by James Walker
“By the way,” he added, “I don't want people to get crazy ideas about my abilities. It was mostly Major Cutter who fought off that Spacy exosuit. Just who is he, anyway? I've never seen such a capable pilot before.”
“Ah, he's...” Huan's gaze slid from Vic's face to something over his shoulder. “Well, you'll have the chance to see firsthand.”
Vic turned to follow Huan's gaze and saw Pierson entering the cargo bay. He had changed into infantry combat gear, but his eyes were still concealed behind his reflective glasses. Upon his appearance, all the troops in the cargo bay stopped their activities and stood at attention.
Pierson turned his head from one side of the assembled troops to the other. “Gentlemen, here's the situation,” he announced. “We've landed in the Sunderland. This place has a lot of underground facilities from when the atmospheric processing was still incomplete. The Union will be all over this place soon, but there are some canyons to the north we can use to hide from their recon craft. With any luck, we'll find an entrance into the underground settlements and lose them for good.” He nodded to Huan. “Yun, we'll leave it to you to drive the cargo hauler. Everyone else, disembark.”
The troops saluted and followed Pierson out of the cargo bay. Vic started to fall into line, but Huan stopped him.
“Hold on a sec.” Huan took a datacube out of his pocket and held it out. “Check this out when you get a chance. It's a primer on the independence movement. It will explain everything you want to know.”
“Um, thanks.” Vic accepted the datacube. “I'm surprised you carry something like that around with you.”
“It's a SLIC tradition,” Huan explained. “Every rookie gets one. Then they pass it on to the next rookie. When you meet a new recruit, it will be your turn to hand it down. This way, our ideals are transmitted from one generation of warriors to the next. Pretty cool, huh?”
Vic slipped the datacube into his pocket and fell into step behind the soldiers. “You're getting way ahead of yourself, Huan,” he muttered. “I'm no convert to your cause yet. Just a leaf getting swept along with the tide.”
12
Vic followed the rebel soldiers off the Chariot, stepping from the solid boarding ramp onto pliant sand that shifted underfoot. He couldn't remember how long it had been since he had walked on a soft, natural surface. Struggling against the difficulty of walking on ground that shifted with every step, he followed the others out from the shadow of the Chariot and emerged under the open sky.
Vic stopped and stared about him in wonder. He had seen deserts within virtual environments, but never before had he witnessed a real one with his own eyes. Rolling orange and brown dunes stretched as far as he could see in every direction. To the north, rugged mountains rose over the horizon. Unlike Thera, the air on Chalice was tinged with a golden hue, though it faded to dusty azure as it neared the heavens.
To his left, Vic saw the most striking sight of all. The cerulean orb of Saris loomed huge over the landscape, obscuring much of the sky in that direction. Within its dark bands, Vic saw two gigantic green ovals: the Eyes of Saris, permanent storms the size of terrestrial planets. Not for the first time, Vic was struck by feeling that he was looking upon the face of an unfeeling god—and that it looked back upon him, perceiving him with cold intelligence.
“Dammit. We've got problems,” came a gravelly voice from the front of the group. Vic followed the sound to a squat, portly man with a scraggly black beard, who was looking through binoculars at the western horizon.
“Who's that?” Vic asked.
“Colonel Guntar Artega,” a nearby rebel answered him. “He's the leader of our cell, the Quicksilvers.”
“Leader?” Vic repeated. “You mean that's not Major Cutter?”
The rebel shook his head. “He's second in command. The colonel has final say on all decisions, though in reality, I guess you could say they have about equal authority in the eyes of the troops.”
“Is that so.” Vic scanned the ranks of the rebel soldiers and noticed some missing faces. “By the way, where's Esther Klein?”
“Dr. Klein?” the rebel said. “The scientists can't keep up with us soldiers, so the doctor and her assistants will be riding in the hauler.”
At that moment, Pierson came forward and stood next to Guntar. He raised his own binoculars and asked, “What's wrong? Don't tell me they've found us already?”
