Fire Flare

by Chris Ward

  ‘If the shields were down it would certainly cause some damage,’ Harlan5 said. ‘However, a ship like this is not designed for space combat. It has no great maneuverability nor any substantial shields that would protect it from bombardment. For surface combat, however, where magnetic shields are disturbed by the standing atmosphere….’ He paused, considering the kind of phrase Paul would understand. ‘It’s about as badass as a ship comes.’

  Paul glanced at him, giving a thoughtful nod. ‘These scumbags who have captured Beth need a fat taste of cannon fire,’ he said. ‘How about we go on a hunt?’

  Harlan5 shook what was left of his head. ‘My programming suggests that we find ourselves in an unusual situation. From the transmissions I’ve intercepted, it appears that both Miss Beth and Caladan have been captured by the very people we were attempting to rescue. It’s something of a mess.’

  ‘It’s a goddamn hell storm, is what it is.’

  ‘They’re holed up in that downed Shadowman battleship, according to the transmissions,’ Harlan5 said. ‘If we open fire on them, we risk harming Miss Beth and Caladan.’

  ‘Then what do we do?’

  Harlan5 lifted his remaining shoulder in a shrug. ‘My programming suggests we spend more time assessing the situation. From transmissions I have intercepted, it seems there is something of a transfer about to take place.’

  ‘A transfer?’

  ‘The rebels hiding in the downed ship have offered General Grogood as a prisoner in exchange for a window of time in which they be allowed to leave,’ Harlan5 said. ‘The Shadowmen commanders have agreed. A light frigate has dropped into the upper atmosphere and is launching a transport to collect the general.’

  Something in Paul’s eyes had changed. ‘They can’t do that,’ he said. ‘They can’t give up the general. He’s … a talisman.’

  ‘I have intercepted other transmissions,’ Harlan5 said. ‘General Grogood is to be offered along with a vice-admiral. A woman.’

  ‘His second-in-command was a woman? Impressive.’

  Harlan5, amused at the kind of chauvinism which would have made Miss Beth seethe with anger, shook his head. ‘These transmissions were not sent to the Shadowmen,’ the robot said. ‘These were internal, among General Grogood’s men.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘My programming believes that the prisoner transfer many not involve General Grogood at all, but rather prisoners of lesser importance, perhaps under disguise.’

  Paul frowned, and Harlan5 wondered if he would have to spell it out in one of the common languages, or even more than one. Then, slowly, Paul said, ‘Beth?’

  ‘And Caladan. I have no proof, but that is what my programming believes. In a simulation of such circumstances, that would be the best option. Distract the Shadowmen with a decoy prisoner transfer. Lure their ships, then launch an all-out, possibly suicidal attack. And in the ensuing chaos, move the important people to a safe location.’

  ‘They’re going to sacrifice Beth,’ Paul said, voice hollow. ‘Where?’

  ‘From transmissions that I have intercepted, it appeared that the collection point will be the ridgeline south of Vintol City. It is open ground, meaning it will be hard to ambush them if we wish to save Caladan and Miss Beth.’

  ‘Vintol? That collection of smashed buildings? That used to be a city?’

  ‘Yes. A small one, but large for Dynis Moon. It once had a population of fifteen thousand, according to local web databases the Matilda was able to download. It was ninety percent Lork, a subspecies more adaptable to the heavy gravity than regular humans, plus a few space traders and off-worlders. Its main trade was in gumber tree timber, something highly sought after by the elite on Feint for its beautiful natural colors.’

  Paul lifted an eyebrow. ‘Wow, thrill a minute, these people’s lives, aren’t they? How many are left?’

  ‘Before I encountered you, I spent some time observing them. Roughly three hundred remain. The most affluent fled before the space battle began. Others left during the battle, but according to reports, few shuttles made it out of orbit. Those that did fled to a secret location.’

  ‘A secret location?’

  ‘Yes. I have managed to decode the encrypted data and discovered that the secret location is an outer fire planet known as Bundee2. It shares an orbit with the larger planet of Abalon3, and is a similar desert planet, although significantly more mountainous, particularly in its polar region. A free city there has agreed to take refugees from Dynis Moon.’

