The crate he knelt beside was flung on top of him, and he never finished the thought. A battlesuit lumbered over and sent his claw crashing down, finishing the work the crate started, before turning to the Vardosi. Its scourer cannon glowed violet.
Beskin interrupted the charge with a salvo from his carbine. “I’ll take care of it! Get those explosives planted. I’ll meet you by the exit!”
The Ghar lashed out with its claw, scourer cannon fizzling harmlessly. Nacen bent down and grabbed the last set of explosive charges.
“Go!”
Nacen picked himself up and, supported by Camlo, dashed clumsily to the next crate. The two battlesuits were getting closer now and had resumed firing on Nacen and Camlo’s position. Nacen crouched as plasma saturated the air overhead.
“Where’s Jeta and ‘Nak?!” Camlo shouted.
Nacen’s heart sank. He had not seen the domari since the entryway.
“I don’t know, Cam. But we have to keep moving.”
Camlo’s jaw drew firm and he gave a quick nod. When the pair heard Beskin’s plasma carbine lashing out, they finished their sprint to the next pillar. Blinking dust from his eyes, Nacen placed the rectangular charge on the round surface.
Kaha. It wasn’t adhering.
He tried the large green button. Nothing. Camlo peered over the crates and returned their fire with his own tight, controlled bursts. “It’s no use, they just keep coming! We have to get out of here!”
“One second,” Nacen said. “These explosives won’t–”
As he tapped the green button impatiently, the device fastened itself to the column and turned a luminous red. The captain switched on his shard link and sent out a signal he hoped would reach the rest of his crew. “Got it. Everyone out now!”
Camlo moved to a row of crates closer to the far door. Thirty paces back, Beskin continued to dance around a battlesuit, dodging its repeated attempts to turn him into pulp. The Ghar had deep gashes in its armor plating but showed no signs of slowing. Camlo raised his weapon and fired a dozen rounds into its back. Plasma arced from its shell and it crumpled in a heap. Beskin turned to run, following Nacen and Camlo in their path out of the hall.
He made it five steps before the suit’s plasma reactor collapsed. Blinding white light flared out, and Beskin took one more step before he was propelled through the air by the force of the reaction. He slammed hard against a nearby crate. Cutting in front of his cousin, Nacen ran back to the fallen vardanari. Beskin was unconscious, but alive.
“Pick him up, I can handle myself,” Nacen said.
Camlo knelt down and dragged Beskin’s limp form over his shoulders, bearing the weight on his metallic arm. “It’s gonna take more than a reactor blowing to end you.”
The pair hobbled from cover to cover, keeping their heads low to avoid the stabbing beams of scourer cannons. From behind a row of crates came a supporting flurry of mag rounds. Nacen turned to find Shukernak making his way to their current position, attempting to cover Camlo’s lumbering retreat.
“Got too tired to haul around the plasma cannon?” Nacen nodded to Shukernak’s looted mag pistol as they reached the final pillar. The captain planted his remaining charge on its base. It clamped on and gave him a crimson smile.
Shukernak shrugged. “Too easy. Thought I’d give the Ghar a fighting chance.”
Nacen frowned and risked a look behind. Kordata and his remaining two men had been caught by two groups of battlesuits as they had pushed up through the center. The man could take no notice of the retreating Vardosi, concerning himself only with survival. Ghar continued to push in through the side corridors on both ends of the hall.
Nacen stopped and turned to Camlo, who looked at him with wide eyes. “If we run now we can make it out and give the Algoryn a chance to escape with their lives before settings off the charges.”
“But after they locked us up… what happened to Alifair, Merripen, and now Jeta…” Camlo stammered. He blinked hard a few times and clenched his jaw. “Whatever you say, Captain. Let’s just do it fast.”
Nacen grabbed his cousin by his arm of flesh and blood. “They can beat us and even kill us, Cam, they’ve proven that. But they can’t force you to do the same. We’re free. If you kill those men here, you’ll leave a part of yourself behind in this place.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Camlo muttered, shifting the unconscious Beskin on his shoulders. Shukernak nodded his agreement.
