by M. R. Forbes
“And yourselves,” Davlyn said. “I didn’t contact you to negotiate. I contacted you to accept your surrender. You should know the bridge has its own, independent support system.”
Benhil looked over at Gant. “Did you know that?” he mouthed.
Gant nodded.
“Then what the frag are we doing here?”
Gant flipped the switch.
“Uh, maybe this isn’t such a good idea?” Pik said. “I like breathing.”
“Trust me,” Gant said. “He doesn’t know as much about the design of the ship as he thinks he does.”
“Okay,” Pik replied.
“Stall him for a few minutes, will you?” he said to Benhil on his way past.
“Stall him?”
“Tell him a joke or something.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No.”
Gant headed to the rear of the area.
“Captain, do you like jokes?” Benhil asked.
“What?” Davlyn replied.
“What about limericks? There once was a man from Nantucket.”
Gant unscrewed another access panel. There was a bundle of wires behind it. He separated them carefully, finding the ones he wanted out of the dozens. Only an engineer would know how the bridge’s backup systems worked, and only someone who had worked on this specific system would know how to manipulate it.
Captain Davlyn had no idea who he was dealing with.
“Rejects,” he said. “Keep your breathing light. I’m going to start venting the oxygen from the corridors.”
“What?” Bastion said. “I don’t like this plan.”
“Too bad, you’re committed.”
Gant reorganized the wires, setting the ventilation system into reverse. It started pulling the air out of the corridors and recompressing it, while at the same time trying to trigger the failover. Since it couldn’t, it sent a signal to activate the independent system on the bridge.
“What exactly are you doing?” Jequn asked.
“Crossing the wires,” Gant replied, splicing a second wire to the bridge signal. “You need to outlast the assholes in the battlesuits. I assume they aren’t wearing oxygen?”
“Not that I can see,” Bastion said.
“Good. That would have totally fragged up my plan.”
“The plan which involves suffocating us.”
“And them.”
“Not on the bridge.”
Gant laughed. “No, not on the bridge. Standby.”
He went over to the terminal. It was locked, but that didn’t prevent access to the readings. He could see the oxygen levels dropping across the ship. The ventilators were efficient and would clean them out in a couple of minutes.
Everywhere except the bridge. On the bridge, the oxygen levels were rising. He had screwed with the system, using the extra wire to add interference to the line. The result was a bad signal from one system to the other, which in turn had informed the tertiary backup to pump out oxygen instead of regulating it. While the rest of the ship was suffocating, the bridge crew would be hyperventilating. The risky part was not knowing if anyone on the bridge would realize what was happening and think to open the door before they all died.
And by all, he meant all. He couldn’t afford to reactivate the system until Bastion and the others had control of the bridge. He couldn’t chance a bluff on Davlyn’s part.
He moved beside Benhil, who was just finishing a third or fourth limerick, each of them successively raunchier than the last.
“Are you sure you weren’t in the Navy?” Gant asked.
Benhil laughed. “These are classics.”
“Captain Davlyn,” Gant said. “How are you feeling?”
“What did you do?” Davlyn replied.
“It’s technical,” Gant said. “The short version is that one way or another, you’re either going to surrender this ship to us, or you’re going to die. We’re desperate and willing to take that risk. Are you?”
Davlyn didn’t answer right away. No doubt the systems engineer on the bridge would be frantically trying to override what Gant had done via software. It would take him a minute to realize it couldn’t be corrected that way.
“It’s getting harder to breathe,” Pik said.
Gant had already noticed the thinning atmosphere. He was breathing as light as he could, conserving air.
“Have I told you how much I hate you lately?” Bastion said.
“Shut up and save your oxygen,” Gant replied, before redirecting his attention to the ship’s comm. “Captain, the galaxy is about to turn into a chaotic shitstorm. Believe it or not, we’re trying to stop it. So is General Kett. We need every ship, every hand we can get. Please, surrender. No harm will come to you or your crew, and you can help us save the lives of billions.”
“The Republic can take care of itself,” Davlyn replied.
“Not this time,” Gant said. He was starting to feel a little light-headed. “The enemy has control of the RASC, the Planetary Council, and the Outworld Governance. They’re going to lead the faithless into a war against one another. A war of attrition that will leave the entire galaxy in ruin while they and their believers look on and laugh.”
“I’m not inclined to believe a word you say.”
“Why do you think we haven’t attacked your fleet? Why do you think we haven’t let you leave the area? Why do you think we’ve only stunned your people instead of killing them?”
“You destroyed two of my fighters.”
Gant cursed under his breath. Damn it, Bastion. “Only as an act of self-preservation. We have the Brimstone out there, Captain. If you’ve heard of it, then you know what it’s capable of. We captured it from the enemy, and we’re using it to fight back. We want you to join the fight.”
“You have... to think I’m... stupid to believe I would... agree to join you. I’m a loyal soldier of... the Republic.” He was pausing every few words, his breathing increasing.
“I didn’t think you would agree to join us,” Gant said. “Cherub, the soldiers should be sufficiently oxygen deprived by now.”
“Roger,” Jequn said. “Going in.”
