by Zoë Archer
They kept a brutal pace, sliding through the jungle at top speed. By the time they reached the base of the perimeter wall, he felt certain he had lost ten pounds in sweat alone. Keeping back to the shelter of the forest, they eyed the wall. It stood approximately ten meters high, and the plasma wire continued up for three additional meters, its fatal beams crackling with red energy.
“We move quickly.” She nodded toward the sky, where the PRAXIS clipper hovered above the compound. Its thrusters rotated in preparation for landing. “Now.”
She and Nils slipped to the base of the wall. He stuck a palm-sized device on the barricade, and punched in a numeric sequence. Tiny lights within blinked. A low hum sounded. And then a narrow section of the plasma wire directly above sputtered out.
They didn’t have time to linger. The PRAXIS thrusters roared, kicking up dust, as the ship slowly lowered for landing.
She shot a grappling hook from a handheld apparatus. Her aim was good, and the hook lodged itself at the top of the wall. She tugged on the attached line, ensuring its security. Satisfied, she grabbed hold of the rope.
Fluid and lethal, she began to climb. He took a breath, rubbed his palms on his thighs to dry his hands, and then he, too, began his ascent.
Celene knew herself in battle. She’d been on enough missions, in the midst of danger. Readiness settled over her like cation armor, protecting her, allowing her to see precisely what she must, directing her thoughts. It wasn’t autopilot, for she controlled herself, but she saw the flight plan laid out before her. Following that plan was the only thing required.
She pulled herself up, hand over hand, her legs doing most of the work by pushing her higher. Tugs on the rope below her revealed that Nils kept pace. She didn’t slow to check on him. In order for this objective to succeed, she had to trust that he’d keep up.
Reaching the top of the wall, she quickly surveyed the interior of the compound. The PRAXIS ship was landing, but no one stood by the landing pad to greet the visitors. If Marek was as paranoid as Nils claimed, he wouldn’t come out into the open and leave himself vulnerable. His PRAXIS clients would have to come to him.
In the cover of the dust kicked up by the landing ship, she slid through the narrow gap in the plasma wire atop the wall. Its heat vibrated over her body, and she slowed her breathing to ensure she didn’t come in contact with the fatal energy. She heard Nils coming up the wall, close behind, but there wouldn’t be room for both of them at the top, so she took another grappling hook from her pack and secured it for the descent.
“Not yet,” she whispered to him as he neared the top of the wall. “Have to time it going down so we don’t run into the sentries.”
“Give the signal when you think it’s best.”
A sentry rolled just below, precisely where she’d be when she descended. She kept the rope attached to the hook in her hands, lest the robotic guard’s sensors detected it and was alerted to their presence. Finally, the sentry rolled away, and she let the line fall.
“Going down now,” she whispered over her shoulder. Gripping the line, she slid down, landing in an easy crouch. Her weapon was already in her hand.
Nils followed moments later. Once he was on the ground, she disengaged the grappling hook on the interior of the wall. She stowed the hook and rope in her pack. They gave each other hand signs to indicate that they were both ready to move forward.
The main building in the compound was a single-story structure, its walls appearing to be reinforced and very thick. Only a single entryway. No windows. This, too, fit the pattern of extreme paranoia. In there, somewhere, was the disruptor. And Marek.
She and Nils ducked behind a generator outbuilding to observe the PRAXIS contingent being escorted from the landing pad by one of the sentries. The brilliant white uniforms of the enemy stood out against the dull concrete gray of the compound. A senior officer and three regulars comprised the delegation, and, judging by the scowl on the officer’s face, he didn’t appreciate being treated with such hostile suspicion.
The PRAXIS representative and his guards followed the sentry to the lone entryway. Before she could grab her silmät scope, Nils already had done so, and had it trained on the control panel by the entrance. He watched as the sentry entered in some kind of code, and the door slid open.
He swore under his breath. “It’s a continuously altering system. The code is never the same.”
