The Oppressed

by Matt Thomas

  This got a fierce response from the Hetarek, who closed within a few feet, snarling.

  Bryan's hands came back out, and he put on a show if cowering. "I'm sorry I don't know what you want. We're just fixing the relay."

  By that time time, the Hetarek's four companions re-emerged, carrying boxes. The Hetarek noticed the others and became more fierce in his shouting.

  Bryan took a step back, putting an extra foot between them.

  "I just don't understand." He fake whimpered, tensing his muscles in the process.

  The Hetarek looked over his own shoulder at his comrades, then back at Bryan. He reared back on his hind legs, drawing himself up slightly.

  The warrior slung his rifle back over his shoulder, but then reached to his side. He withdrew his rtek blade from its sheath and presented it to Bryan. The operator recognized what passed for a Hetarek smile.

  Bryan nearly broke character and almost laughed. This motherfucker thinks he can kill me.

  Whatever changed on Bryan's face, from feigned intimidation to the confidence of a man who had failed at nothing in his life, it affected the Hetarek. When Bryan's eyes narrowed and spine straightened, the Hetarek's widened as he lost his own confidence in the chance encounter. The Special Forces officer’s facade of intimidation fell into an intense focus.

  The Green Beret reached towards the small of his back. The Hetarek hesitated. The first round from Bryan's pistol struck the ground between them. It didn't matter. The shot had its intended effect. The Hetarek turned from the retort instinctively, its head twisted to the right, a long reptilian profile, one eye pointed towards Bryan. The second and third shots cycled even as he extended the pistol into a double-fisted grip. The rounds hit the Hetarek first in the shoulder, then behind the eye. Skin, blood, bone, and brain splattered back.

  Bryan stepped over the body even as it continued to fall. The other Hetarek panicked, dropping their boxes. Bryan strode forward. Two aimed rounds struck one in its exposed chest. Two more struck another. The third, fourth, and fifth began to grasp the situation and unslung their rifles.

  Snaps went by Bryan's head. He certainly heard the distinctive belch if Jess's sub machine gun and the cracks of O's carbine, but ignored them both. He didn't think how he could reach out on either side and swat at the friendly rounds within arm's reach. The other three Hetarek collapsed. One laser blast escaped a rifle harmlessly as rounds struck the Hetarek that fired it.

  The Komodo driver reacted. He watched his terror as he revved the engine and tore out of the parking lot, leaving the bodies of his comrades behind.

  Bryan scanned the area over his still drawn sidearm. "Okay. I think it's time for us to leave."

  He turned to find O and Jess already grabbing the equipment they had dumped out of their bags when they pulled their weapons. Bryan climbed into the driver's seat of their truck and already had it in gear when they jumped in the back. He cleared the parking lot quickly, but resumed a casual drive as soon as he got on the highway. It took effort for him to keep his heavy breathing to himself for the minute it took to resume control of himself.

  "That was pretty badass." O said.

  "Thanks. I highly recommend the Operator's Confined Combat Course."

  "That's the six week, two-thousand round a day one?" Jess asked so casually she may as well have been making small talk with a stranger on a transport shuttle.

  "Yeah." Bryan responded. "How did it go with the contact?"

  "Well, five minutes ago he was okay, just a little spooked. He didn’t want to talk long but we set up a means of contact." She answered. "Now, I bet he's scared shitless."

  "It went pretty fast."

  "Good thing, it turns out. He's disgruntled, for sure, and said he could find some others. He told me where he lived and I said I'd be in touch."

  "It's not going to take long for them to figure out what happened."

  "You think they IDed us?"

  Bryan shook his head. "We're just three humans. They won't care. It's not going to take long to figure out what happened, though."

  O spoke up. "We got the virus out. They'll get it eventually but not before the Metic Ahai get the message."

