by Wayne Basta
From the look of Asirzi, Saracasi did not think she could still be alive. She had no idea how to treat blaster shots. Reverting back to instinct, Saracasi recalled the childhood Braz meditations her parents had taught her. She took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. She did it again and pushed her worry out with the air.
Recovering a modicum of self-awareness, she examined Asirzi. She recalled from biology classes that most bipedal species shared similar physiology, which included blood flow. Terrans and Braz were alike in that they both had a pulse at the neck and a heart in the chest, though not in precisely the same spots. She hoped Liw’kel were the same.
Fumbling around the woman’s neck, Saracasi tried to find a pulse. Panic started to overcome her again when she found nothing but wet blood. Finally, after nearly giving up, she felt something. It wasn’t a pulse, but there was air coming out of Asirzi’s mouth. She was breathing.
Relief flooded her, and Saracasi went to what she thought should be the next step: stopping the blood flow. She looked over the body, finding several bleeding lacerations, but nothing serious. The blaster shot that must have brought her down had made a wound that had replaced what had been the woman’s right breast. The blaster shot had cauterized the wound and very little blood was coming out.
The blood pool on the floor was still growing, so Saracasi continued her search. She found a deep cut across the inner side of Asirzi’s right forearm. Blood was pumping out at an incredible pace. The wound was not burned at all, so it must have been caused by shrapnel as she lay under the barrage.
Saracasi tore off her jumpsuit’s arm and feebly tried to use it as a tourniquet. The blood flow instantly soaked the fabric, but she kept trying. Engrossed as she was, she almost didn’t notice Chavatwor’s desperate shouts.
After getting the knot secured, she looked over to the Kowwok and saw him firing his blaster in her direction. Instinctively, she ducked her head and looked toward where he was firing. Two guards were trying to make their way down the corridor and returning fire at the Kowwok.
She looked around for where she had dropped her weapon and found it a meter away, against the wall. Just as she was about to lunge for it, the ground shook. The walls and ceiling rattled and dust spilled down on her from above. Coughing, she resumed her reach for the gun.
The guards had paused when the building started shaking, but now they were advancing again. She heard the distinctive click of Chavatwor’s gun going dry, and she realized there was no longer anything stopping the guards. Flailing, she lunged for the gun.
Rolling over onto her back, she raised the weapon. As she prepared to fire, the guards suddenly collapsed. For a moment, she wondered if she had managed to fire without realizing it, but after a second, she saw another figure approach and stand over the guards.
As the dust settled, she recognized the Liw’kel from her first day at the prison. Gu’od looked more haggard than she remembered. His tan skin was taut around his face and bore bluish discoloration from bruising. She was amazed how different he looked after just the few days she had been here.
Moving quickly, he stepped over the downed figures of the guards and came to her side. He looked down at Asirzi and his face became visibly relieved – Saracasi could only guess he was glad it wasn’t Gamaly. After a second, the relief was replaced with guilt and concern. “Is she all right?”
Shaking her head, Saracasi replied, “I don’t know. I think I slowed the bleeding, but she’s hurt pretty bad.”
“Then we should get her to the ship that landed,” he said. He bent over and gingerly picked her up.
“We’ve got to help those people get out of the barracks,” Saracasi said. “Gamaly is pinned down by the guards on the wall.”
With a sharp jerk of his head, Gu’od turned and looked toward the doorway. He started to rise and head out the door, but stopped at a sound from Chavatwor.
“Great One, protect us,” Chavatwor gasped behind her. “The guards on the wall won’t be a problem anymore.” He was staring out of the open door with a dumbfounded expression. Saracasi stepped from behind her cover and followed his eyes. The top of the perimeter wall, where the guards had been firing from, was decimated.
Streaming in from the barracks was a swarm of people. Gu’od looked forlornly out at the stream, as if wanting to push past them and find his wife, but turned and picked up Asirzi. “She needs help and will get trampled by the crowd if we don’t get her back to the ship.”
Deciding Gu’od was right, Saracasi turned and led the way back through the building.
Chapter Seven
Watching the wall explode and the blast consume the prison guards did not fill Maarkean with remorse or sadness. He knew what he and Lahkaba were doing was terrible and many people were dying because of it. The remorse would come later. Right now, those people were the enemy, and it was his job to kill them.
Lahkaba’s shooting had been impressive so far. The first few passes had resulted in more misses than hits, but when their goal was only to cause chaos in the prison, that didn’t really matter. The white Kowwok had gotten better with each pass Maarkean took over the prison. Their last had taken out a collection of guards who were pinning down some prisoners from escaping their barracks.
“Nice shooting,” Maarkean called back.
“Thanks,” Lahkaba replied.
“I think that’s most of the guards on the walls. From what I could see, the guards were either dead or injured, or have fled inside,” Maarkean said as he did a slower fly-over of the prison. All of the fire that had been coming at them from the ground had stopped, and from the air he could only see a little movement in the darkness.
Lahkaba disengaged himself from the turret controls and moved back to the operations station. While both the pilot and gunners had some limited sensor controls, performing detailed scans required him to have access to the operation controls. The Cutty Sark was perfectly capable of being flown by one or two people, but for a true combat situation, she would be better served with a full crew of four: a pilot, a gunner, an operations crewman and an engineer to handle damage.