“To hell with that,” a voice said from behind. The Vardosi turned to see Jeta leaning against the pillar. Most of her dark, curly hair was singed off, and an ugly burn ran the length of her face. Her reflex armor was missing plates in several sections, and cauterized wounds swelled with ash and dried blood. Jeta punched in a seven-digit code on the charge.
“Jeta, y-you’re alive,” Camlo sputtered with a mix of joy and surprise.
“Yeah. If you want to stay that way, too, you’ll start running.”
The domari took off down the corridor, with Nacen, Camlo, and Shukernak following close behind. Kordata had made good progress across the hall but was nowhere near the exit when the high-density chemical explosives turned the pillars into molten slag. Any screams or vows of revenge Nacen may have imagined were drowned in the sonic blast and cloud of debris that followed. The entire structure shook and nearly sent Nacen tumbling to the ground, but he regained his footing and continued to follow Jeta.
They reached the balcony after a minute of running through corridors. The Carmine Canotila’s only Skyraider airbikes were propped against a curtain wall, just out of sight from the entrance. Jeta mounted the first quickly and took off into the twilight sky. Camlo lashed Beskin’s unconscious form to the base of his own airbike and followed after them. Shukernak looked at Nacen, one foot already on the last air bike, and shrugged. The domari stepped up and put his arms around the captain.
No violent storms raged across Folasi due to the thin atmosphere, but the numerous impacts from the wreckage of Ghar ships had kicked up fierce dust clouds. Their remnants lay burning in the valley below.
“Here I thought the biggest thing I had to worry about was you being mad that I took your airbike out for a spin without permission,” Jeta said over the shard, cold and distant.
“You’ve got nothing to feel sorry for. We did our best,” Nacen said. He decided to change the conversation. “How’s the ship?”
“Still bad. Grounded for the near future as far as I can tell. Bad news if those Algoryn decide to come after us after what we… what I did.”
“You did what you had to. I’m just glad we got out of there. One step at a time.”
They plowed through the blinding dust in silence, following Jeta as the airbikes glided on the rising winds. After a few minutes, they let their Skyraiders down in a shallow canyon where the Carmine Canotila rested beneath a steep ridge. Its bright red hull, now chalky with dirt, camouflaged well with the ruddy brown surface. Leaping to the ground, Nacen drew up his tattered cloak to shield himself from the howling wind. Above him, the pitch black of the night sky hid behind clouds of dust. Nacen knew the homefleet wandered among those barely visible stars. He welcomed the chance to return.
Antidata
By Andy Patrick
Astioch had long been a silent world, but the scream of dropship turbines changed that in an instant. The ship's rapid descent seemed certain to see it impact into the surface, but it decelerated hard, apparently defying the laws of physics as the anti-grav suspensors kicked in; their power joining with the protesting engines to turn the collision from a crash into a jolt. The ship's landing legs, having deployed a few scant yan above ground level, compressed briefly as they absorbed the energy of the impact; and as they expanded again, the exit ramp dropped hard. This was a potentially hostile landing zone, and the first few moments could prove critical.
Buddy drones burst rapidly from the ship, buzzing through the air and emitting artificial beeps and whistles as their sensors scanned the surroundings for thre
ats. Immediately after them, Concord troopers hastened into position, getting away from the dropship that would be an easy target while it remained stationary; quickly they sought cover in the surrounding rubble, keeping their carbines up, ready to open fire at the slightest hint of danger.
In seconds the deployment was complete, and the ship's engines roared up to full power again, lifting the immense craft free of the ground; then higher, and higher still, until it was lost to sight among the clouds, heading back to orbit and leaving quiet in its wake.
Kalta Byatt found that she had been holding her breath and let it out with a sigh of relief. Her heart was still pounding, and that was much harder to control - it wasn't even as though her sprint out of the dropship had been physically exerting, but the excitement and trepidation of her first steps on an alien world had put her into a state of heightened tension. At the back of her mind, the combat shard gave her a sense of her comrades’ feelings. Unlike her, they were confident, assured. Kalta was the only one in the squad that had not been on an active mission before.