“But you can hack it.”
“Of course I can. It’ll just take a little longer than I’d like.”
PRAXIS entered the main building, and the door slid shut behind them with a ringing clang. With its duty discharged, the robotic guard returned to its patrol. Thirty meters stood between where she and Nils hid and the entrance to the main structure. Thirty meters with no source of cover.
“A run and gun is going to be tight,” she said. “Three armed robots against two humans. Not good odds. They’ll reduce us to vapor while you hack the door.”
He frowned, deep in thought. “Might be able to equalize the odds. Turn them to our favor.”
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
He rifled through his pack until he produced a hand-held device. “This will hack into their wireless command net and override it.”
“And have three robot sentries on our side.” She grinned. “Excellent plan.”
“Same principles of Nifalian chess. Transform the opponent’s pawns into your own, surround the king, take the crown.”
“Why’s it always chess with you?” But she smiled as she asked this.
He shrugged. “Before this mission, it was my sole referent for excitement.”
“And now…?”
His raffish grin charmed her, even in the midst of danger. “I’m going to have some good stories when we get back to base.”
A thought flared—when they returned, would he brag to his Engineering pals about getting into Stainless Jur’s flight suit?
She pushed that troubling thought from her mind. It would only distract her. “Let’s get these robots off our backs.”
He got to work on the device, swiftly manipulating its controls. “The command codes are constantly rewriting themselves,” he muttered. “I’ll only be able to control one of the sentries.”
“Do whatever you can.”
A moment later, he said, “It’s done. I’ve sent the guard a new command stream.”
One of the robot sentries stopped in its patrol. As another sentry passed, it turned its devastating weapon on one of the approaching sentries. Destroying the gun turret. The fired-upon guard was now a smoldering collection of metal.
The remaining sentry began to fire on their robot ally.
“The sensors will read this as a system malfunction.” Nils pocketed the hacking device. “Not an attack.”
“Then we take advantage of the distraction.” She jumped to her feet and ran toward the main building. He was fast at her side.
They reached the entryway to the main building, and she kept watch as Nils worked furiously to hack the system.
Finally, the entry door opened, but only wide enough for a person to slide in sideways.
“Now where?” she muttered once they were inside. She glared at the maze of metal panel-lined hallways that stretched on all sides. The building certainly hadn’t looked so large or complex from the outside.
He consulted the tracking device he’d taken from the Phantom. It continued to trace the location of the disruptor. “This way.”
He jogged down one of the corridors, with her trailing after him, her eyes and weapon in constant motion as she scanned for threats.
They rounded a corner, and another, then flattened back as a hail of plasma fire erupted. Carefully peering around the corner, she saw the PRAXIS guards had taken up position outside an interior chamber. The door behind them closed quickly, its locks engaging with a loud hiss. The PRAXIS officer was nowhere to be seen.
“He’s got to be inside with Marek.” She returned fire.
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br /> “Then that’s where we need to be,” answered Nils. He also shot back at the PRAXIS troops. Quickly, he glanced down at the tracking device. “The disruptor’s in there, as well.”
She smiled grimly. “One-stop shopping.” He frowned at her, not understanding, and she shook her head. “An ancient expression. Someone used it in a history vid.”
Three PRAXIS guards to two 8th Wing soldiers. Unbalanced, but she’d been in worse spots. She shot as fast and accurately as two ordinary soldiers—resulting in a stalemate. She and Nils kept trading fire with the guards, unable to advance. There was no other way into the inner chamber, however.
“Marek could be finalizing the deal right now,” Nils said through clenched teeth. Frustration tightened his words. “He might directly upload the plans for the disruptor to PRAXIS. Which means it doesn’t matter what we do out here.”
“A download isn’t instantaneous. We’ll get in.”
Glancing around, she looked for something, anything, she could use to their advantage. Her gaze fell on the metal panels that lined the corridor. She’d seen plasma blasts ricochet off the panels, so they had to be reinforced, or made with a special alloy that resisted plasma fire. She hoped that a different metal was used to bolt the panels to the walls.