  The team leader closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. “I’m not worried about them getting the message. I’m worried about them listening to it.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The blue radiation instantly dissipated once they exited the wormhole. The novelty of the first scouting mission for Operation Aeneas had faded, and the second twenty-four hour period spent awake in the pitch black of space wore on them all. Jean felt the sweat still drying on the inside of his flight suit, his eyes stung, and exhaustion clouded his perception. The return to the fleet around the Twins meant he could be in his bunk within two hours, maybe less if the crew chiefs on Columbia got the sensor pods off quickly enough.

  As soon as he contacted Columbia’s controller, he provided them vectors directly for the command ship. Jean guessed that some annotation in some program gave them priority on the Aeneas missions. Usually, the battleship escort fighters dropped so far down on the priority list a half hour or more could pass before they received clearance.

  On the first trip, Columbia disappointed them by having them dock at one of the exterior airlocks instead of the main hanger bay. Quinn complained bitterly about that, until Jean explained to him that it would not be much of a covert mission if nearly a hundred crew members watched a pair of top-secret sensor pods getting offloaded. The explanation came with a quip that if Quinn got out of his cockpit he wouldn’t want to get back in it for the twenty minute flight back to the cramped quarters of Indomitable.

  Just as before, they attached both Petrels to the outer hull of the command ship in a corner far from the main hanger. The crew removed the pod without any interaction with the pilots save a few commands shouted through the hatch to the bomb bay. Once the pods were off, the Columbia crew reattached a torpedo to the hard point. The process went quickly, taking less than fifteen minutes where both Sasha and Peter struggled to stay awake. When the local crew chief told them they were good to go, they cycled through the launch process quickly so they shower and get some sleep on their own ship.

  As they headed out amongst the ships, finding Indomitable almost as far away as possible, Costeaux monitored the communications as always, the constant chatter striking a sharp contrast with the silence at the edge of the solar system. He heard the report of an incoming Ahai freighter somehow appearing from the far side of the planets, yet paid it no more attention than any of the other dozen activities conducted in their airspace having little to do with getting him into his own bed. Control requested the ship identify itself three times before it grabbed his interest.

  “Unidentified freighter, this is Columbia, please cut engines and identify. Instructions for entry to traffic pattern will follow, over.”

  Jean checked his own sensors. The freighter had appeared out of a wormhole fairly close to the planets, and was heading towards one of the orbital stations. The ship itself was unremarkable, an ancient passenger ship of which several dozen still existed, carting people between the various fleets.

  “Cobra Flight, Columbia.”

  “Fuck. Can’t we just go home?” Sasha complained.

  Jean hesitated before responding to the call as though Columbia might forget they had two loaded fighters ready to launch. Eventually, he gave in. “Go ahead, Columbia.”

  “Cobra Flight, please redirect to inspect unidentified freighter. Over.”

  “Roger, Columbia.” Jean answered. “Status on CAP?” His question was a passive aggressive attempt and trying to get the controller to have someone else, like the combat air patrol, do the task.

  “Sorry, Cobra, CAP is on the far side of Castor at this time. You’re closer.”

  “In other words, they missed it when it was on their side.” Quinn quipped.

  Sasha continued to curse and he deviated from his
beeline back to the ship. Only a few moments passed before Jean had a visual on the black and gray target, apparently under power as it crossed into the travel lanes for the formerly Hetarek orbital station now under repairs for human occupation.

  “Jean, I don’t see any lights on in her windows.” Sasha said. Costeaux looked up from his instruments. Sure enough, the running lights were on but nothing shone through the portholes running down the side of the passenger freighter.

  “It’s not tracking on any kind of approach pattern to a docking port.” Quinn announced over the intercom.

  “Are they adrift or something?” Dauod asked.

  “They have main power.” Jean answered, double checking his readings. “They’re making course corrections.”

  “Unidentified ship, this is Columbia. Immediately divert flight path.” The controller assertively gave instructions that remained ignored.

  “Unidentified ship, this is Cobra Three.” Jean announced. “We are fifty clicks to your port side and closing. If you do not come to a dead stop, we’ll open fire.”

  The ship did not change course or slow down. Static filled the local airways.

