Last Life (Lifers Book 1)

by Thomas,Michael G.

  They strolled toward the Falcon, and he regarded the giant radio telescope dwarfing the smaller dishes. The observatory wasn’t entirely deserted, and a couple of maintenance men looked down from a gantry in their direction. They didn’t see anything untoward and continued with their work. It was peaceful enough, a world away from the furor he’d unleashed just a few kilometers away. The sky was blue, with just a few small clouds.

  Wait, that wasn’t a cloud. Clouds don’t move that fast.

  She heard it and shouted, “Cage, there’s something coming in. I hear it.”

  He stayed fixed on the sky, watching the craft sink lower. They’d have split up the swarms, put them into search mode to quarter the area, and each craft would act as a hunter. Seeking out the quarry, and now it had found them. The onboard comms system would already be calling in the rest, alerting the cops and the MPs.

  “Run!”

  The ground behind them shook as a gun spat out from overhead, and he pulled her into a concrete building to shelter from the attack. The Falcon was thirty meters away, and the drone would have them before they made it halfway. Another few minutes, and there’d be a swarm of them in the sky over Green Bank. This time, there’d be no escape. She was calm, waiting for him to come up with a solution. She was the expert at her job, and expected no less from the soldier.

  His mind whirled with the possibilities, discarding them as unworkable, and moving on to the next one. They had no weapons, nothing. He cased around the floor of the building, a workshop and storage facility. There was nothing of any use, just a collection of huge, heavy iron nuts and bolts. They’d have used them to bolt together the thousands of tons of steel that supported the monstrous radio telescope dish.

  Each bolt looks as if it weighs at least five kilos, enough to bring down a drone? Maybe, but to hit it I need to get it lower. I have to give it a target, a tempting lure to dangle before it.

  He picked up four of the heavy bolts and made for the door. “Stay inside. I’m going to deal with the drone.”

  Her look was incredulous. “With those?”

  “That’s the plan. As soon as it goes down, come out and run for the burner.”

  “And if it doesn’t go down? What if it kills you first?”

  He didn’t have an answer. “Stay here.”

  Cage pulled open the door, raced out into the open, and began a fast, swerving, dodging maneuver. Shots rained down, following his footsteps, but his legs powered him one jump ahead of every blast. On Mars, he wouldn’t have made it. Martian gear was too sophisticated, and the artificial intelligence would have nailed him in less than a second. This was Earth tech. The best they could do with those few technicians who remained.

  It’s good, but not that good. Thank Christ.

  The drone came lower and lower still. He could almost feel its electronic frustration with a target that refused to go down. Another ten meters, about another dozen shots, and it would be near enough. Nearly there, and then disaster; he shouldn’t have taken his gaze off the ground for so long. His left boot plunged into a hole, the legacy of a small animal. He tripped and fell, and like a hawk hunting its prey, the drone sensed victory and descended fast. It hovered over him, and he couldn’t move, not this time. Couldn’t dodge, there was nothing left for him.

  I’m sorry Rose. I tried. I’ll say hi to Rob if I see him, wherever I’m going.

  His moment of despair lasted for a half second. Then she was running across the open ground, hands waving at the drone, shouting, “I'm here, asshole. Leave him alone, and come and get me!”

  The drone hesitated, Earthtech programming unable to make a decision. It took nearly fifteen nanoseconds, an eternity for a machine, before it moved toward her. “Cage! Hit the bastard, do it now! Don’t let it kill me!”

  He climbed to his feet and threw back his arm. The massive strength built into the limb propelled his hand forward, and he released the improvised heavy iron missile. The arm swung at the shoulder like an ancient trebuchet, releasing the projectile at just the right moment. The drone was stationary, and he almost hit it with the first bolt. He didn’t miss with the second. The metal object smashed into the fuselage, and it must have been a direct hit on the guidance mechanism. The craft wobbled, righted itself, wobbled again, and dropped like a stone as the motors cut. It landed five meters from him, and he ran to it. Stomped down with every ounce of mechanical force he could muster. She came up to him, her face flushed, and flung her arms around him. She was looking for Human reassurance. Someone, anyone to prove she still lived.