“No, but this is just as bad.” Guntar lowered his binoculars. “I'm starting to think we're cursed.”
“Sandstorm,” Pierson said. “No, this could actually be a blessing in disguise. The sandstorms in this area are severe. The enemy's aerial reconnaissance will never be able to find us with a sandstorm covering this area.”
“They won't have to, if it fills our lungs with poison dust and kills us all,” Guntar replied.
“We've got air filters,” Pierson said. “Still, you're right that we don't want to spend much time in that filth. Now it's even more important for us to reach those canyons. They'll provide us with some cover from the storm.”
At that moment, the roar of an engine made Vic spin around in alarm. He and the other troops backed away as a bulky cargo hauler roared down the ramp and rolled out over the sand. Vic spied the face of Huan Yun in the driver's seat before the cargo hauler rolled past him and came to a rest a dozen meters away.
“OK ladies, that's enough lollygagging,” Guntar announced. “Everyone get your air filters on and fall in line. We're gonna push it hard to reach those canyons before we get double-teamed by those Spacy goons and that sandstorm bearing down on us.”
Vic removed the air filter from his pack and fitted it over his face, then fell into step with the rebel troops as they began marching over the dunes. The cargo hauler rolled along next to them, moving at low gear so as not to leave them behind. Vic cast a glance to his left and saw a great brown wall bearing down on them in the distance. It seemed to be moving swiftly. If it was a race between Spacy, the rebels, and the sandstorm, it looked like the sandstorm was going to win.
*
“Sir, I've got something,” Taggart reported. “Possible sighting of the rebel ship in central Sunderland.”
“Bring it up on the main screen,” Falsrain ordered.
An indistinguishable mass of blocky pixels appeared on the screen. The image resolved several times until a distinct triangular shape appeared in the center of the picture. After several more resolutions, the outline hardened into the unmistakable silhouette of a spaceship. Even after multiple passes of image filtering, a thick film lay over the picture, obscuring the fine details.
“That's it, all right,” Koga said. “They managed to land in one piece.”
“What's that film on the screen?” Falsrain asked.
“Sandstorm, sir,” Taggart replied. “It's spreading over the entire region. That's why it took the Hawkeyes an unusually long time to find their ship.”
“Any sign of activity?” Koga demanded.
“Can't really tell through the storm,” Taggart said. “But it's hard to believe they could get anything done in that mess.”
“If the enemy is as determined as I think they are, they might be bold enough to try using the sandstorm for cover,” Falsrain said. “What's that area's developmental status?”
“Minimal,” Taggart said. “The only Theran presence for hundreds of kilometers are a handful of mining facilities.”
“I see.” Falsrain took a moment to consider this, then asked, “Is that detachment I ordered ready to deploy?”
Taggart nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Patch me through to the exosuits,” Falsrain commanded.
After a moment, the sight of Omicron and Lambda in the cockpits of their exosuits, their faces obscured by the visors of their helmets, replaced the grainy image of the Chariot on the main screen. Omicron was tapping his finger impatiently on the instrument panel while Lambda leaned back in her seat. As soon as the connection opened, both of them snapped to attention.
“We've located the enemy's landing zone,” Falsrain said. “They touched down in the middle of a remote desert. We'll forward the coordinates to you shortly. The area's blanketed in a heavy sandstorm, but that won't stop the rebels, and it won't stop you. I've prepared a detachment of two Nimbuses carrying First and Second Platoons, an Ambition loaded with Watchdogs, a supply convoy, and a squadron of Slayers for air support. You will use this detachment to recover the target and, if possible, eliminate the rebel escort. Omicron, you're in charge. Lambda is second in command.”
“Music to my ears, sir,” Omicron said.
“Understood,” Lambda said.
“Remember, the entire moon is smothered by silence particles,” Koga said. “Long-range wireless communication will be impossible. Of course, that includes this vessel. So don't expect any real-time support from us. And there's virtually no Theran presence in the region, so you won't get any help from the Colonial Administration.”