Crouching behind a pile of shattered rubble, Kalta looked around, determined not to overlook any sign of an enemy; not to let her squadmates down or put them in danger. The smoke-shrouded, ruined shells of buildings surrounded and towered over her – not to the extent that they would have done before their destruction, before doom had come to Astioch, but more than enough to provide cover and concealment to an ambushing force, if there were one. The dropship had landed in some kind of plaza, and Kalta and her comrades were now ranged around its circumference.
The squad's strike leader, Baravit, spoke over the combat shard. "Look lively, troopers. Building at zero-three-zero, eight yan. Clear and hold."
In practiced unison, Kalta and her comrades rose to their feet. To her immediate left, Javed took point, outpacing the rest of the squad just enough to give their maneuver focus, without unduly exposing himself to danger. To Kalta's right, Heyne moved over the rubble with confident surety, his plasma lance - the squad's support weapon - constantly seeking targets. Kalta knew her own place in the formation without conscious thought. This was just like it had been in training. She was only too aware that the others had all seen combat before, but she was determined not to let her own inexperience show; not to let herself down.
Not like she had in the trans-dimensional tunnel.
In moments, the squad reached the building that Strike Leader Baravit had designated. Like all the others Kalta had seen since landing, it was ruined - gaping holes in the walls indicated it had once come under heavy attack, and scorch marks told of the fires that had followed. It was perhaps more complete than most, more defensible; ideal for use as a strong-point from which they could secure their position.
The strike leader gave orders curtly. "Javed, cover the entrance. Kalta, in first."
Kalta was already moving as Javed threw himself against the wall, his plasma carbine sweeping across the interior. Just like in training. Just like she had done so many times before. But this time, it was for real.
She burst through the empty doorway, trying to make herself a moving target, a more difficult shot for any ambusher waiting within. Carbine up, she scanned the room, exactly as she had practiced. Ahead, nothing. Left, nothing. Right -
An indistinct figure crouched in the corner.
Kalta did not stop to think. Instinctively, she pulled the trigger.
"Contact!" she shouted as her weapon screamed and a bolt of incandescent blue energy spat at her target. A hit! Adrenaline pumping, Kalta exulted. This was what she had trained for! And to get the first kill of the mission - this would make up for her failure in null space!
"Cease fire, Trooper," Baravit ordered. Kalta obeyed, remaining in position, keeping her weapon trained on the target. Heyne moved past her right shoulder, closing in on where she had fired. He leaned in, examining the thing she had shot.
"Well, it's dead," Heyne began, and for a brief moment Kalta felt the rush of success; then he continued: "for about seven or eight years, I'd say."
Kalta's heart skipped a beat. "What?"
"Yeah, take a look," Heyne said, turning back to her. "Ghar Outcast, by the looks of things. Probably killed in the invasion."
Kalta did as he bid. Now that her eyes were adjusting to the gloom, what had seemed a figure crouching in ambush was little more than a bundle of rotted bones and rags. Her plasma shot had practically vaporized it, but it was clear that it had been dead for a very long time. She felt the color rise in her cheeks.
"You have got to be joking," said a new voice - Akantha, the fifth member of the strike squad. "You're shooting at shadows? I wish I could say I was surprised, but after what happened in null-space..."
"I had to take the shot," protested Kalta. "First in, neutralize threats. I had no choice."
The whole squad was in the building now, standing around Kalta, looking at the long-dead Ghar. In their enclosed battle armor, Kalta could not see their faces - and she was glad they could not see the redness in her own - but the shared consciousness of the combat shard made their thoughts clear, even if their body language had not.
Baravit didn’t wait for the bickering to start. "Enough. I said clear and hold, not stand around gossiping like Freeborn traders. Get on with it."