  ‘You know all this from a single transmission?’

  ‘Yes. It’s flicking on and off, perhaps to confuse any Shadowmen communications systems trying to decode it. My systems, however, have particularly awesome decoding skills.’

  Paul frowned. ‘Robot … when you fell into that pool of magma, did it by any chance fry your brain as well as your body?’

  Harlan5’s remaining eye light flickered. ‘I feel like a new man,’ he said.

  Paul pressed a button on the dashboard in front of him and a topographical map of the surrounding area appeared. ‘Beth is just over that hill,’ he said, pointing at the screen. ‘She’s in touching distance.’

  ‘Metaphorically speaking,’ Harlan5 said.

  ‘We could take this ship, swoop in and save her. Fire on the frigate and whatever landing craft they send, pick up Beth—’

  ‘And Caladan—’

  ‘—from the ground, then fire on that downed ship, create a little confusion. We fly back to the Matilda, set this gunship on a remote course to crash into something, then get the hell out of here.’

  ‘Such a rescue mission might require a little more planning, but the possibility exists.’

  Paul frowned. Harlan5 could almost hear his brain ticking. ‘But then, those people in what’s left of Vintol City….’

  ‘Would have little chance,’ Harlan5 finished. ‘I assessed the quality of their remaining spacecraft during my observations. They have two shuttles, both damaged. If they can even make it as far as the higher atmosphere, those Shadowmen battleships will blast them out of the sky.’

  Paul was still staring at the screen, a deep frown on his brow, one finger tapping on the dashboard. Just from the heat coming off of Paul’s body, Harlan5 could sense the agonizing indecision going through Paul’s mind.

  ‘We can’t abandon Beth to those Shadowmen scum,’ Paul said. ‘Who knows what they might do to her? But if we go after them, those people … will die.’

  ‘It is highly likely.’

  ‘And if we rescue those people, Beth might die anyway, when the general’s men open fire on the ship in lower orbit.’

  ‘That is also highly likely.’

  Paul gripped his forehead. ‘What do we do, robot?’

  ‘My programming would suggest that we go after our comrades,’ he said. ‘However, my programming has … no heart.’

  Paul let out a deep-throated groan, his fingers gripping hard over the dashboard. ‘Beth joined the Defenders of the Free because of Davar, and I joined because of her. It was something to do at first, but she became all about it. She would want to save those people.’

  ‘From my programming’s assessment of Miss Beth’s character, I would agree,’ Harlan5 said.

  Paul took a choking breath, as though Beth was already dead. ‘How many people can this gunship hold?’

  ‘Packed tight, around thirty.’

  ‘What about the Matilda?’

  ‘Utilizing every available space … around three hundred. However, with so many unsecured passengers, her speeds and maneuverability would need to be dramatically reduced in order to avoid injury.’

  ‘You can remote control the Matilda, can’t you?’

  ‘I can. But if I open a transmission, it will tell our enemies where and who we are.’

  Paul gritted his teeth. ‘Only if they have a chance to listen.’

  Harlan5 cocked his head. ‘I sense you have formulated a plan, Little Buck.’

  Paul took a deep breath
. He clenched a fist, placed it over his heart, and nodded. ‘I have,’ he said.

  20

  Harlan5

  Caladan might have described it as a typical Little Buck plan, heavy on bravado but light on logistics. Success would require a heavy dose of luck, but Harlan5’s programming could appreciate the level of ambition, even if statistically, they were more likely to end up blown to pieces than saving the refugees, rescuing Miss Beth and Caladan, and flying off into whatever was left of Dynis Moon’s artificial sunset.

  It didn’t help them that the storm had got up again, far worse than before, perhaps indicating that the damaged one of the two Trillian orbiters that had sustained the atmosphere for millennia was beginning to collapse. A raging wind sent entire trees bouncing and rolling across the earth, some colliding with the gunship hard enough to damage its hull, while sleety rain created icy rivers that poured into fissures and sent up boiling clouds of steam.

