. They all saw it, though, and they were rapidly accelerating away.
The deep water flooding the road slowed them, and Jaffer had to fight to keep the train properly in line. Only its great weight kept it from aquaplaning away. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, and even Sigrid held her breath.
For a second, she thought they might actually make it. Marta's and Tomás's trains were clear and surging ahead of them, but Jaffer, last in the convoy, was trailing too far behind. Not even his expert control could save them from the tons of mud that swept across the highway. Sigrid felt a great heave, like something yanking them from behind, sweeping under them and lifting them high. Eight new warnings flashed across the rig's control displays, and equally as many in her own HUD. She was vaguely aware of Suko clutching her hand.
"Sigrid!"
One moment, they were plowing forward. The next they were moving sickly sideways and up, pushed along by the surging waves of mud, water and trees. The power behind the slide—the vibrations shaking them—was incredible. Mud washed up and over them. The cab tipped sharply, and even Sigrid screamed, sure they'd go over only to be buried. Yet somehow they remained upright. The lights flickered, and sparks flew from the dash, exploding as the electrics overloaded. When they came to a halt, it was only to find themselves in the dark and resting at a pronounced thirty-six-degree angle.
"Is everyone all right?" Sigrid said, waving away the smoke that filled the cab. Nods and coughs of yeses.
Sigrid opened the door at her side and practically tumbled out. Jaffer, Suko and Victoria followed quickly behind her. Standing in the thick mud, Sigrid could only gape in horror. The train had taken the worst of it. All fourteen of the carriers lay twisted and mangled and half-buried in mud. The rig itself was salvageable, but they would have one hell of a time disconnecting it from the train and driving it out of there.
Hearing the whine of thrusters approaching, Sigrid turned to see Colonel Bhandari blasting toward her with one of his men riding at his side. Unlike Jaffer's rig, the longspurs had no trouble dealing with the layers of thick mud strewn across the road. They glided effortlessly, inches above the worst of the debris.
"Thank heavens you're all right," the colonel said, coming to a stop at their side. "When that slide hit, we feared the worst."
"That was no slide, Colonel," Sigrid said. "That was a trap. Someone brought that mountain down on us."
"Sigrid," Victoria said, "are you sure? I didn't detect any explosives or charges."
"Look at this place. I can't imagine a more perfect spot for an ambush."
Scanning the devastation, the colonel nodded. "You may be right. I'll signal the others. We'll have them circle back and pick you up—"
"Belay that!"
Sigrid's hand swept to her ear as her comm unit erupted, bursting with chatter. In her head, she heard the shouted cries for help; Marta and Angel were under attack. Blast. She was right. This was an ambush. And whoever had brought the mountain down on them had arrived to finish the job.
"Come on," Sigrid said to Suko. "Grab your kit. I'm going to need you for this."
"As if you need to ask," Suko said as she leapt up the ladder, hurrying to retrieve her gear.
"What about me?" Victoria asked, arms wide.
"Stay here. Help get the rig clear. Follow as quickly as you can."
Without asking, Sigrid climbed onto the back of the colonel's longspur, wrapping her arms tightly around him. "Hurry, Colonel. There isn't much time."
~ - ~
Whether the slide was an accident or not didn't matter anymore. Mud wasn't the only thing the avalanche had brought with it. Like rats or scurrying cockroaches, the jackers had emerged from their holes to descend on the fleeing cargo trains of Marta and Tomás.
"There!" Sigrid said, pointing ahead over the colonel's shoulder. "That's them!"
> Up ahead, and still more than a kilometer distant, Sigrid picked up the swarm of electronic signatures. Two of the signals were massive—the cargo trains of Marta and Tomás. But there were many more. Thirteen longspurs, along with three trucks—and two small air vehicles. Blast it if they hadn't brought a pair of Starlings! They were swarming them, like hungry gnats in the storm.
"Hurry, Colonel," Sigrid said unnecessarily. The colonel already had the longspur's thrusters set to overboost, closing the gap at a blistering pace.
Sigrid saw their taillights first—red eyes that glared back at them through the spray thrown up by the train's three-meter wheels. Her thermal imaging revealed the jet wash of the swarming longspurs glowing brilliantly. Marta's rig was at the front, but Tomás's was just to her rear and taking the brunt of the punishment.
Tracer rounds, fired from the jackers, blazed between them. Hurled grenades sent up showers of shrapnel and fire. The armored plating lining Tomás's rig was holding, but it was only a matter of time before the ablative shielding failed.
Still too far away, Sigrid could only watch helplessly as two flatbed trucks drove alongside. They used grappling hooks and zap wires to latch on and reel themselves aboard. More of them swarmed between the intermodal containers, doing their damnedest to sever the control and braking lines—anything to bring the great train down.
"Suko," Sigrid called over her comm; Suko was atop the second longspur, not a meter from her, streaking along in their wake. "We need to give those jackers a new target—something besides that train to shoot at."
"I got just the thing. I'm on it."
Suko's longspur shot forward, blasting ahead of them.
Two of the trailing jackers must have seen her, for they broke off their attack, slowing and coming about to intercept her. At more than 300 kph, the three longspurs came together in an instant. One moment they were hundreds of meters ahead. The next they were at Suko's side.