Omicron grinned. “No problem, sir. We cut the enemy's strength in half when they had every advantage. With this much firepower, we'll crush them like a hammer this time.”
Koga pursed his lips. “See that you do.”
“After you've recovered Charlie,” Falsrain added.
The transmission terminated.
*
The Onyx Down hovered over the golden-haloed marble of Chalice. No longer concealed by its stealth field, the assault carrier's form stood revealed: a long, narrow main hull like the blade of a sword, with a rotating ring in place of a handle guard.
The hangar's outer gate opened and disgorged a sequence of smaller craft from its depths. First came the cybernetic floral shape of Omicron's Ghost. Next launched Lambda in her Arrow-3. In contrast to the Ghost's rounded, organic silhouette, the Arrow-3 was all sharp corners, sleek and aerodynamic for maximum atmospheric maneuverability, its silhouette dominated by a pair of shoulder-mounted thruster arrays. When the suit applied its thrusters at full power, the elongated propellant trails took on the appearance of enormous wings of fire.
Following Omicron and Lambda's suits, a pair of boxy Nimbus-class dropships launched. Behind them came an even more enormous Ambition loaded with battle drones. Finally, a squadron of Slayer aerospace bomber drones launched and blazed forward at full boost to catch up to the other vessels.
The flotilla fell into a tight formation and angled down toward the moon. The crafts' noses lit up with fire as they plunged through the atmosphere. A heavy fog closed around them as they descended through the upper cloud layer, then they emerged on the other side and the vast brown landscape of the desert opened up below, its features obscured by the tumultuous undulations of a sandstorm. With their retro rockets and airbrakes fully deployed, the exosuits and dropships descended into the sea of dust. The Slayers pulled up to fly a covering pattern over the landing zone, though between the silence particles and the sandstorm, their ability to detect targets would be severely impaired.
Thick ribbons of sand flying through the air reduced visibility to practically nothing. Omicron's Ghost came down on the crest of a sand dune. The sand shifted under its feet and it slid for several meters before regaining its footing. Lambda landed on top of a rocky ridge on the opposite side of the rebel ship from Omicron. The three dropships landed in a triangular formation around the rebel vessel and lowered their ramps. Each Nimbus disgorged a platoon of marines, who quickly fanned out and fell prone on the dunes with their weapons trained in the general direction of the rebel ship. A score of quadrupedal battle drones emerged from the Ambition and spread out in search of targets, followed by several supply vehicles. Finally, once their passengers and cargo had disembarked, the dropships took off and screamed back into the sky.
Walls of blowing sand obscured everything. Periodically, fluctuations in the wind patterns caused the sand to thin just enough for the rebel ship to become briefly visible, only to vanish within the sea of dust the next instant. The marines donned oxygen masks to protect their respiratory systems from the raging storm of dust particles and hunkered down, awaiting orders.
*
Omicron stared at his impotent viewscreen in annoyance. His gaze dropped to his sensor readout. It was mostly static thanks to the silence particles, but at least he could make out everything in the immediate vicinity, including the assault force and the rebel ship in the center of their formation. He opened a channel to the rest of the force.
“All units,” he announced, “this is Lieutenant Omicron. Remember not to stray too far from the main force. Our sensors and communications have extremely limited range down here. Is there any sign of movement from the rebel ship?”
The answers came one by one, barely discernible through the crackling static.
“This is First Platoon. No sign of movement.”
“Second Platoon. Nothing, sir.”
“Negative,” came Lambda's voice last.
“See anything else in the vicinity?” Omicron asked.
Again the answers came in the negative.
Omicron tapped his fingers on his instrument panel. “OK,” he said. “Let's check out their ship. Second Platoon, send a team to investigate.”
“Lieutenant Omicron,” Lambda interjected. “Perhaps it would be better to send one of the drones, just in case it's a trap.”
Omicron adjusted his comm to transmit to Lambda alone. “One drone, a few marines,” he said. “What's the difference?”
“In these conditions, the drones' usefulness is limited,” Lambda replied after a brief pause. “As a result, they're more expendable. Besides, it's better for morale if the drones take the brunt of the losses.”
