Offworld

by Robin Parrish

  "When I saw that grave marker ... I didn't know what to do with the thought of him being dead. Because it meant that I would never hear his voice again, see the look of approval in his eyes, smell the scent of his cigar. Looking at that gravestone made it real, and it was the one thing in all this I just couldn't compartmentalize. I couldn't deal with him being really and truly gone forever, so I sort of ... tried to erase it. It was like, if that headstone wasn't standing there staring back at me anymore, then maybe it wouldn't be real. That probably sounds stupid."

  "It's not stupid," she replied softly.

  "No matter what happens-whether we find a way to get everybody back or we don't my father will be gone forever. And he's all I've ever had."

  Trisha nodded slowly, taking a long pause before saying, "I'm sorry, Chris. And I know you haven't had the time to deal with your father's death yet, but why are you so dead set on Roston?"

  Chris sighed. "We're not going after Roston because of my father. We're going after him because no one else can. And someone has to. Everything else comes later."

  Trisha hesitated, as if making a decision to admit something. "I understand. I had to put some grieving on hold myself. I can't go down that road yet. Not if I want to be of any use to you."

  Chris took a small step closer to her. "Until there's time to decompress this stuff ... if you have any weak moments-physically or emotionally I'll be your support. And maybe ... I could lean on you too."

  She offered a gentle, meager smile. "Sounds like a plan."

  The back door was nearly torn off its hinges as Terry burst into the kitchen. He was out of breath, and his eyes were wide and wild. He handed Chris the radio he'd pulled off of Roston's men back at the fairgrounds.

  "It's him."

  FIFTEEN

  "This is Burke," Chris said into the radio.

  "Captain, are you and your people well?" Roston asked cordially.

  "Spit and polish, Colonel," he replied. "Is this a courtesy call?"

  "Of a fashion," said Roston. "I wanted to ask you one last timegive you a final chance-to stay out of this. I don't know where you are, but I know you're not in Houston, and that's fine by me. Stay away. Go to D.C., visit New York, go back to Orlando. Go to Disney World and ride every ride until you're sick. But whatever you do ... please, for your own safety, keep out of Houston. You have no idea the ramifications your involvement could cause."

  "Then why don't you tell me?"

  "My men are patrolling the streets of Houston as we speak, en masse, and they have orders to shoot you on sight. I didn't want it to come to this, but I will not compromise the integrity of what we're doing."

  "My friends and I are astronauts," said Chris, eyeing Trisha and Terry as he spoke. "That makes us explorers by nature. When there's something new on the horizon, we don't know how to stay away. And if I were you, I'd tell your people to stop patrolling and start hunting. Because I am hunting you, Colonel. And the next time you and I speak, it's going to be face-to-face."

  Chris twisted the knob atop the radio, turning it off.

  "Was that wise?" Trisha asked.

  "Seemed like it at the time," Chris replied, invigorated by the conversation. There would be no ambiguity between himself and Roston, no matter how much flattery the colonel threw his way. The line had just been drawn, and he was the one to draw it.

  "I love it," Terry remarked, grinning. "Roston'll work his people into a frenzy trying to find us. Plus we have surprise on our side; they don't know what we're going to do exactly, where we'll turn up, or when."

  Trisha let out a deep breath. "True, but Roston has an army, with who knows how many soldiers with big weapons and no one to shoot them at ... until we conveniently fell out of the sky."

  Her words were sobering. Terry had no reply, but Chris was undeterred.

  "They have to catch us first," said Chris, steely-eyed.

  At Chris' insistence, the two-jeep caravan took a circuitous route to Houston. Rather than return to westbound Highway 10, they followed the lower edge of Lake Anahuac, swinging south through Baytown along 146 and finally west again onto Highway 6.

  It was the long way around, but approaching Houston from the south was not only the safest option, Highway 146 would take them very close to Johnson Space Center, their own stomping grounds. Owen still suspected that Johnson was not the source of the light, but Chris agreed it was best to get close enough to be sure. They wouldn't risk stopping there, though. It was one of the first places Roston would be expecting them to go.

  Very little was said, though they were free to speak into their earpieces without being overheard now; Trisha had pointed out before their departure that the tiny radios they used had scramblers built in, so they could input their own code on each unit and keep outsiders from hearing them.

  As they neared the city limits, the beacon became blinding, extending vertically from somewhere near the center of town to well above the clouds. Owen noted that there were boxes under every seat in the two jeeps, holding tinted visors, which he surmised Roston and his men were using to avoid damaging their eyes against the beacon's light. Everyone put on a pair.

  The light was illuminating the city of Houston brighter than the sun ever could. It was a remarkable thing to see up close. There were no shadows cast by anything-not cars, trees, buildings, or even road signs. The light touched everything on all sides.

  It took less than an hour to reach Johnson after they departed from Anahuac, and they didn't stop as they sped by the space administration's facilities. Traffic around Houston had been heavy on D-Day, so it wasn't easy going around the stopped vehicles, and more than once Chris led them off-road.

  But Johnson was quiet, abandoned, and it was not the source of the light. It did, however, provide them with a direction; the beacon was situated far in the distance behind Johnson as they passed it by, putting it close to downtown.