  “I thought you were dead. I thought I was dead.”

  “Forget it. Let’s go. The swarms will be over any minute.”

  She looked tired. “Cage, which way? My mind has gone blank.”

  “If we go back into the forest, can we find another way out?”

  “What about Colonel Travers? You have to get your leg fixed?”

  “Not now. We need a route to throw off those drones.”

  “There are several other trails, and some that come out the other side of the mountain. One I can think of, it’s covered by a thick forest canopy.”

  “That’s the route we’ll take. You still okay to drive?”

  She smiled, in spite the shock of the sudden attack. “What’s the matter, you scared of my driving?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Liar.”

  They made it to the dark tunnel of thick foliage, and she drove as fast as she had before. So fast she almost knocked down the man running toward them. She put the brakes on just in time, and they stopped. Cage jumped out and went to the last person he’d expected to see.

  “Luther!”

  “Cage.” They both grinned and hugged each other.

  “What happened, how did you get away?”

  He chuckled, but it was an effort. His face was a mass of cuts and bruises, and he was shirtless. He held a gun in one hand, a weapon Noah had used many times before on Mars, a bullpup design, big, with a muzzle much wider than any civilian weapon. Atop the gun was a large computerized sight.

  "You got yourself an XM12."

  Luther noticed the direction of Cage’s gaze. “They assigned an MP to guard me, and I told him I needed to use the john. He took me to an old guard post, and when we went inside, I hit him. Put my fist into his face, and when he went down, I chopped him on the neck. A thing we learned in the Marines, and he was out cold. Maybe dead, I don’t care either way. Then I took his gun and ran. I can’t believe I’ve found you.”

  “It’s good to see you, Luther. Get in the back. We’re getting out of here. The drones are on the way.”

  He leapt into the Falcon, and Rose had it moving before they’d closed the doors. She plunged into the forest, and the nightmare ride began. He looked around at Luther, his hands gripped the grab handles, and his battered, black face had paled by several shades of gray. After all he'd gone through, it was astonishing he was alive.

  Noah looked out of the window as the trees rushed on by. He thought of his friends, and that terrible last campaign, the gunfire, battles, and the victories that had led to the betrayal of his platoon, and the long time in his cell on Mars. He sighed and then spotted the face of Luther, a stranger that he trusted as much as any man, especially one that had saved his life.

  It’s insane he managed to get away, almost beyond belief. And now we have a weapon. That means we can fight them. Except, who are ‘they?’ The Sheriff, for sure, and those MPs, no question, they’re the men in plain sight. But what we need is the people behind all this. It all goes back to that last battle on Mars. What was behind that airburst?

  No, that’s the wrong question. Who was behind it? Not what. I need the name of the man who gave the order. Find him, force the truth out of him, or kill him.

  Chapter Four

  Westbank, PanAmerica, Earthside

  The MPs kept their distance, finding useless tasks that needed their urgent attention, as Hartmann roared into the handset, his skin dar
k red with fury. At the other end, a hapless senior drone controller tried to calm him down.

  “General, we don’t know what happened. One moment we had them, I just reran the video feed, and it was right over him. The targeting shifted to a woman, some kind of programming anomaly. After that, we lost the signal."

  The man sounded terrified, as though his own life was now on the line.

  "Sir, the drone must have malfunctioned and crashed, that or they've got a weapon. The other swarms were inbound, but when they got there, the fugitives had gone, together with the Falcon. We can assume they’re in that damned forest again, but you know electric, off the Grid they are damned near impossible to detect.”

  “Find them! I don’t care what it takes, or how many drones it needs, find them!”

  He slammed down the handset, stomped from the rotorcraft, and confronted Vos.

  “Sheriff, they’re back in the woods. How many exits from that place?”

  “I already checked. There are eight roads they could use out of there, including this one.”