  “Cobra Flight, Columbia, you are cleared to use force at your discretion.”

  “Fuck me.” Jean flipped several switches. “Guns are hot.”

  “I don’t think I’ll hit it at this distance.” Sasha said.

  “It doesn’t matter, they’ll see the tracers. You’re just trying to get their attention.”

  “I’m just trying to go to bed,that’s all I want.” Sasha replied. “Guns guns guns.” A few hundred rounds streaked out, the tracers dozens of shooting stars arching towards the ship.

  Nothing changed. “Maybe they’ve got bad comms and didn’t see us.” Sasha hypothesized.

  “And they have no idea what they’re doing? They’re about to hit the station.”

  Quinn made the comment, and the ship burst. Fire and smoke and debris expanded outward, tearing into the hull of the station. A rolling burst of flame escaped with oxygen and flashed out in the absence of fuel. Several vessels ferrying people to the station and conducting repairs were caught in the shock wave. They tumbled, some breaking apart, some striking the station. In the vacuum of space, shrapnel spread unhindered, and ships in the fleet began reporting debris strikes from kilometers away.

  Three harsh tones burst through the radio, warning of a forthcoming emergency message. Though Jean knew it would be forthcoming, the alarm still triggered an ingrained churning reaction churning his stomach. “All ships, all ships, all ships, Columbia, we are under attack. Establish defensive positions and prepare incoming Hetarek.”

  The civilian ships all rushed towards the center of the fleet, while warships took up a perimeter. Ironically, Indomitable took up position much closer to her two fighters. Shuttles began launching from the station, doubtless carrying wounded and frightened civilians. Baseballs launched in clouds, enveloping the warships. Like the other Petrels, Columbia instructed the Cobra Flight to take up a strategic position in the defensive sphere around the fleet, much further from Indomitable than they had begun. Apparently, now that they had completed their high-priority mission, control once again relegated them to escort ship status.

  With sensors focused on their designated slice of space, the Petrels waited. The adrenaline helped keep them awake, but not sufficiently alert. Jean’s mind wandered. Quinn ran at the mouth, mostly complaints, worse than usual while Dauod snapped at him. If the Hetarek did appear, any assistance they could give would be minimal at best. They would likely die, too tired to react fast enough, their minds too dulled to pick up on every detail so crucial in a fight.

  But the Hetarek never came.

  Widespread reports of damaged ships and injuries flooded the airways. Military vessels called out real and imagined anomalous sensor readings. Shuttles reported how many dead or wounded they could fit on board and how quickly they could get to the station or derelict vessel requesting assistance. But no one reported seeing the Hetarek. They only needed to send one ship to instill fear throughout the human fleet. The did not need to waste any more.

  The alert stood down, and control gave the Cobra flight permission to return home. Jean checked the mission clock that had been ticking since they first departed Indomitable. They had flown for twenty-nine hours and thirty-eight minutes when they finally docked. They departed in eleven hours for their next scheduled patrol.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The low clouds filled in every gap between the mountain peaks, building a ceiling between each ridge that kept the Hetarek aircraft from interfering. A layer of snow crunched beneath the tires and left tracks that had to be covered, but the cold, damp air muted any sounds that could have attracted more attention.

  Bryan bounced along in one of the old pickup trucks provided by Julian and Ava, a second vehicle, some over-sized SUV that still ran on what little diesel could be siphoned or scavenged, followed behind, dragging a weighted tarp behind to cover their tracks in the snow.

  The driver pulled off the fire road into small clearing covered with rocks and a handful of pines. There, two more trucks waited, Lucas MacIntyre was easily recognizable in his worn out green duster and a faded and threadbare Washington State University baseball cap. Bryan wondered how Lucas's hat could have survived so long as he pulled his own knit brown hat down around, but not over, his ears and adjusted the pistol holstered in the small of his back.

  Lucas waved, and Bryan climbed out, his hiking boots crunching in the snow, walked over, and shook the man's hand.