“Got anything to remove rivets in that pack of yours?”
“Ion cutter. Why?”
She flicked a glance toward the panels, and he gave a little smile of understanding. “You lay down cover,” he shouted above the gunfire. “I’ll take care of the metalwork.” He snapped on a pair of goggles and got to work.
She continued to shoot at the PRAXIS guards, hoping the charge in her blaster lasted long enough. Sparks cascaded as Nils used his ion cutter to take down a large panel.
He appeared at her side with the broad sheet of metal. She thought about telling him that he still wore his goggles, then decided against it. He looked dashing in them, like a sand corsair.
“Ready to move in?” she asked.
He hefted the panel. “This stof and tand game is pissing me off.”
At her signal, with him in the lead, they rounded the corner, putting them directly in the firing line. But the PRAXIS plasma blasts bounced off the makeshift shield. She followed Nils, firing at the guards as he slowly advanced down the corridor.
A guard went down. Leveling the odds.
Nils planted the shield down and fired, as well. He took out another PRAXIS guard. Leaving only one.
The remaining guard immediately threw down his weapon, then lifted his hands in surrender.
She kept her blaster on him as Nils took the PRAXIS trooper’s gun, then pushed him to the ground. Nils pulled a length of touw cord from his pack and quickly tied up their captive, feet bound, hands behind back.
Stepping forward, she knocked the trooper unconscious. Nils stared at her, brow raised.
“Added security,” she explained. “Don’t want him wriggling free while the mission is ongoing.”
He muttered something about bloodthirsty pilots as they collected the fallen guards’ weapons. She had a gun for each hand. They readied themselves outside the door to the inner chamber.
He worked to hack into the final control panel. Voices sounded on the other side of the door. Marek and the PRAXIS officer shouted at one another.
It took Nils several minutes before he managed to crack the control panel—attesting to Marek’s extreme paranoia. As Nils labored to break into the system, the yelling inside grew even more heated.
Finally, the last door slid open, revealing the man they had traveled millions of miles to find.
And he had a massive plasma shotgun pointed right at them.
Chapter Eleven
Nils stared up the length of the gun, fury vibrating through him. He’d been thinking of this moment ever since he learned Marek was the one behind the disruptor’s creation. Now, here he and Celene were, face to face with the traitor.
Marek kept his weapon pointed at them, but Nils and Celene did not lower their blasters. They stepped in a chamber crammed full of equipment, walls covered in monitors and control panels, spare components littering the ground. The room smelled of stale body and electricity. Empty ration plates stacked in the corner, food drying into crusts. Clearly Marek seldom left this chamber, despite the size of the compound.
As they entered, both Nils and Celene caught sight of the PRAXIS officer escaping through a small hatch at the back of the chamber. Nils took a step forward, intent on pursuit, but Marek’s shotgun held him back.
In the middle of the chamber stood a tower of circuitry and blinking lights. Judging by its configuration, the tower had to be the disruptor. It seemed like a harmless collection of electronics, yet it was the most powerful weapon he’d had ever beheld, capable of crippling the 8th Wing.
“Delightful,” Marek sneered. “Stainless Jur has come to pay a visit.”
“She’s come to kick your ass,” Celene answered.
“Calder,” Marek said, his gaze flicking over him. “Didn’t expect to see you outside of your Engineering cave. But I suppose if anyone would have found a way to track me, it would be NerdWorks’ golden boy.” His mouth curled into an ugly approximation of a smile. “Doesn’t matter. Neither of you will be leaving this planet alive, and then PRAXIS will chew up and shit out the 8th Wing.”
“You piece of lunc,” Celene spat.
Marek shrugged, though he looked far from relaxed. A film of sweat coated his waxen face, and he clutched the plasma shotgun tightly. “The 8th Wing pension can’t buy me a single-chamber dwelling in the Makell System, let alone a spread like this.”