  They came to a large intersection, where visibility on all sides was improved.

  "Beech?" Chris called out, bringing his vehicle to a careful stop.

  "I see them," Owen replied.

  To their distant left, a pair of identical black jeeps were winding through the stopped traffic. It was the first sign of Roston's soldiers they'd seen.

  Chris glanced at Trisha, and she glanced back. Their jeep's tinted windows would hide their identities from Roston's men.

  "Don't stop, keep going," Chris suddenly said, pushing down on the accelerator again.

  "They'll see us," said Terry from the other vehicle.

  "That's the idea," Trisha replied, explaining so Chris could concentrate on driving. "If we're moving, we're just another pair of jeeps on patrol. Like them."

  "Won't they try and radio us?" Terry replied. "Roston knows we have two of his jeeps"

  Chris didn't reply, but he knew Terry was right. And they didn't bring the stolen enemy radio with them; it had been left in the kitchen at the farmhouse. Which meant Roston's soldiers wouldn't get a confirmation reply, effectively painting a bright red target on Chris and Owen's vehicles.

  "Just pray they don't," said Trisha.

  Ahead was an intersection, and the enemy jeeps were pushing toward it as fast as Chris and Owen were. At their current rates of speed, they would cross paths in mere seconds. Slowing down or turning before they reached the intersection would be a clear giveaway; Chris decided they couldn't risk it.

  The enemy jeep driving in front flashed its headlights, twice.

  He and Trisha looked at each other, surprised. That wasn't what they'd expected.

  "They're telling us to go through the crossway first," Trisha said. "See? They're slowing down"

  "What if it's a code Roston gave them?" Chris asked as their car crept closer to the intersection and the enemy jeeps rolled to a stop. " `Flash your lights to prove you're one of us.' I should flash back...."

  Trisha was breathing fast as she grabbed his hand before it reached the headlight control. "No, if Roston gave them a code for flashing
their headlights at each other, it would make more sense for him to tell his men not to flash their lights in reply. He'd expect us to respond, so if you do it back to them, they'll know it's us."

  Chris was uncertain, his heart pounding hard. His hand hesitated, hovering next to the headlight control. They were almost at the intersection now. "Unless Roston knows we would figure that out, and told his men to reply to each other by flashing their lights hack...

  "Oh for crying out loud!" Trisha screamed. Just keep going!"

  Chris pushed the accelerator harder, and Owen lurched faster behind them, keeping up. They sped past the two enemy jeeps and kept going.

  Trisha spun in her seat, then closed her eyes and leaned back, relaxing. "They're not following."

  "It might be a good idea," said Owen's deep vocal tone in their ears, "to change vehicles."

  "No need," replied Chris. "Once we get the chance, we're going to change tactics."

  An hour later, the five of them approached the beacon on foot from the south, moving as stealthily as they could through the city. Row after row of residences and foliage covered their movements, though crossing the street proved challenging. The closer they got to the light, the more of Roston's men there were. They were coming and going, some on foot, others in jeeps, but all on the lookout. There were hundreds of them. No matter where Chris directed everyone to stop and hide, movement from another direction quickly made that spot exposed.

  All five of them still wore their eye-shielding visors, blocking out the harmfully bright beacon of light. They also came with a full array of handy built-in features like thermal vision and x-ray, for seeing through solid objects. Unfortunately, Roston's men were of course using the same visors, which made their attempts to hide all the more difficult.

  Chris carried a backpack full of military-grade supplies procured from their abandoned jeeps. Everyone but Mae carried a highpowered rifle. Chris offered to show her how to use a gun, but she picked a foot-long knife out of the back of one of the jeeps instead, muttering something about knowing how to work it.

  "The city still has no power," Owen observed as they ran as quietly as possible, darting from one hiding place to the next.

  "That's not really surprising, is it?" Terry remarked.

  "No," Owen replied, "but if Roston has stationed himself at the base of that beacon, he'd have to have electricity of some kind to run whatever equipment and supplies he brought along."

  "If he's here, then he's got generators," said Trisha.

  They stopped again for a quick rest, crouching on the ground beside a brick house. Owen leaned in and whispered to Chris, "This is tactically unsound, Commander. If we continue northward on this trajectory, we'll be discovered within the hour."

  "Suggestion?" Chris whispered back.

  "We split up," Owen said, raising a hand to steady Chris' immediate objections. "Two groups. One sticks to the ground and proceeds north, trying to get as close as possible to the source of the light. The other group makes for higher ground; we're only a few blocks west of Main Street and some of the high-rises over there could provide a better perspective."

  Chris looked to Trisha and Terry and even Mae for input, but they were silent. Trisha was holding her own, her jaw set, and though she was sweating in the summer heat, she showed no signs of being out of breath. Terry was sweating as well, but he looked focused, intent. Mae was as blank and impossible to read as ever, though she was paying close attention to every word that was said.

  "It's the smart move, Chris," Owen pressed. "Five of us together are too big and too easy a target to mark. Two, moving quickly, stand a better chance of getting up close to the base of that light."

