by Piers Platt
“They’re behind us!” the surviving soldier shouted, his voice desperate. “They got between us and the airfield!”
“Shoot back!” the sergeant major yelled, opening fire blindly in the direction of the machine gunner with his own rifle. He could hear other machine guns on either side, firing on what was left of the battalion, pinning them against the lightning minefield. The other soldier had stopped firing, and he turned to see that the man had been shot neatly through the forehead.
The sergeant major rolled onto his side and pulled a grenade out of a belt pouch. He armed it and threw it, and was up and running toward the machine gun the second it exploded, determined to kill at least one of the guildsmen. He leaped over a fallen log, rifle at the ready, and then spotted the machine gun. Anger and shock crossed his face: the gun was mounted on an automated turret that had been hidden in a shallow trench. His grenade had destroyed the turret’s computer – it sparked and smoked as he watched.
* * *
“I’ve got him,” Wick said. From his perch in the trees high overhead, he took aim at the sergeant major’s chest, and fired a single round. The man fell over and twitched, once. To Wick’s left, he saw Rika fire a round from her own suppressed rifle, and then she slid carefully around the trunk on her rope, lining up on a second soldier, who was fleeing head-long through the forest. He managed to make it to the edge of the trees before her bullet took him in the back of the head.
14
Through the transport’s forward viewport, Beauceron watched as the transfer station slid past below them. The system’s sun was setting over the curvature of Tarkis up ahead, and it disappeared fully as they began their descent, and slipped into the planet’s shadow. Tarkis’ continents came into view under the cloudless night sky: Beauceron could make out their outlines from the web-like golden lights of the planet’s myriad, multi-level cities.
“Air traffic control is hailing us,” the pilot reported.
“Ignore them,” Beauceron said. “Just take us down to the coordinates General Childers gave us.”
“Yes, sir,” the pilot agreed.
And let’s hope Childers’ message got through to the local IP commander, Beauceron thought. He smiled reassuringly at Dasi, standing beside him. She smiled nervously back.
They landed less than five minutes later, the transport hovering in through the open dome of a large sports stadium, and setting down in the middle of the field. Beauceron and Dasi left the pilots in the cockpit, and walked down the ship’s forward ramp. The stadium was dark, lit only by the flashing running lights of the ship – it could have been full of people, for all Beauceron could tell.
It feels empty, though, he thought. Perhaps they didn’t get the message after all.
“Over there,” Dasi said, pointing.
Beauceron squinted, but his eyes could not make anything out. “Where?”
“Sorry,” she said. “I keep forgetting that I have these implants in. There’s someone standing in the entrance tunnel watching us.”
Beauceron frowned, but set off across the grass of the field, with Dasi following. As they drew near, he saw several shadowy forms detach themselves from the darker black of the tunnel.
“Detective Beauceron?” a gruff voice asked.
“Yes,” Beauceron said.
The leading man held his hand out – he wore civilian clothes, Beauceron saw, but his haircut and posture told Beauceron he was law enforcement. “Colonel Emeka. Welcome to Tarkis.”
“Thank you,” Beauceron said. “This is Private Apter.”
“Private,” the colonel said, shaking her hand. “I’ll warn you, I’m not in a very patient mood right now. I’ve got Jokuan soldiers looting all over my city, and a standing order from Anchorpoint to just sit around with my thumb up my ass, letting them do whatever they feel like. I’m fairly pissed right now.”
“I can imagine,” Beauceron said.
“And despite those orders, I’ve already lost two officers who decided they couldn’t just stand by and watch the Jokuans gang-rape a woman. I doubt they’ll be the last,” he grumbled. “Then I get General Childers’ order to meet you two here, but the message didn’t go into any other details. So I’m hoping you can tell me what this is all about.”
“Yes, sir,” Beauceron agreed. “We’re here to help you take back Tarkis.”
Emeka looked over Beauceron’s shoulder at the small transport. “You got an army hiding on that thing, Detective?”
“No, sir,” Beauceron said. “Just the two of us, for now. But we’ve got a plan.”
“A plan? That’s comforting.” Emeka sighed. “Does that plan involve letting my officers actually do their job?”
“Yes, sir.”
Emeka grunted. “Well, that’s a shitload better than the plan we’re working with now, at least. Let’s hear it.”
* * *
They filtered into the stadium slowly at first, and then in larger groups of four or five officers at a time, appearing silently from the darkness of the entrance tunnels. They wore civilian clothes, but carried their service weapons – pistols and shotguns, and the final groups stopped at the nearest stations’ armories on their way, and came carrying auto-rifles and bags of tactical gear. The weapons were passed out, checked, and loaded. Conversation was kept to a minimum, as senior NCOs organized them into squads and platoons, and the plan was disseminated.