“All right, all right, whatever makes you happy,” Omicron snapped, then muttered under his breath, “Naggy broad.” He reopened the channel to the rest of the force and said, “Belay that order. Send one of the drones to check it out.”
Omicron adjusted his viewscreen to display a video feed from the drone chosen for scouting duty. The image, already obscured by the sandstorm, also suffered from jumps and static bursts resulting from unreliable transmission. Even so, Omicron was able to follow the drone's progress as it scrambled across the dunes, then walked under the hull of the rebel ship, entering its shadow. The drone pivoted its camera upward, scrutinizing the underside of the vessel. The ship's boarding ramp was retracted, preventing entry. The camera swept from one side of the vessel to the other in search of an alternate entrance and found none.
“Looks like we'll have to make our own entrance,” Omicron said. “That hull's too thick for the drone's laser. Hang on a second. I'll take care of it.”
Omicron switched the video feed back to his main camera and maneuvered his Ghost to the base of the sand dune. Still keeping his distance from the ship, he took aim with his particle cannon. He waited for a momentary break in the gusts of sand and targeted the bay door on the bottom of the vessel. His grip tightened on the controls and he squeezed the trigger.
A blinding flash filled his viewscreen as the ship blew up with the force of a volcanic eruption. The explosion shook the ground and sent Omicron's suit sprawling onto its back. Fire and debris shot hundreds of meters into the air.
Omicron returned his suit to its feet, cursing. “Those miserable subbie bastards booby-trapped the damn thing.” He opened a transmission to the rest of the force. “Damage report?”
There was a pause before the reports started coming in.
“This is First Platoon. Some minor injuries, but nothing debilitating. The dune protected us from the brunt of the blast.”
“Second Platoon. We lost the drone that we sent to check out the ship, but otherwise we're in the same shape.”
“Lambda reporting. No major damage.”
Omicron paused to consider the situation. It was fortunate that his forces had kept their distance from the ship. Clearly the rebels were long gone, and Charlie with them. Whichever direction they had fled to, the raging winds had erased all traces of their passage, and aerial su
rveillance would be unlikely to find them through the sandstorm. Still, he had a good idea where they had gone.
“There's a system of narrow, winding canyons to the north of here,” he said. “The rebels have probably gone that way. We'll set off after them immediately.”
“What if the rebels anticipated that,” Lambda said, “and they went in some other direction?”
“Then they're out in the open and the Slayers will find them as soon as the storm clears,” Omicron replied. “Now let's get moving. If they get too much of a lead on us, we'll never find them in that labyrinth.”
With a blast of its powerful thrusters, Lambda's exosuit leapt clear over the wreckage of the rebel ship and landed on the sand dune next to Omicron. Unwilling to be second, Omicron rocketed up the dune ahead of her. The two of them led the force away from the landing zone, followed by two columns of marines, Watchdog battle drones, and a small convoy of supply vehicles. Behind them, clouds of smoke wafted skyward from the wreckage of the rebel ship, only to be dispersed by the fierce winds of the sandstorm.
13
As Vic had feared, the sandstorm overtook them before they could reach the canyons. Maintaining a swift march across the shifting sands had already been difficult, but it was made even harder by the necessity of struggling against the fierce wind and swirling rivulets of abrasive sand. Vic kept his head down and his arm up over his face, trying to blank out his mind. The only thoughts that could occupy him now were all burdened with the fear of torment and death. It was better not to think about anything.
Time lost all sense of meaning in the painful march through the sandstorm. Eventually, the rebel column emerged from the sea of sand into a broken region studded with outcroppings and ridges,which provided some shelter from the storm. The rocky ground made for better footing than the shifting sands, as well. Vic's breathing was already harder than normal and his heart was pounding in his chest. He looked around at the rebel soldiers and, seeing that they appeared undaunted, determined to swallow his weakness and press on. He would not give them reason to leave him behind in this wasteland by slowing them down.