  ‘Not a day for a picnic,’ Harlan5 muttered, sending off another false mayday to the command ship in orbit, again claiming they had been grounded due to electrical problems. In truth, despite a few bumps, the ship was operational. Over by the pilot’s dashboard, Paul was bouncing on the balls of his feet, excited to get his plan underway.

  A transmitter crackled, a Shadowman’s voice hissing through it like escaping air. Paul grimaced, fighting that evolutionary terror that so afflicted humans in the presence of their towering, elongated enemy, but Harlan5 opened up all his remaining sensors, translating the message into something Paul would understand.

  ‘We have been instructed to turn our guns on the ridgeline where the prisoner transfer will take place,’ Harlan5 said. ‘We are to provide extra cover in the event of any problems. If we don’t comply they will assume our situation has been compromised. They are growing suspicious.’

  ‘Turn one of the guns,’ Paul said. ‘Pretend the other is broken.’

  Harlan5 gave an awkward, disjointed nod. ‘Understood.’

  As the small cockpit filled with the sound of grinding mechanics, Paul checked something on the pilot’s dashboard and then turned back to Harlan5. ‘Any luck contacting the Matilda?’

  Harlan5 shook his head. ‘I can’t get a connection due to all the meteorological interference. We need to move this ship in order to open up the signal, but that will attract the Shadowmen’s attention.’

  ‘We need a reason to take off.’ Paul glanced around the cockpit. ‘What kind of weapons stores does this trash pile have?’

  Harlan5 connected to the ship’s computer and brought up an inventory. ‘The stores are pretty well stocked,’ he said. ‘How many blasters do you need?’

  ‘One for every Shadowman scumbag I can find, but that can wait. Bombs. I need bombs.’

  ‘There are bombs,’ Harlan5 said.

  Paul grimaced. ‘Good.’

  In the event that he managed to avoid blowing himself up, there was a very real risk that Paul would be blown away. Even with the spacesuit’s heavy gravity systems, the wind had taken on unprecedented levels of power. Harlan5, having broken open one of his damaged front compartments, attached a surprisingly intact grapple around Paul’s waist and then fed it out as his seemingly fearless companion stepped out of the hatch and made his way through the storm to the nearest of the fissures, some fifty metres from the gunship. Harlan5, bracing himself with his one remaining arm just inside the exit hatch, wondered how many times a human might have grimaced as trees, rocks, and even parts of what had once been buildings bundled past Paul, each narrowly missing him. On one occasion the grapple cable went taut as a boulder rolled right over it, dragging Paul off his feet. As it passed, Paul stood up, gave Harlan5 a thumbs-up, and carried on.

  According to the ship’s scanners, the fissure extended almost below where their ship stood. It wouldn’t take much to destabilize the ground below them. Harlan5 watched as Paul dropped something into the fissure, then immediately lifted both hands over his head, their prearranged signal.

  Harlan5 set the cable to retract at its highest speed, watching as Paul bounced like a child’s toy back across the ground between them. A rolling tree, its frozen root system spinning like a threshing machine, narrowly missed him. Moments later, he was dragged through a pool of slush, soaking his spacesuit. As his battered, ragged shape bumped against the exit hatch’s lower step, Harlan5 reached out and hauled him inside.

  The door closed a moment before a massive explosion shook the ground below. The gunship immediately began to list, its hull groaning as its landing gear broke off on one side. Paul, gasping, his spacesuit having been ripped off, looked up at Harlan5 and breathlessly nodded.

  ‘Take off,’ he croaked, then slumped forward, head lolling.

  Harlan5 lifted Paul’s body, slung it over his shoulder, and then dropped him into a co-pilot’s seat at the rear of the cockpit. He pulled a respirator out of an overhead compartment and fitted it over Paul’s face, adjusting the settings to slightly higher than Earth-levels, his programming pleased to see Paul’s eyes begin to flicker. Then, satisfied his companion would live, he turned to the pilot’s dashboard.