  “They won’t come back here, so that’s seven roadblocks I need in place. Give me the coordinates, and I’ll get my people to handle it. I have an MP company due soon, and the carriers can put them down next to the roadblocks.”

  It’s wrong. The military has no legal basis to operate on my turf.

  “General, this is a job for the Staties. We don’t need your men. I’ll make the call.”

  “You can make any call you want, when you can find a comms set that actually works. But my men will be in place. I want those coordinates, Vos, and I’m waiting.”

  “Sir, the law…”

  “Screw the law! Give me those numbers, now!” He thrust an electronic tablet at him, and Vos obeyed. In the distance, he could see the shapes of the medium lift dropships, known as Vultures in the PanAm Armed Forces. They were an ugly affair, with a brutish bug like central hull section. The nose angled downward, but with its full black color it was hard to see if the thing was manned or not. Auxiliary engine intakes poked out like gun barrels on each flank, giving its overall shape an angry, aggressive look.

  A pair of large tail rudders, each angled off to the sides took up the rear quarter. Large, curved wings lifted up from the flanks, like those of a gull, and beneath each of them a large fan that operated during hovering maneuvers. They were a far cry from the advanced ornithopter style craft used by the various Martian units, but whatever they lacked in subtly they made up for in space and capability. The dropships were coming in fast, and his authority wasn’t worth shit against an MP company. He handed the pad back.

  “General, the prisoner we captured, what happened to him?”

  Hartmann didn’t turn his head. He was busy watching the Vultures approach. Each left a faint trail behind it, giving them the look of a cloud of missiles coming their way. “He got away.”

  “Got away? You’re not serious.”

  “It’s true. He knocked down the man guarding him, stole his weapon, and took off.”

  He handed the pad across to Guzman. “Master Sergeant, you have the coordinates. The second they land, assign a unit to each of those places, and get them moving.”

  “RoEs, Sir?”

  “Rules of Engagement are simple. They’re toast, Sergeant. Tell ‘em not to screw around. Shoot on sight.”

  “Copy that, Sir.”

  Hartmann swung around to Vos. “Sheriff, there’s a chance they could decide to hole up inside there, and we’d have to wait weeks for them to come out. What units can you send in to flush them out?”

  “We don’t have anything, not the kind of thing you’re talking about. Something that would chew through that place, it doesn’t exist.”

  “Excuse me, Sheriff.”

  He glanced at Dahmer, who looked like a man who’d won the lottery. “What is it?”

  “Cliff’s Hagglund, Sheriff. It'll chew its way to hell and back.”

  “The old Hagglund? You mean that weird thing with tracks? So he has got it running again?”

  “He sure did. We used it two weeks back, went out hunting. Gets to the places no one goes these days. Shit, the game just stood there staring back at us. We killed…”

  “Never mind about game. You say it’s running fine.”

  “Yeah, sweet as a nut. And no need to screw about with the Grid. It runs on gas, and he's got plenty!"

  Vos considered his next move. He’d already called on Trudel for a favor, and he hated asking him for favors. One day soon, he’d have to run him in for one offense or the other. He survived on the fringes of the law, and everyone in Westbank knew if you wanted to buy something on the cheap, he was the man to go see. He fenced stolen property, bought and sold illegal goods, and there were those who suggested he was the kingpin behind the drug trade in the scattered Appalachian communities. All true, but he had something he needed. The Hagglund.

  He didn’t have a choice. Hartmann was listening, and if Vos said no, he’d want to know why. Something bad was likely to happen. At worst he could persuade the State Governor to declare Martial Law, which would give him de facto absolute authority. A company of MPs was the last thing he wanted to invade his town. Trigger-happy jarheads running around the hills, shooting at everything that moved. Tearing up the town, and Westbank would become like a Wild West frontier town. He needed to make his mark, show them who the real boss was here.

  “Get onto Cliff. Tell him to get out here with the Hagglund. If he screws you around, tell him I’m sending in a pair of deputies to sequester it.”