“Sky still looks clear,” Lahkaba declared, after performing a sensor sweep. The ship’s sensors were not top of the line. If anyone was approaching in the same manner that they had used, flying low over the ground, they probably wouldn’t spot it. They were counting on any resistance to be obvious.
Maarkean activated the communication system and said, “Ground team, this is your air cover. What is your status?”
They had not decided on a call sign system before the operation, but Maarkean felt better not using anyone’s name over an open frequency. If they were lucky, they would be able to keep all of their identities safe from the authorities. But that was unlikely, and he was already trying to figure out how to change the ship’s transponder codes.
“Air cover, this is transport.” The sound of Meyka’s voice came nervously over the speaker. “No contact with the ground team yet.”
Communication had been a hole in their plan. Maarkean had advocated for everyone to keep an open channel on their personal communicators. The others had declared it too risky, afraid it would allow them to be identified. While he agreed with the sentiment, their decision left them unable to communicate with the infiltration team.
“How are the passengers?” Lahkaba asked.
“We’re filling up fast. This could prove taxing on the life support systems.”
The life support systems aboard the freighter had been another potentially major flaw in their escape plan. Since no one knew exactly how many people they would be able to get out of the prison, they could only guess at how many people would have to breathe the freighter’s air supply. While the cargo bays could be pressurized, they were not designed for passenger transport.
“Start running some calculations. Better find out now instead of halfway to the rendezvous point.”
“Air, this is infiltration team.” A new voice joined the conversation. Maarkean be
lieved the voice to belong to Zeric.
“Good to hear you,” Maarkean said. Zeric must have decided to risk using his communicator. Of all of the people involved, he was the only one who was already wanted under his real name.
“We’ve cleared the last barracks and are moving toward the ship. Sis and Mrs. G. secured. No word on Mr. G. or the leader. I’ve met up with P. and L. No word on J. or C. We’ll be back at the ship within five minutes.”
“Roger that, ground. Let us know when you’re ready to depart.”
Maarkean took the ship into a lazy circular orbit of the prison. There had been no new activity from the prison guards, but he doubted that most of them had been subdued. With a prison this full, the handful he had taken out from the air could only be a fraction of the total.
The operations panel began to emit an alarm sound. Lahkaba looked over it for a moment, trying to figure out the source of the alarm. When he did, he spoke with a worried voice. “We just picked up two incoming craft. Unidentified, but they are coming in fast and from the direction of the Ciread air station.”
“How long?” Maarkean asked.
“Three minutes. They’ll be here before the transport can launch.”
Even though he had planned for it, this news worried him. If the fighters got too close, they would be able to disable the freighter before it could take off. Maarkean was faced with a choice. He could intercept the fighters and attempt to stop them, but that would leave those on the ground without cover if the prison guards made another push.
Keying the comm back to Zeric’s frequency, Maarkean spoke. “Ground team, we’ve got incoming craft. We’re moving to intercept. You’ll be on your own for the final leg.”
“Acknowledged. Good hunting.”
Maarkean debated saying something to tell Saracasi in case he didn’t survive the confrontation, but decided against it. There was nothing he could say that would matter, especially coming through a complete stranger. Instead, he closed the comm and turned the ship in the direction of the incoming fighters.
Until Maarkean had taken out the guards on the wall, Zeric had been sure he was done for. Getting out of the main building to a position behind one of the barracks had been a close enough call. When he saw the Liw’kel go down and the Kowwok run out of ammo, he knew their support was done. He and Gamaly, forced to switch their guns to the lethal setting for more range, had tried to fire some shots up at the wall, but neither of them had a very good angle.
The sounds of the Cutty Sark slashing through the air and her turret blasting the wall had been magical. Once the dust had cleared, he had wasted no time in getting the people out of the barracks. Needing no encouragement, the prisoners had swarmed out and headed into the main building. When he had gotten back inside, the Kowwok that had followed them had told them Saracasi had taken Asirzi – the Liw’kel, he assumed – back to the ship. With this set of buildings cleared, he had led their remaining group to the next set.
They had run into Lohcja and Pasha there and were pleased to learn that all of the buildings on this side of the complex were clear. Jairyd and Ceta had taken the rest on the other side, so the group had headed back across to look for him. That was when Maarkean informed him they had lost their air support. The guards must have been listening, or just lucky, because it was at that point that they became pinned down again.
Just after they exited a building, a group of guards came up behind them, from inside the building. They split to the outside of the doors, and Lohcja took a grazing shot to his arm; it was a small miracle that was the only injury. The guards were no longer using stun shots either.
The security fence hemmed them into a narrow alley directly in the path of the guards’ field of fire through the door. They had nowhere to go.
“Looks like a standoff,” Gamaly shouted. She, along with Lohcja, was caught on the opposite side of the doorway from Zeric and Pasha.
“Yeah,” Zeric replied. “I’ll cut through the fence and then toss the cutters to you.”