Beauceron stood with Dasi and Emeka, surveying the field, listening as captains reported headcounts and weapon inventories. The detective caught himself looking up at the night sky, where the lights of the orbital transfer station winked above. He looked over at Dasi, who pointed at her watch meaningfully.
Beauceron nodded, and turned to Emeka. “How are we doing, Colonel?” he asked.
“Close to three hundred now,” Emeka said, turning away from his conversation with a subordinate. “If we give it another hour, I think we could get another hundred.”
Beauceron shook his head. “I don’t think we can wait any longer, sir.”
“No?” Emeka asked. “I figured we’d need every man we can find.”
“We do, sir,” Dasi agreed. “But every minute we wait gives the Jokuans more time to consolidate territory. And increases the chance of discovery for the other friendly elements in the plan.”
“So you want to go now?” Emeka asked.
“Yes, sir,” Beauceron said.
The senior officer contemplated this for a second. “General Childers’ message seemed to imply that you were in command of this operation,” Emeka said, leaving the statement hanging in the air.
“That was my understanding, too, sir,” Beauceron said. “I recognize that puts you in an awkward position.”
Emeka sized the shorter man up, eyeing him appraisingly. “Didn’t they want to promote you to colonel after that whole Guild thing?” he asked.
“They tried,” Beauceron said. “I turned them down.”
“Well, I’ve never been one for dick-measuring contests. So long as you don’t give us any unlawful orders or do anything colossally stupid, my men and I are at your command.”
“Thank you, sir,” Beauceron said. “Let’s get down to the metro station.”
They descended through the bowels of the stadium, three hundred police with Beauceron and Dasi at their head, and emerged onto the train platform located below the sports complex. Two trains sat, empty, along opposite sides of the platform. A pair of transit employees stood waiting for the officers, fidgeting nervously.
“Has the line been shut down?” Emeka asked them.
“Yeah,” one replied. “All trains have been rerouted. The line’s clear all the way to the spaceport.”
“You guys know the Jokuans are there already, right?” the other engineer asked.
“Where?” Emeka asked.
“The spaceport,” the engineer said. “They shut it down a couple hours ago. Sent everybody away and set up a big barricade outside the terminal entrance.”
Emeka
nodded. “Noted.” He turned to his subordinates. “Split up – half on one train, half on the other.”
The train engineer scowled at Beauceron as the police filed onto the trains. “You guys aren’t planning to start a war or something, are you?”
“That’s exactly what we’re intending to do,” Beauceron confirmed, heading for the train on the right.
Dasi patted the man on the shoulder. “And you get to take us there.”
15
From his perch high up in a tree over the Jokuan airfield, Wick switched to infrared on his cybernetic eyes, and scanned the ground below him again. What soldiers he could see were all still, unmoving. In the trees to either side of him, he heard several more suppressed rounds, as contractors finished mopping up their own sectors.
“Okay, all clear,” Jacque said, a minute later. “Link up on me.”
Wick kicked off of his tree, playing the rappelling rope out behind his back and sliding smoothly down to the ground, cutting his speed at the last instant. Rika dropped down nearby a moment later, and the two of them stripped off their shaggy ghillie suits, revealing Jokuan uniforms underneath. Wick covered her while she found the nearest body and took the man’s rifle, leaving her own rifle in its place. She studied the man’s face, shifting her own to match. Then she gave him a thumbs-up. Wick turned and jogged over to the lightning mine, where he carefully unplugged the power cable from the device’s large battery pack. Then he located the body of the major who had led the enemy battalion into the woods. Wick matched his face and hair, and swapped his rifle with the Jokuan officer’s. Then the two of them set off for Jacque’s location. The team had assembled when they arrived – to all appearances, just a squad of surviving Jokuan soldiers.
“Ready, Wick?” Jacque asked.
“Ready.”
She frowned, and then shrugged.
They stepped out onto the open field, and found thick columns of black smoke rising from what remained of the motor pool. Jacque led them across the field, toward the two space transports. A group of crew members wearing naval uniforms stood talking in an uneasy knot at the base of the larger transport’s loading ramp – as the contractors approached, an officer detached himself from the group. Wick stepped forward to meet him.
Wick shook his head.
The ensign nodded.
Four of the crewmen raised their hands.
The ensign frowned.
Scowling, Wick pulled a holophone out of his pocket, and opened up a note-taking app. He glanced at the naval officer’s uniform briefly, then typed on his phone.