Gant waited. He hoped she was quick. He was beginning to struggle to breathe, and he could see the other Rejects were getting more desperate, too.
“Clear,” Jequn said, the Blood in her veins helping her fight against the lack of air. “Now, can you get them to open the door for us?”
“It shouldn’t be long now,” Gant replied. He moved away from the terminal, back to the wires. He returned the ventilation to its original setting, which was currently off. Then he hurried back to the toggle, ready to turn the system back on as soon as possible.
If they survived.
He could tell he was starting to suffocate. Pik was already slumped against the wall, his body shutting down. Benhil was leaning over, looking very unhappy. He could picture Bastion and Erlan and Dak looking the same. He wasn’t sure about Phlenel. He had a feeling the Hurshin was able to survive without oxygen for a while.
“Cherub?” he said, hopeful.
“Nothing yet,” she replied. “Gant, turn it on. This isn’t going to work.”
“No.”
“They’re dying,” she said.
“So am I. Suck it up.”
“Gant.”
“No.”
The seconds passed. Gant sat down. He was getting dizzy. Could Captain Davlyn really be this stupid? He would die if he had to. They needed this ship. They needed to find Queenie. Frag everything else. It was worth it.
“Gant, it’s open,” Jequn said. “Turn it on.”
He barely had the presence of mind to hit the switch. The system made a soft grinding noise, and then alarms began to go off, signaling the extreme loss of oxygen and the system shifting to full power. He could feel the difference in his lungs within seconds, breathing in sharply. He turned to the others, watching them, waiting for them.
“Cherub, as soon as either Imp or Nerd wakes up, tell them to get us
the hell out of here.”
“Avalon?” Jequn asked.
“Not yet. Azure.”
“But -”
“You said you were a Reject first. Is that true?”
“Yes,” she replied without hesitation. “Azure it is.”
“Send Dak and Phlenel to round up the crew and bring them to the hangar for containment. I’ll tell Okay and Joker to do the same once they’re alert again, and then I’ll be on my way to the bridge.”
“Roger. General Kett isn’t going to be happy about this.”
Gant laughed. “I know. That’s my favorite part.”
24
Abbey moved quickly through the complex, hurrying up the stairs toward the surface. She heard the infected as she drew closer to the top, hissing and growling and moving away from her. She reached the back of the horde, pausing out of sight behind them, observing as they surged forward. If they knew she was there, they would all turn on her, eager for fresh blood to power the destructive naniates inside.
Obviously, they had found a bigger and better source.
Obviously, they had found the way out.
She followed behind them, careful to remain silent as she took up the rear of the army. There were at least four hundred of the infected Seraphim making their way out. Maybe more.
Eventually, she reached an older hatch surrounded by the remains of a wall that had been constructed in front of it. The doorway led out into the part of the bunker she was more familiar with; the underground quarters where Kett’s army had been hiding. She could hear gunfire again in the distance, a lot of it. She knew the infected were spilling out into the crater, and if Thraven’s forces were based there, a lot of individuals were going to die today.
A part of her wanted to stop it. That part settled quickly, remembering how the others she had tried to help reacted. Frag them. She stayed hidden, marching along with the infected and drawing nearer to the exit.
What would she do when she got there? If she could, she would do her best to find a ship to steal and hope that she could figure out how to fly it. For all of her training, that skill wasn’t part of her repertoire. If that plan wasn’t feasible?
She would improvise.
She could hear the fighting growing more intense as she got closer to the way out. Eventually, she could see the light filtering past the infected, and hear the rain and thunder mix with the fighting. Then she heard the whine of a dropship’s thrusters and felt a charge in the air.
That caused her to stop moving with the group. She knew the feeling for what it was. The Gift. There was an Evolent out there. Or maybe a Venerant? Certainly not Thraven. She couldn’t believe he would have stayed here that long.
She had to be even more cautious. She was strong enough right now to go head-to-head with another Gifted, but not in the middle of an unfriendly army. If she were going to get to a ship, she would have to get to it unseen.
She stayed in place a hundred meters from the opening, watching the infected move out. There were still thirty or so of them inside the bunker when she heard a sharp whistle. She caught a glimpse of the missile as it rocketed toward her, right before it struck the rock above the opening. She dove behind cover while the side of the crater shook and fragments of dirt and rock and body parts and dust were carried inside, putting her hands instinctively over her head. Parts of the ceiling tumbled down onto her, and for a moment she worried that the whole thing would collapse.
It didn’t. The shaking stopped. A minute passed. Then another. She lifted her head. The lighting in the bunker remained on, the reactor still intact. There was a haze of dust around her, but she could see well enough. A single infected was still moving there, ambling in circles, confused. It saw her and started coming her way. She flicked her Uin open, meeting it and easily dodging its clumsy attack and slicing through its neck.
Then she moved toward the exit. She could see the crater had caved in, leaving the compound buried by at least five meters of rock. That would be a lot of shit to move with the Gift. Probably too much.