“No good,” Pasha growled. “Once we start running, the guards will swarm out from inside and shoot us in the back. Right now, if they come out, we’ve got them. If we move, they’ve got us.”
Zeric considered his point. “Yeah, but there’s nothing stopping them from coming around from another door and surrounding us. If we stay here, we’re dead.”
Pasha nodded. “Yeah, a standoff. But we’re on the side with the disadvantage. Only thing to do is change the rules.”
Without any further warning, Pasha stepped into the doorway and started firing wildly at the guards inside the building. There were surprised shouts from inside, a few screams of pain and then a barrage of return fire. Miraculously, the first barrage went all around Pasha, and he continued advancing. Then the next wave started.
Zeric noticed that the shots from the second barrage were fewer than there had been previously, and he decided to take the same chance. Just as the first shots began to strike Pasha, and he dropped to the ground, Zeric came out and started firing. Lohcja, despite his already injured arm, joined him, and so did Gamaly.
After the furious exchange of fire, there were no more guards standing inside the door. Zeric saw a few limp bodies, but he wasn’t sure if any had escaped back around the nearest bend in the corridor. Not wanting to find out, he holstered his weapon and bent to pick up Pasha; amazingly, he was the only one who had taken any major wounds.
Hauling the unconscious man in a firefighter’s carry, Zeric started moving as fast as he could back toward the ship. Limping behind him, Gamaly and Lohcja alternated between following and covering their retreat. Pasha proved heavier than he had expected, and it was a struggle for Zeric to keep moving. Luck proved to be with him because, as they got closer, some of the people aboard the ship saw them and rushed out to help.
With relief, Zeric handed Pasha over to two people and then drew his pistol again. Guards had appeared in the doorway again and were exchanging fire with Lohcja and Gamaly. He added his fire to the mix, but there was a fair distance between them and the guards. They were able to quickly get out of the guards’ line of sight by moving next to the rear building, and from there they had a clear path toward the ship.
Reaching the ship’s cargo bay, Zeric was shocked at the number of passengers they had taken on. The massive cargo bay was standing room only; it made him wish the other two bays could be pressurized to give them more space. Despite the crowd, one face stood out: Gu’od’s. Gamaly squealed and ran ahead into his arms.
The sight of his friend filled Zeric with relief. During the entire operation, he had feared that Gu’od had been locked away somewhere they wouldn’t find him. The idea of coming here, rescuing all of these people and not finding him was unsettling. He was sure that same idea had occurred to the rest of their band about their leader, Lei-mey. So far, there had been no sign of her.
Pulling out his comm unit, he called up to Meyka, “Any word from our other friends?”
“No. But our air support just met the fighters.”
Maarkean’s mind cleared itself of all thoughts. There was nothing he had to consciously do; his training had made it automatic. His focus zeroed in on the incoming fighter craft and how he was going to beat them. He had not been in fighter combat for sixteen years, but the training was well ingrained.
“How do we approach this?” Lahkaba asked nervously. He was still at the operations console, tracking the fighters until they got close enough for the gun’s targeting sensors to take over.
“We come at them from below and hope they don’t see us. Then we try hit-and-run tactics,” Maarkean said, reviewing options in his head. “Those are AI-91’s, at least 20 years old. Good fighters. But designed primarily for atmospheric flight. They are far more aerodynamic than we are and can fly circles around us. But their engines don’t have the thrust capacity ours do.”
Diving the ship as low as he dared, Maarkean accelerated. Not waiting for further explanation, Lahkaba got up and went t
o the weapons console. He reacquainted himself with the controls, and then he waited for the fighters to appear on his shorter range targeting sensors.
Despite steeling himself for the coming engagement, Maarkean felt a sliver of regret slice through his internal block. The sudden realization hit him that he was about to shoot down Alliance pilots. Despite the years that had gone by, he still considered himself one of them. Some of the older pilots in his squadron had had kids. Those kids could be old enough now to have followed in their parents’ footsteps. For all he knew, he was about to shoot down the kid of one of his squadron buddies.
Guilt started to overcome him, and his focus slipped from the controls. The ship started bucking as it fought against gravity. Treetops were sacrificed as he dipped low enough to scrape them. Shooting at the prison guards had been bad enough. They at least had targeted the walls, just trying to remove their vantage points. He knew they had killed some, but they had all been indirect killings. Now he was about to go into direct combat with two Alliance fighters.
A further horror stuck him. Up until a few years ago, he had flown with the Reserves. These were the older craft typically used by the Reserves. He might even be about to engage people he knew and had flown with.
Taking in a deep breath, Maarkean focused on a Braz meditation technique. He tried to grab all of the thoughts of guilt and what ifs in his mind, bunch them together and expel them out with his next breath. It was a dangerous thing to attempt while flying perilously close to the ground, but if he didn’t, there was no way he would be able to engage the fighters. And if the fighters got past them, the freighter was defenseless.
Releasing his breath and all of the stray thoughts, Maarkean felt calm return. Lahkaba called out a warning that the fighters were about to come into weapon range. Keeping the ship level with the ground, he waited for the fighters to appear in the sky.
“Lah,” Maarkean said quietly, using the Kowwok’s familiar name, “try to disable them if you can.”