The ensign paled, and then turned to face the crew.
The ship rose up into the air, and Wick saw the smaller vessel lift off beside them, carrying the rest of the Arclight team. Wick leaned his rifle on the ship’s bulkhead and took a seat behind the pilots; the ensign followed suit. The forests and plains of Jokuan’s countryside passed below them in a blur, and then in the distance, Wick saw a cluster of low buildings atop a grassy hill. In his heads-up display, he checked their location, confirming that the buildings were the Jokuan army’s headquarters complex. Then he reached inside his tactical vest.
He shot the ensign first, then the two pilots. The suppressed pistol’s shots were barely louder than the sound of the bullets striking home. Wick reached past the pilot’s lifeless body, and spent several seconds typing a new course and safety override instructions into the ship’s computer. The large ship turned, climbing steadily in a wide loop around the headquarters complex. Wick pulled a smaller pack out of his Forge, strapping it in place on his chest and then checking the harness with practiced care. Then he let himself out of the cockpit, shutting the door behind him.
In the passenger compartment, several of the Jokuan crewmembers watched, frowning, as he fiddled with a control panel. Behind them, at the end of the long cargo bay, the ship’s ramp cracked open, lowering into place. The bay filled with cold, buffeting wind – they had gained several thousand feet in altitude, Wick noted. Behind the ship, he saw the smaller transport flying in close formation.
One of the crewmembers stood.
Wick ignored him and hurried down the bay. When he reached the ramp, he simply stepped off. The crewmember stood, mouth agape, staring out the open ramp.
Wick yanked on his parachute’s ripcord, and the canopy snapped open above him with a jerk. Moments later, the smaller transport maneuvered into place below him, and he flared in for a running landing on top of the ship’s hull. An access hatch slid open, and Huawo’s head popped out – Wick grabbed hold of the hull with one hand, and used his other hand to unbuckle the parachute harness, shrugging out of it as the stiff wind whisked it away behind him. Wick made his way to the hatch and grabbed Huawo’s hand, then lowered himself into the ship. Jacque was waiting for him at the base of the ladder.
“Any issues?” he asked.
“Nope,” Wick said, as Huawo closed the hatch above them.
Jacque clapped Wick across the back. “Nicely done.”
The three men hurried forward to the cockpit, where Rika covered the two captured Jokuan pilots with a pistol. As the contractors watched through the forward viewport, the large transport ahead of them accelerated downward, dropping into a near-vertical dive. It crashed into the heart of the headquarters complex, exploding with a massive fireball.
“With compliments from Tepper,” Wick said.
16
The train’s automated announcement system switched on again, startling Beauceron.
“Next stop, Gates-Pahr Spaceport, main terminal: arrivals and departures. Change here for shuttles to orbital transfer station and interstellar transit options. Thank you for riding Tarkis Central Commuter Rail.”
Around him, the officers riding the train knelt or crouched down, hiding themselves below th
e level of the train’s windows.
“Here we go,” Beauceron said to Dasi.
She nodded nervously.
He felt the train slow, and then it emerged suddenly from the dark tunnel into a well-lit, tiled underground station, with a high, vaulted roof. As the train pulled to a stop, Beauceron spotted four Jokuan soldiers. They had been sitting on one of the station’s benches, but they stood at the sight of the train, and pointed their rifles uneasily at Beauceron and Dasi. Beauceron saw the second train enter on the far track. It appeared to be empty.
“The spaceport is closed,” one of the Jokuans yelled to Beauceron, as the train doors slid open. “You can’t come in here.”
“Colonel?” Beauceron asked, speaking into the throat microphone of his tactical radio. “Now, please.”
Simultaneously, the three hundred police officers hiding on the two trains stood up, their weapons pointed in at the Jokuan guards.
“I’ll take those weapons,” Beauceron said, stepping off the train.
In stunned silence, the four men handed over their weapons, and Beauceron and Dasi handcuffed them in turn. Emeka and his officers hurried off the trains, forming up on the stairs to the ground level.
“Quietly now,” Beauceron reminded them. “No one shoots unless I give the order.”
They climbed the stairs in near-silence, broken only by a muffled cough and the faint tap as someone’s rifle barrel bumped against the stair’s hand-rail. At the top of the stairs, the spaceport’s arrivals hall spread out in front of them. The Jokuans had turned most of the lights off, and the vast room felt curiously empty, abandoned check-in gates stretching away to either side, the scheduled shuttle departures still listed on viewscreens over each counter. Beauceron, peering over the top step from several stairs down, spotted a brighter area off to his right, near the terminal’s exterior entrance doors, where the lights remained on.