  Chris had a feeling he knew which two Owen was already thinking would make the best ground-level pair. And as usual he couldn't argue with his friend's logic.

  All right," Chris said. "You and I will continue on foot." He let down the backpack from his shoulders and retrieved a pair of advanced binoculars, which he handed off to Trisha. "I want you to take Terry and Mae to Main Street and relay back to us what you see. We're very close. Move as fast as you dare, but keep your eyes and ears open."

  Chris wished that he could see Trisha's eyes as she listened to his instructions, but the dark glasses blocked that possibility, so he had no idea what she was thinking or feeling. He tried his best to hold her gaze from behind his own visor glasses as he leaned in and whispered, "Don't take any unnecessary chances."

  "You either, Commander," she replied.

  "Mae," Chris went on, "you know the streets better than any of us. You know the cracks and crevices. Help them find them, but listen to Trisha and do what she says."

  Mae nodded.

  Terry spoke up. `Any instructions for me?"

  "Yeah," Chris replied, and Terry leaned in closer. "If you come under fire, I need you to protect the others. And if you get backed into a corner, block stray bullets with your head"

  Terry snorted. "They'd just bounce off anyway."

  Trisha ducked around the nearby corner of the house and her two wards followed.

  Trisha got a good look at the high-rise office tower just a block away as she crouched in a rear access driveway, against the corner of a brick pizzeria, peering through the binoculars Chris had given her. Mae and Terry knelt behind her, up against the wall. The beacon was to their west northwest, the tall, white building one block ahead to their immediate north. She decided that building would be their ideal perch.

  She ducked back quickly when around the corner and several blocks down, a group of five soldiers clad in grey camouflage and carrying rifles came into view, headed their way.

  "Move! Around the back; we'll try to slip that way to the building," she whispered to her companions, pointing.

  She followed as they ran, trying not to let their footfalls echo on the pavement.

  "Hold!" said Terry as they neared the corner of a small grocery. He knelt low and pointed into the air. Trisha leaned out next to him and saw it: a sniper was positioned atop a building the next street over, watching the area they'd need to cross. She strained for a better look; the building was a hospital, one of many in this part of town.

  They were boxed in a wide alley, completely exposed to the coming foot soldiers, but escaping around the building's rear meant giving away their position to the sniper. It would be all but impossible for him not to see them; they were the only thing moving for miles around, aside from the other soldiers. And if the sniper's bullets didn't take them out, he'd be on his radio in seconds, relaying their exact coordinates.

  There was nothing in the alley to shield them from the oncoming soldiers; it was empty pavement, situated snugly between the two storefronts.

  Trisha peered up at the sniper, who was shifting his gaze slowly hack and forth across the immediate area. A hundred yards on the other end of the driveway, she strained to hear the approaching footsteps of the soldiers, but couldn't make them out. She stole another glance at the sniper.... The soldiers' footsteps were getting louder ... Out of time.

  Her heart racing, Trisha looked up one last time, and saw that the sniper was facing southeast, away from their position. She didn't take time to marvel at their good fortune.

  "Go now!" she hissed, and jumped out around the back of the building, leading the way.

  They ran at a breakneck pace through the intense white light, hugging the row of buildings nearest them, and using trees for cover wherever they could. Trisha didn't look back at the sniper's position until they'd cleared the full block, hoping there were no other soldiers in the area.

  They came to a rear door at the white office tower that Trisha wanted to enter, but the heavy steel door was locked with an oldfashioned, heavy-duty padlock.

  She sighed. "All right," she whispered, "we'll find another way in."

  Mae stepped up to the door. "Scoot," she said, popping her switchblade.

  Before Trisha knew what was happening, she had stepped aside as Mae inserted the narrow silve
r blade into the keyhole and with a confident flick and twist, the padlock fell open. She pulled it loose and handed it to Trisha.

  "Thanks," Trisha said, the only words she could muster.

  Terry stepped up and opened the door, leading the way in. But as he passed through the doorway, he looked back at Mae and whispered, "Can you teach me how to do that?"

  The neighborhood Chris and Owen snuck through was heavily wooded, lined with trees and endless rows of fenced-in homes.

  The two of them ducked inside a very old storage shed in one backyard, at a house situated next to an empty lot. It offered a decent view of their surroundings, making it hard for Roston's men to sneak up on them.

  "How close you think we are?" Chris asked, kneeling to the ground, the air heavy with the smell of oil and grass. He held the door open with one foot, so they both could see out, and pulled out a pair of water bottles from his backpack. He passed one to Owen.

  Owen glanced to their right from his kneeling position just to Chris' right, at the dazzling beacon of light. "Less than half a mile now."

  Chris nodded. That was close to what he was thinking.

  It had been painstaking getting this far. They'd had to double back and retrace their steps multiple times, hiding again and again. For every meter they took forward, it felt like they'd had to take two meters back. The heat was overpowering, and Chris was ready to take a break.

  "Commander, are you there?" rang a voice in his earpiece.

  "Go ahead, Terry," he replied. "Where are you?"

  "In an office tower on Main, top floor, some kind of office. Big white building. We've got a good view of ground zero from here, and we're fairly certain where the beam's coming from-Rice University."