“Except you keep yourself prisoner in this shithole,” Nils snarled.
Marek barked out a laugh. “Language, Lieutenant Calder. Spending time with this Black Wraith hotshot has ruined your pristine vocabulary. Besides,” he added, his eyes burning and manic, “I like this shithole. The devices I build here appreciate what I do for them. Unlike the 8th Wing.”
“That is why you built the disruptor? That’s why you’d throw the 8th Wing into PRAXIS’s jaws? Because you felt unappreciated?” Celene scoffed. “Calling you pathetic would be a compliment.”
Rage tightened Marek’s features as he stepped closer, shortening the distance between them. “There are two of you. One of me. You could rush me at the same time. But I’ll turn one of you into subatomic particles before the other can get a shot out. So…who will it be? Who will cross over into the Starfields of Eternal Bliss? Or,” he added, almost cheerful, “you could lay down your blasters and put your hands up. Surrender.”
Nils glanced back and forth between the shotgun’s barrel and Celene. The weapon could blast a hole in her that no medical tech could fix. Slowly, he set his blaster on the ground and put his hands up.
“What the hells are you doing?”
“Just do it,” he growled back. His eyes sent her a message. Please trust me.
She scowled at him, then, with a curse, did the same, laying down her weapon and raising her hands.
Marek’s brows raised. “How unexpected. I would have thought that perhaps Calder might take the path of least resistance, but not Stainless Jur.” He clicked his tongue. “Seems your reputation is hardly worth the digi-ink.” Marek smirked at her. “I heard you were almost sold for ninety thousand creds. Hopefully, your value hasn’t depreciated.”
Instinct impelled Nils, forcing him to move with what felt like supercharged speed. He quickly twisted to the right, striking the muzzle of the Marek’s weapon away from his body with his forearm. He made sure that he knocked the gun away from Celene. Stepping forward at the same time, he grabbed the upper handguard of the shotgun with one hand, and its stock with his other hand.
Stunned, Marek didn’t have time to get off a single blast. His reactions came too slowly as Nils tugged on the shotgun with one hand and pulled with the other, stepping closer. Thrown off balance, Marek swayed. Nils slammed the muzzle of the weapon into the side of Marek’s head, and
he toppled.
In an instant, Nils had his boot pressed in the center of Marek’s chest, the muzzle of the shotgun pointed directly in the traitor’s face. He glanced over and saw that Celene had a blaster in each hand, both of them aimed at Marek.
“You have a value of exactly nothing,” Nils snarled.
“And this device is only scrap.” She turned her blasters on the disruptor. Plasma fire flared. Moments later, all that remained was a smoldering heap of twisted metal. Even the most skilled engineer would find nothing of use, and consign the lot of it to the recycling mechanism.
Dazed as he was, with blood running in a bright stream down his face, Marek managed to rattle out a laugh. “Underestimation is a dangerous game, Calder. I underestimated you, but you’ve fallen victim to the same peril.”
“The hells are you talking about?” Nils pressed the muzzle of the shotgun into Marek’s throat.
Marek choked out another laugh. “The plans have been already been uploaded to PRAXIS. Within a solar week, there won’t be any more 8th Wing.”
Celene cursed, but he was thoughtful. “No,” he said after a moment. “I know you, Marek. You wouldn’t risk broadcasting the plans, possibly giving away your position to other interested parties. That’s why you had PRAXIS come here directly.”
The traitor’s face paled, but he continued glare defiantly.
“Which means the plans are physical. It was an actual handoff.” She glanced at Nils. “We can still stop PRAXIS.”
“Beautifully deduced,” Marek sneered. “But it doesn’t matter. You’re too late. If my timing is accurate, I believe the PRAXIS officer will be taking off…” The compound shook with the sound of the clipper’s thrusters. “…Now.”
Both Celene and Nils cursed. She glanced down at Marek. “You hold him. I’ll go after PRAXIS.”
