Messenger

by James Walker

  “A careful answer,” Pierson observed. “So you reserve judgment?”

  “I guess that's what it comes down to,” Vic agreed.

  Pierson's mouth spread into a smile. “That's a better response than worship or condemnation. To tell you the truth, I don't know if I did the right thing either.” He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “The three of us are going to do a little investigating. Would you like to join us?”

  “You mean the transcontinental tunnel?” Vic asked.

  “Every minute we're stuck here puts us in danger,” Pierson said. “But the prospect of getting trapped in the tunnels without rapid transportation, with nowhere to run, is equally unappealing. Either way, we need more information. Sergeant Hound, Corporal Yun, and I are going to check out the tunnel for ourselves. Want to come along?”

  Vic considered this. Certainly, he was as eager as the rebels to escape the Union's pursuit, and he held no deep trust for the settlers. If he could help ensure that they had a secure escape route, that was as good a use for his time as any.

  “OK,” he nodded. “Just tell me what to do.”

  “First, go grab your pistol,” Pierson told him.

  Vic complied. He returned to his room, dropped off the lantern, and grabbed the pistol he had taken from the Chariot's armory. He strapped the holster around his waist and returned to the cavern, where Pierson and the others were waiting outside the cargo hauler.

  “Good,” Pierson said. “Have you ever fired a gun before?”

  “No,” Vic admitted.

  “Then let's give you a crash course.”

  Pierson retrieved a small box from the cargo hauler, then led Vic to a deserted corner of the cavern. He set the box down and backed up about ten steps.

  “There are various schools of thought on how best to hold your gun,” he explained. “I'll show you one of the most common.”

  Pierson drew his pistol, struck a defensive stance, and held the pistol at nearly arm's length, using his left hand for support.

  “You want the far sight to line up in between the front sights. Once you've got a bead on your target, smoothly squeeze the trigger. Don't jerk it—that will ruin your aim. It should almost be a surprise when the gun fires.”

  He fired a single round. The box jerked and a small hole appeared in its side. Pierson holstered his pistol and nodded to Vic. “Now you try it.”

  Vic drew his pistol, mimicked the stance Pierson had shown him, and lined up the box in the sights. He started to squeeze the trigger. It took more pressure than he expected. He squeezed harder and the gun jumped in his hands. The box spun around, now sporting a new hole near one of the upper corners.

  “Good,” Pierson said. “Now empty your magazine at it. Go for accuracy, not speed.”

  Vic looked at Pierson. “The whole magazine?”

  “There are spares on your belt,” Pierson said. “Besides, we need to show you how to reload. Now do it.”

  Vic complied, taking the time to recover his aim between shots. Every shot hit the box, though the holes were widely spaced.

  “Pretty good for a beginner,” Pierson said. “To eject the magazine, press the button on the side of the handle.”

  Vic complied. The empty magazine slid out into his waiting hand. He stuck it in his pocket and grabbed a fresh magazine off his belt.

  “Ram the magazine hard into the handle,” Pierson instructed. “You'll hear it click. Once it's in, rack the slide to load a round into the chamber. Then all you have to do is pull the trigger until you run out of bullets.”

  Vic did as he was told, then took one more test shot at the box. The gun fired. He returned the gun to its holster.

  “Good enough for now.” Pierson turned to the others. “All right, let's get going.”

  16

  Vic, Eric, and Huan followed Pierson out of the cavern and entered a long, curving tunnel. