by James Walker
“Yes?” Vic asked warily.
Vic thought he detected a hint of admiration in the rebel officer's voice. “You fought well.”
9
The tattered remains of the rebel force made their way to a cluster of warehouses tucked away in an inconspicuous part of the station. Pierson and Amon carried the Cage into the farthest warehouse. Vic followed close behind. The warehouse's interior was empty and unlit save for shafts of pale blue light streaming through windows in the roof, particles of dust dancing in and out of the dim beams. Soon the entire force was inside the warehouse: four exosuits, one A.P.C., and several infantry squads.
Vic looked around in confusion. “I don't understand. What's the point of coming here?”
“This,” Pierson answered him.
The ground under their feet shifted. Then, with a mechanical hum, the floor began to descend into a hidden shaft, carrying the rebels with it.
“A hidden elevator,” Vic observed.
“Exactly,” Pierson said. “We could never operate in the station proper. We carry out most of our activities in the depths, in the labyrinth of maintenance tunnels and support facilities under the city.”
The elevator reached bottom with a resounding clang. All around was murk and vagueness. Vic looked up at the pale light shimmering far above. Unexpectedly, he found himself holding back tears. That light represented everything—peace, security, his old life, his hopes for the future. Now it lay forever beyond his reach. All he could do was move forward into the darkness.
“This way,” Pierson said.
The rebel group moved through a series of dimly lit tunnels, eventually emerging in a vast chamber filled with loading equipment. Pierson and Amon set the Cage down near the far wall, then moved to the center of the chamber, where they were joined by the fourth exosuit.
“This is it,” Pierson said. “We're getting off here.”
Vic joined the others in the center of the chamber. In unison, they lowered their exosuits to a crouch and opened their canopies. Vic climbed out and dropped heavily to the floor, exhaustion robbing him of his usual agility.
He watched with curiosity as Pierson emerged from his own exosuit. He was taller than Vic, and possessed of a stronger build. He broke the airtight seal on his helmet and pulled it off, revealing noble facial features reminiscent of a medieval knight of legend. His wavy blond hair was swept back to keep it out of his eyes, which were hidden behind a pair of reflective glasses. Vic was surprised. He had expected someone more rugged in appearance, like a drill sergeant; though the glasses made it difficult to read his expression and deepened Vic's suspicion toward him.
“You look awful,” Pierson observed.
Vic looked down and realized his clothes were tattered and caked with blood. Then he put his hand to his face and pulled it away, finding his fingertips tinged crimson.
“I'm sorry, that was not very tactful.” Pierson extended his hand. “I'm glad we can meet face to face. You've done well to make it this far. Your appearance testifies to what you had to go through to get here.”
Vic accepted Pierson's hand in silence. He couldn't think of anything to say.
“Hey, who is that?” a familiar voice came from behind. “It couldn't be.”
Vic turned around and beheld the unwelcome visage of Eric Hound. As soon as Eric saw Vic's face, his expression twisted in rage. He ran forward and grabbed Vic by the collar.
“What the hell are you doing here, wipe?” he exclaimed.
“Hound, what are you doing?” Pierson demanded.
Eric looked over Vic's head to meet Pierson's gaze. “Major, don't you know? This little punk's a Theran dirt-kisser.” He returned his gaze to Vic's face and sneered. “Remember what I told you earlier? We got no use for grounders here.”
“Hound,” Pierson said quietly. “Let him go.”
“But—”
“Let him go now.”
Eric released his grip on Vic, pushing him back in the process. “But sir, didn't you hear what I said? He's a—”
“A civilian who got caught up in our mess,” Pierson interrupted. “And a comrade who fought valiantly to protect the Cage from a Spacy augment.”
Eric looked at Vic in amazement. “You mean this punk actually...”
“The matter is closed,” Pierson said. “There's no place for bigotry in this outfit.”
At the sound of footsteps, Vic glanced sideways and saw several people approaching in lab coats. He recognized the slim woman at their head as Esther Klein.
“Major Cutter,” Esther said, “do you think we should analyze the Cage before we head out?”
“Not enough time,” Pierson replied. “It will have to wait until we've got a minute to breathe. But I wouldn't worry too much. I'm sure the Union built this container to withstand much worse than we've put it through.”
Pierson turned to the rest of the gathered troops. “Everyone, we're evacuating to the Chariot,” he announced. “Load the Cage into the cargo bay, then board and strap yourselves in for a wild ride. Don't dawdle. Time is short.”
At Pierson's command, the rebels sprang into action. Vic watched the flurry of activity in confusion, then turned to Pierson.
“Um. Major,” he ventured. “I still don't understand. How is this helping us leave Port Osgow?”
“Simple,” Pierson replied. “A group of rebels can't exactly keep their ship docked in port with the others. Ours is disguised as part of the station's outer hull. This is the boarding area.”
Vic's eyes widened in surprise.
“You'll want a vac suit in case things get hairy. There are spares in those lockers.” Pierson nodded at a row of lockers set against the wall, then turned and called to Esther.
“Dr. Klein, I'm leaving the boy in your hands. I need to supervise launch preparations.”
“All right,” she replied.
Vic watched Pierson leave, then turned to face Esther as she came forward. She gaped at the sight of him.
“My word,” she exclaimed. “That blood's not all yours, is it?”
“Just the blood on my head,” Vic replied. “The rest is from... well, never mind.”
“A head wound?” Esther frowned in concern. “You'll need to get that checked as soon as possible.”
“I know,” Vic said. “But there's no time right now. I'd better go put on a vac suit.”
Vic turned to leave when Esther grabbed him by the elbow. “Wait just a second.” She searched her pockets and pulled out a small vial of liquid.
Vic eyed the vial's translucent contents suspiciously. “What's that?”
“Stim pack,” Esther replied. “You're exhausted, aren't you? It's not as good as a full night's sleep, but it will keep you on your feet when there's no alternative.”
Vic accepted the vial. He stared at it uncertainly for a moment, then threw his head back and drank it one gulp.
“Thanks.” He wiped his lips and returned the vial to Esther, then ran to the lockers, steeling himself for yet more perilous exploits.
*
Pierson supervised the loading of the Cage onto the Chariot, then made sure everyone entered the passenger compartment and strapped themselves in tightly. The Chariot was a small vessel. Between the provisions already in the cargo hold, and now the addition of the Cage and all the surviving members of SLIC's Quicksilvers cell, the ship was full to bursting.
Once everyone was on board, Pierson donned a vacuum suit and headed for the bridge. There he found Colonel Guntar Artega sitting in the captain's seat and the bridge crew at their stations, all clad in vac suits. Though squat in stature, Guntar's girth and prodigious breadth conveyed a gravitic effect, as though all nearby activity revolved around him.
Guntar turned to glare at Pierson from behind a bushy black beard and eyebrows as Pierson took his place in the executive officer's chair.
“You're late,” he growled.
“Traffic,” Pierson replied. “Is the Chariot ready for launch?”
&nbs
p; “Ages ago,” Guntar said. “We've been waiting on you.”
“Well, we're here now,” Pierson said. “The Cage is stowed and all troops are secure in the passenger compartment.”
“I expect a proper report once we're planetside.” Guntar turned to the helmsman. “Prepare for launch.”
“Just a moment,” Pierson said.
Guntar let out an exasperated sigh. “Now what?”
“Once we launch, it will be out of the frying pan and into the fire,” Pierson said. “Judging from the size of the enemy detachments we've seen, they've probably got a heavy assault carrier lurking somewhere nearby.”
Guntar's eyes grew wide.
“If that ship closes on us before we enter the atmosphere, we're sunk,” Pierson said. “We'd better deploy the decoy first.”
Guntar snorted. “I was about to do that anyway.” He turned back to the bridge crew. “Fire the decoy.”
“Aye, sir.”
The crewmen input a series of commands. An external view appeared on the main viewscreen, filled with stars rising slowly with the station's rotation.
“Decoy launched.”
After a moment, a mock spaceship entered the camera's field of view, diminishing rapidly in size as it streaked away from Port Osgow. Soon only its propellant trail remained visible, revealing the fake vessel's course as it followed an arcing path to the left.
The bridge crew watched in expectant silence. A full minute passed with no activity. Soon, all traces of the decoy had vanished.
“C'mon,” Guntar whispered. “Show yourselves, you Theran bastards.”
“We can't wait forever,” Pierson said. “We'd better launch.”
“Is everybody suited up?” Guntar asked.
Pierson nodded.
“Good. Then we don't need to hold back.” Guntar turned to the helmsman. “Yun, get us out of here. The destination is Landing Zone Falcon. Redline it. Take us at three gs all the way.”
The helmsman threw an exaggerated salute. “Aye-aye, Cap'n.”
With a roar of its engines, the Chariot broke free from its position camouflaged on the side of Port Osgow and blasted into space. The main viewscreen switched to show the view off the bow of the Chariot, while a smaller secondary screen continued tracking the path of the decoy. All eyes remained alert for signs of enemy vessels.
“They're probably cloaked,” Pierson grunted. “They might be tracking us to see where we land.”
“Not a damn thing we can do about it,” Guntar replied.
Even at three gs, the journey to Chalice from Port Osgow took over half an hour. Despite the vacuum suits mitigating the effects of the acceleration, remaining under high g forces for a prolonged time soon grew uncomfortable for all aboard. Halfway through the journey, the direction of the g forces reversed as the Chariot began decelerating so that it wouldn't crash into Chalice at over 100,000 kilometers per hour.
Throughout the painful journey, Chalice ballooned in size until it filled the entire left half of the viewscreen. The Chariot continued braking hard as it began angling around the moon, preparing to enter the atmosphere as soon as it was over the landing zone.
The next instant, everyone on the bridge squinted against a blinding flash of light as a brilliant beam of energy lanced a few dozen meters over the Chariot. The ship's instruments flickered momentarily, its electrical systems overwhelmed by the flood of radiation pouring out of the searing beam.
“Shit,” Guntar exclaimed. “Looks like they finally caught up to us.”
“We'd better enter the atmosphere now,” Pierson said. “Dive.”
“But that will put us thousands of kilometers off from the landing zone,” Guntar objected.
Pierson turned his head to stare at his superior officer, his eyes still concealed behind his reflective glasses. “Would you rather your head was thousands of kilometers off from your legs?”
“Point taken,” Guntar growled. “You heard him, Yun.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
Chalice rotated to the bottom of the screen and then rose to fill the entire viewscreen as the helmsman steered the ship onto an atmospheric entry course. Another deadly beam cut through space behind them, narrowly missing the engines on the aft of the ship.
“I hope they don't try to finish the job with nukes,” Guntar said.
“They won't,” Pierson assured him. “They would never risk the damage to their own infrastructure. Tearing up a space station is child's play compared to what detonating a few nukes in orbit could do.”
“Commencing atmospheric entry,” the helmsman reported.
A red haze filled the screen and the ship began to shudder as it entered Chalice's atmosphere. Pierson and Guntar gripped the arms of their chairs tightly, both of them keeping a close eye on the readout for the Chariot's hull integrity.
*
The bridge crew of the Onyx Down watched as fire enveloped the rebel ship. It plunged through Chalice's atmosphere, firing its retro rockets at full blast, until its rapid descent took it beyond the moon's curvature and it disappeared from sight.
“They got the better of us,” Falsrain said, sounding unconcerned. “They've got a capable commander.”
Koga looked at his superior officer in puzzlement. “Sir, why did you give the order to deliberately miss their ship?”
“Obviously because I didn't want to destroy them,” Falsrain answered. “My only intention was to force them off their course so they can't land where they want to.”
“If you'll forgive me, sir,” Koga said, “our orders were to destroy Charlie if it can't be retrieved.”
“That order is a last resort,” Falsrain said. “I have every intention of capturing the target intact.”
“Then we'll continue the pursuit rather than returning to base for resupply?” Koga asked.
Falsrain did not answer directly. Instead, he began issuing orders to the bridge crew.
“Dispatch a transport to Port Osgow,” he commanded. “All forces still inside the station are to return immediately. Calculate the descent course of the rebel ship. And prepare a squadron of Hawkeyes. I want full aerial surveillance of their probable landing zones.” His eyes narrowed into reptilian slits. “Hide and seek is over. Now the game is search and destroy.”
SECOND MESSAGE: SUNDERLAND ~ FOR IF THOU ART EMPTY
10
The rolling dunes of the desert stretched from horizon to horizon like an orange ocean frozen in time. In the distance, stony ridges rose to meet the golden-hued sky, which faded to a dust-tinged azure at its highest extremity. The vast wasteland lay silent with the stillness of a world as yet unconquered by the sword of civilization.
A deafening shockwave broke the all-encompassing silence, followed by the shriek of a large craft descending through the atmosphere. A vessel in the shape of a great arrowhead appeared in the sky, trailing smoke and vapor as it roared over the desert, air brakes and retro rockets fully deployed.
The ship extended its landing gear as it neared the ground. It hovered tantalizingly over the sand for several seconds before touching down and deploying a gigantic drag parachute. The ship kicked up geysers of sand and rocks, carving deep ruts in the dunes as it rattled and bounced over the desert. The left tip of the arrowhead clipped a tall rock formation, which shattered on contact, spraying broken shards for a hundred meters.
At last, the vessel rolled to a halt, coming to rest on an incline so that it sat tilted at a shallow angle. The echoes of the ship's descent faded away, and in moments the briefly shattered silence fell once again over the desert.
*
On the bridge of the Chariot, all hands sat in silence, momentarily stunned by the jarring impact of the emergency landing. The viewscreens displayed an endless expanse of ocher in all directions. Slowly, with groans of mixed pain and relief, the bridge crew began to move, starting by removing their helmets.
“Status report,” Guntar grunted as he unbuckled his restraints and rose from the captain's chair.
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br /> “Just a second,” came the reply from the operator. He tapped at his console and reported, “All systems operational. No serious damage. Talk about luck.”
“But we're stuck here,” Yun interjected. “No way we can get up enough speed for take-off on this terrain.”
“Even if we did get airborne, we'd only make targets of ourselves for the enemy ship,” Guntar said. “So where did we end up?”
The bridge crew went to work on their consoles. After a moment, the stark beauty of the untamed barrens vanished, replaced by a map of Chalice. A marker flashed on the right side of the map, signaling the vessel's present location.
“Looks like we came down right in the middle of the Sunderland,” Pierson observed. “That's a stroke of luck. Theran influence is weak in this area. There's a few mines around here, but other than that, there's nothing to keep their interest. On top of that, there are a lot of old subterranean settlements from before the atmospheric processor made the air breathable. If we can find an entrance into those facilities, we'll be able to escape aerial surveillance.”
“But according to our information,” Guntar said, “those facilities are still in use by illegal settlers. We've never had much contact with the people here. It's a safe bet they're not on good terms with the Therans, but I'm not sure they'd give us a friendly reception, either.”
“That's why we'll have to step carefully.” Pierson stepped forward and scrutinized the map. “The Sunderland is home only to the abandoned and the forsaken. If we don't want to end up like them, we'd better get out of here as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, it's as remote to SLIC as it is to the Union. We don't have any bases anywhere near here.”
“The nearest major city is about 400 kilometers to the southwest,” Guntar said. “Hongpan, the colonial capital. The Greenwings are hidden out there. If we can get in contact with them, maybe we can break open that damn Cage.” Deep furrows appeared in his brow. “Given all the resources they've poured into getting it back, the Theran bastards must be terrified of what might happen if we manage to crack that egg open.”