She stood there and looked at it. Why had they collapsed the exit? Had they been losing that badly? She was sure they didn’t know how few had still been inside. For all they knew, there could have been thousands of infected. What were they planning to do now? Thraven would want proof she was dead. She was sure of that. If they were going to get it, they would need to clear the mess they had made. The collapse would buy them time to regroup and possibly call for more reinforcements. Then they would dig out the bunker and come for her again, in larger numbers and with more firepower than before.
That wasn’t going to work. She had to get out of the area ahead of them. Obviously, this way wasn’t going to work. Like any good bunker, there had to be an escape hatch somewhere. Another path out.
She just had to find it.
Once she did, she would circle back and find a ship. She would get out, one way or another.
She spared the barrier one last glance, and then turned back the way she had come, making her way through the bunker. She didn’t have a clear idea of the layout of the place, and she knew she didn’t have a lot of time. If there were an Evolent out there, they would be able to clear the rubble in a matter of hours. Even if it left them exhausted, they had an army to back them up.
She ran through the area, pausing at each of the doorways to look inside. It was mostly composed of living quarters for the Ophanim and their kin, a series of suites with bedrooms, bathrooms, and most of the comforts of a home save for windows to the outside. Many were neatly organized, having been unoccupied for some amount of time and likely belonging to the crews of the Seedships. A previous few had been lived in and quickly abandoned when the Nephilim attacked, with terminals still on and beds unmade.
It didn’t take long for her to find her way back to Kett and Charmeine’s quarters. She had been there before the attack and realized that she had wound up going in a disjointed circle. She cursed at the revelation, wondering what she had missed. There had to be another way out.
She considered her position in relation to the crater in conjunction with what she knew about the Watchers. It would be strategically stupid to have the escape path easily discovered, which meant it probably wasn’t where she had been looking for it, either. She should have given it more thought instead of rushing off in a panic. She ought to know better than that.
The Ophanim had devices that could transport them across distances and through solid objects. What if the entrance wasn’t visible from within the bunker at all? What if it required one of the teleporters to reach? Or, what if there was a matching pair somewhere unexpected, hiding almost in plain sight, not near the outer edges of the subterranean structure but closer to the center?
It meant that the escape route could be anywhere. It also meant that if she could find it, Thraven’s forces clearly hadn’t and wouldn’t. It would give her the breathing room she needed to plan her way off the planet.
She headed back out, searching the inner corridors of the bunker. She came across a pair of meeting rooms, an exercise facility, and the armory, which had been picked clean, either by the escaping Watchers or Thraven’s soldiers. She passed a medical ward, a nursery, and an archive of some kind. She lingered at the archive, finding that unlike in the lower part of the compound, the data in it had all been erased.
From there, she made her way into a large mess. The tables and chairs had been thrown around, dented, and scored by gunfire. There were food wrappers littering the area in a mess made by the soldiers who had searched it.
She made her way back to the pantry. It was a long, narrow room lined with shelves. She walked along it, searching the dark corners to see if any of the food that had once filled them remained. She found a single food bar tucked into the back corner of one of the shelves. It was better than nothing. She took it and slid it into a tightpack.
She turned to leave. As she did, the Hell brand began to tingle slightly. She put her hand to it, slipping it under the de
monsuit to touch it. It was warm.
Why?
She walked back down the aisle. The tingling faded. She moved back to the end, near the wall. The tingle returned.
“Are you trying to tell me something?” Abbey said. She looked at the wall. It seemed solid enough. “If you are, I’m not getting it. There’s nothing here.”
She scanned the shelves. Maybe there was a false wall behind one? She grabbed one, yanking it and pulling it away. She felt around the wall for a seam, not finding anything. She pushed that shelf back and turned to face the next. She started dragging it out of the way.
Everything around her started shaking, and a loud rumble echoed from the direction of the entrance. She froze. Was that the result of moving the rubble with the Gift, with standard explosives, or both?
Either way, she was out of time, and she still hadn’t found her way out. She had no choice but to fight her way out.
Damn it.
25
Colonel Quark turned his head to look at Elivee’s back, squinting slightly to change the optics in his left replacement eye so that it would be able to peek right through the long jacket she was wearing and the lightsuit underneath.
“Not bad,” he mumbled to himself.
“Did you say something, Colonel?” Captain Griff said softly. The Atmo was fingering the trigger of his rifle; a nervous habit Quark wished he would break.
“Just looking around,” Quark said, keeping his eyes locked on her rear. She was a shapely woman. Maybe once the job was done he could talk her into his pants.
They were in the bunker beneath the large crater where some individuals Elivee called the Ophanim had been living until the General and his forces had come to remove them. From what he understood, these Ophanim were scoundrels and pirates like the fugitives that destroyed the Destructor, and they had been sent by the Governance to clean them out.
He knew the story was bullshit. He knew this planet was registered as worthless in databases both public and private. He also didn’t care. The Don had hired his crew to catch up to the cons, and that was that. As the Crescent Hauler’s top contractor, he knew better than to ask irrelevant questions or waste time wondering what the whole truth was. He didn’t care whatever the frag those things he had decapitated were. The Don had recommended he bring laser cutters for that specific purpose, and so he had.