  The gunship rose into the air a moment before the ground on which they had been standing fell away into a newly formed fissure a hundred metres across. Lava sparked at them as rocks exploded. On a view-screen Harlan5 watched the downed fighter sinking into the glowing molten rock.

  ‘Matilda,’ he whispered, for no reason other than it felt appropriate, as he sent out the transmission. Hiding it from the Shadowmen with his own personal encryption, he whispered again, ‘Matilda, are you there?’

  The response was a line of code which no human would understand, but in computer-speak equated to something like I can hear you. So, they had established contact. Harlan5 relayed his coded instructions and waited for the ship’s response. Once he was inside the computer it would be easy to remote-control the ship. As he began to give the ship details, however, a warning came up.

  Security systems breached. Manual override required for takeoff.

  Harlan5 asked the Matilda for a clarifying response, but got the same one as before. It could mean only one thing: someone had attempted to take over the Matilda. During the servicing on Docrem2, Teer Flint had upgraded the security system to include a shutdown sequence if someone lacking a clearance code attempted to steal the ship. Like anything else, it could be overridden with a little skill, but it was a stalling measure to give the ship’s crew time to foil the attempted theft.

  ‘We have to go back,’ he said, turning to Paul, who had awoken, but was blinking groggily as though someone had slapped him hard across the face. ‘Someone has attempted to steal our ship.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Someone is onboard the Matilda. I can’t remote-control her. The automatic locking systems have shut down the flight controls. They require a manual override.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘What’s your name?’ Harlan5 repeated again. Paul looked up, blinking, still disorientated. ‘If you can’t answer a basic question, I will have to assume control and take appropriate actions that my programming deems necessary.’

  Paul rubbed his head. ‘Sure. I don’t know … what happened?’

  ‘You took a few bumps to the head and lost a little oxygen. I am concerned your mental processes might have been compromised.’

  ‘The … bomb?’

  ‘It worked as you required. We are now airborne. I have shut down communications from the Shadowman mothership. They are threatening to destroy us unless we comply with identification procedures.’

  Paul blinked again. ‘My name is Paul,’ he said.

  Harlan5’s remaining eye light twinkled. ‘Welcome back, Captain,’ he said. ‘Do you authorize me to continue with the current plan plus a few minor alterations to take in recent developments?’

  Paul gave a slow nod. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Thank you. Activating weapons.’

&
nbsp; ‘Huh? What are you doing?’

  ‘Initiating stage three of our plan.’

  ‘What about stages one and two?’

  ‘They’ve been reordered.’

  The gunship shuddered as its massive cannons bombarded the downed Shadowman battleship. Without shields it was a lump of metal waiting to be turned into scrap. Harlan5 watched on the view-screen as its body broke up under the barrage. Fires erupted where fuel systems were hit, and huge explosions racked the rear thrusters, the dangerously flammable trioxyglobin sending fireballs up into the air.

  ‘Nothing like a firework party,’ Paul said, pushing himself up and coming to stand beside Harlan5. ‘Look at that turkey burn.’

  ‘It sounds like you are feeling better, Captain,’ Harlan5 said.

  ‘Goddamn rosy,’ Paul said.

  ‘My programming suggests we hurry,’ Harlan5 said. ‘Our actions have attracted the attention of both the mothership in orbit and the landing craft sent to make the prisoner collection.’

  ‘Beth.’ Paul rubbed his forehead. ‘We need to rescue Beth.’

  ‘I’m afraid she will have to wait while we retrieve the Matilda.’

  Paul groaned. He looked like he wanted to be sick. ‘How fast can this thing move?’

  ‘Fast enough.’

  ‘Then let’s go.’

  Harlan5 engaged the gunship’s thrusters, and the growing ball of fire that had been the Shadowman battleship receded behind them as the relentless sleet turned it into a dim and distant glow. Through the gunship’s view-screens, the ground rushed by below them. Harlan5 saw the shingle pile where he had lost Caladan and Miss Beth, as well as much of his body, the ridgeline that had collapsed, the remains of the forest they had slogged through—