  “Can you do that, Sheriff?”

  He glanced at the MPs. “With enough guns, you can do anything, Sergeant.” He lowered his voice, “If we don’t do it, these guys will. If that happens, the whole area becomes a battleground. You want these guys running around the town?”

  His eyes showed his understanding. “Hot damn, we don’t need that. I’ll get onto him.”

  “Yeah. You can travel with him when he gets here, and take another deputy with you. Take McMurphy, and cut the trail between here and Green Bank. We’ll keep you supplied with any sightings that come in, and you can extrapolate their heading.”

  “Extra what, Sheriff?”

  He sighed. “It means work it out, Sergeant. Get onto him, and I want that Hagglund here in fifteen minutes, with you and McMurphy saddled up, ready go.”

  “You got it. Yee hah, we’re going a 'hunting!”

  It took twenty minutes before the Hagglund arrived. The peculiar Bandvagn 206, built in Europe by the Swedes many decades ago, was a tracked and articulated all-terrain carrier; coupled to the tracked trailer unit, and all four tracks were powered. The vehicle was a relic from a bygone age, but there was something about it that drew a smile across Vos' face.

  Yeah, that will work nicely.

  He'd seen the fancy vehicles of the town slowly disintegrate with time. Without parts, cheap access to the Grid, and trained technicians most of it was at the scrapyards. But not old classics like this one. He ran his hand down to his pistol and nodded to himself.

  Change isn't always for the better.

  Cliff climbed out, wreathed in smiles. He’d demand plenty of favors in return for this, and Vos found it hard to look at him.

  “The rear unit’s full of fuel and a big auxiliary motor, Sheriff, but there’s room up front for some of your guys.”

  “You’re taking Dahmer and McMurphy.”

  “No sweat. Where shall we look first?"

  “You know the big old quarry, it’s about five klicks from here?”

  “I know it.”

  “Head that way, and we’ll keep you updated. We have aerial feeds, and they’re getting the odd sniff of the burner. We’ll call if anything changes, but the quarry is a good place to start.”

  “I’m on it, Sheriff.” He grinned at Dahmer. “Vern, Joe, time to go hunting.”

  “Wait!” a crewman in the rotorcraft was waving to them. He ran to Hartmann, who roared with triumph. “We’ve
got the mothers. Head Northwest, and then cut West. When you hit the track, they’ll run right into your laps.”

  Dahmer grinned. “We’ll bring back the bodies for you, General.”

  Vos wanted to say something. It was accelerating out of control, and what they were cooking up sounded uncomfortably like murder. But he kept silent. A further bunch of MPs due at any moment was a powerful incentive to take a step back.

  * * *

  She pushed the red Falcon SUV along a track so narrow they were pushing the branches and foliage aside as they traveled. The canopy overhead was thicker as the forest closed in around them. Like a living entity, sucking them into its grip, to hold and never let go. The noise of the bodywork scraping through green tunnels was a constant roar, yet she wouldn't slow down. If they encountered something more solid, they’d be lost.

  He had to ask. “Rose, you sure this is the right way?”

  She didn’t look aside. “There is no other way. The track should clear in about a kilometer, maybe even less. There used to be a quarry around here. It closed when they built the Deuterium processing plant. Until then, they kept the access roads clear, and they’re not so overgrown. Once we get past the quarry, we can meet up with your Colonel Travers.” She gave him a quick grin, “You can get him to change your oil and wipe your windshield.”

  He smiled. It wasn’t the first time someone had made the comment, and besides, the comparison was true. He was part mechanical, part electronic, part Human; a cybernetic soldier with all the advantages and weaknesses that came with it. Which meant his systems needed occasional maintenance. Motivators burned out, circuit boards cracked and malfunctioned. The comment wasn’t unkind. After all, she’d married a Lifer. More of an in-joke, as if to say, ‘Hey, you’re a cyborg, but who cares? Where it matters, the heart, the brain, you’re all Human. You’re a regular guy, a nice guy.’