  "I brought you something, Bryan." Lucas announced proudly. He waved at his companions, a young man Bryan didn't recognize, who reached into the bed of his own truck so suddenly that Bryan's hand went to he small of his back even before the adrenaline started pumping. But when the young man pulled out two giant, dead turkeys, Bryan did more than relax. He smiled.

  Smythstyne shouted in surprise. "Are you fucking kidding me? We get to have turkey?"

  Lucas shrugged. "Well, it's almost Christmas."

  "That's incredibly generous of you." Bryan said. "I haven't had turkey on Christmas, or really at all, since I was a kid. This is fantastic."

  Smythstyne stepped forward and grabbed both birds, examining them as he strained to lift them by the feet. They were huge.

  "Smythstyne’s probably never had turkey at all." Bryan commented as the youngest member of the team beamed over the animals.

  "I brought some oil to deep fry them if you want.” Lucas said. “It's the best way to try to prep them now since working ovens are few and far between."

  "Thanks! My dad would never deep fry it. He was always worried about burning the house down." He turned around and saw Smythstyne tossing the birds in the back of the truck. "And we brought some things for you. Maybe not as delicious, though."

  Bryan signaled, and the Smythstyne whistled. With a clatter, OTIS jumped out of the back of the vehicle carrying a huge case that barely fit on his cargo carrier. A couple of bags hung off of its size. The driver directed the robot to trot over to Bryan.

  He pulled off a few of the bags and tossed them at Lucas. "Here are some first aid kits. They're pretty basic but you'll need them." Lucas and his group gathered up the bags without a word.

  "And in here," Bryan flipped open the clasps on the crate and opened the side panel. Inside were small, watertight boxes crammed in snugly. The visible boxes had numbers stenciled on the outside. "Ammo. You said you have a bunch of older weapons, so most of it will fit those. Twelve-gauge shells, five-five-six, seven-six-two, and I think there might be some nine mil in there. There's also six-point-five caseless and three-oh-eight caseless. We had to specially make this stuff before we got here, so we're pretty limited."

  Lucas pulled out one of the boxes, cracked it open, and stared at the bullets inside. "We can make this work. How much more you got?"

  Bryan shook his head. "Not much. I can get some more when w
e get closer to the landing, but not much more. We're going to have make this stuff last. I'm sure I don't have to tell you not to keep it all in one place."

  "No sir. We'll keep it safe. They haven't found most of our guns; they won't find these either. What about training?"

  "We're going to bring your people out here to do some drills. There's going to be a lot of on the job training too. I hate to do it that way, but we're short on time and resources."

  "Don't worry too much." MacIntyre answered. He put the box back in the crate, and sealed it up. His companions strained to pull the ammunition off of OTIS's cargo tray, and hauled it to the back of their truck.

  "I got something else I wanted to talk to you about." Lucas said. "Julian told us you reached out to the Metic Ahai."

  Bryan nodded. "We're going to need all the help we can get."

  Lucas crossed his arms. The men behind him shifted their weight. "Look, I understand you need numbers for whatever you're planning, but a lot of us aren't crazy about working with them. They can't be trusted."

  "Their under the Hetarek's thumb, same as everyone else."

  "Like fuck they are." One of the others said. Lucas stared straight ahead, not chastising his man.

  "Look at it from our perspective.” MacIntrye said. “The Hetarek call the shots. They run the show, there's no two ways about it. But the Metic Ahai are the oil for the Hetarek machine. The Hetarek put together the plan and enforce it. The speakers talk down to us to make us do it, but the Metic Ahai are the administrators. They decide if we've met quota. They decide where the food goes. They're the ones who keep the lists of who's not useful any more. They've all been born and raised in Hetarek captivity. They don't know what 'freedom' means. They live in dorms and barracks, not houses that are falling apart. And they're never subject to evaluations or culling."

  Bryan considered what he had to say. "I can only imagine how that can lead to some tension. But don't you agree that they deserve to get out from under the Hetarek, too?"