Feeling the rebuke, the squad dispersed. Kalta turned away gladly, spared further humiliation; she checked the next room. It was empty, and she reported as such. One by one, the rest of the squad confirmed the same experience.
“Form a perimeter,” ordered Baravit, communicating via the combat shard. “Hold position and keep an eye out for hostiles.”
Kalta knelt next to a hole in an external wall. It gave her a good field of fire over anything that might approach. Aiming her carbine over the surrounding ground, she cursed her mistake. Reaching out to the combat shard, she sensed doubt in the minds of her squadmates. They said nothing openly, though that was as likely to be to avoid Baravit’s anger as to spare Kalta’s feelings, but their concerns were clear. This was not how she had hoped this mission would go.
As Kalta kept watch, she could hear Baravit reporting in to Strike Captain Lemelle via a voice transmission. "Yes, sir. No threat, sir - an inexperienced trooper opened fire needlessly. Yes, sir. Kalta Byatt, sir." There was a pause. "Yes, sir."
Kalta stopped listening. At least the strike captain knows my name, she thought bitterly.
The combat shard sought her attention. It was Javed, communicating over a private channel. "Don't worry about it, Kalta. We were all on our first mission once."
"Did you shoot a dead body on your first mission?" she snapped. "Did you spend most of your first interstellar journey vomiting?"
"Hey, ceasefire," protested Javed. "I'm not the enemy, right?"
"Sorry," she relented. "I just... this is not how I hoped things would go."
"Take it from me, it's not so bad," Javed told her. "Nobody died. You had an adverse reaction to the gate, then got a bit trigger-happy on landing. If that's the worst thing that happens to you being in the C3, you'll be doing just fine."
"Sure," Kalta muttered, and she knew he was right. For some reason, that didn't help.
* * * *
The longer they waited, the more Kalta felt the absence of the IMTel.
It wasn’t as though she was entirely disconnected, of course. The combat shard kept her in touch with her squadmates - though as that connection conveyed largely a mixture of pity, contempt, and disapproval, she almost wished it wasn’t there after all. It wasn’t even as though she had never before experienced separation from the IMTel; that was a standard part of training in the Concord Combined Command, because it was such a common occurrence in hostile environments. In training, though, there had always been the comfort of knowing that the disconnection was both temporary and intentional. This world, Astioch, had had a fully-functional nanosphere once – but not since the Ghar invasion, and that meant this was different.
Despite the missing connection to the I
MTel, or perhaps because of it, Kalta was more focused on her sentry assignment than ever. Holding position within the building her squad had seized, she sighted down her carbine at the surrounding ruins. Every now and then, there was a flicker of movement, but each time it turned out to just be a buddy drone hovering among the rubble, scanning and searching for threats. Kalta did not allow herself to become complacent. It was one thing to shoot a long-dead corpse; that mistake had had no consequences beyond embarrassment. To overlook a genuine threat could be fatal.
She heard movement behind her; Baravit, she judged. The veteran strike leader's movements were habitually slower, more measured, than most of the others in the squad. Not that Kalta looked down on him for that. The old man was as tough as petra hide and sharp as skark teeth - few survived for his length of service in the C3 if they weren't.
"Anything out there, Trooper?"
"All quiet, sir," Kalta replied. Of course it was; she'd have raised the alarm already if it weren't.
"Good." Baravit paused but didn't move on to the next member of the squad. "How are you holding up?" he asked, eventually.
Kalta looked back at him, puzzled. "Sir?"
"No more nausea? Vomiting? Nosebleeds?"
She cursed to herself. "I feel fine, sir. That was just a reaction to null-space proximity. I'm over it."
"Good," Baravit said again, and he turned to leave.
Kalta couldn't help but ask. "Sir, how long will we have to hold here?"
The strike leader looked surprised. "Until we get orders to the contrary, Trooper," he said, as though it were obvious. She shook her head.
"I mean on Astioch, sir. How long until they decide whether to reinforce us or extract us? How long until civilians are brought in?"
Beyond Antares Dimensional Gates Page 14
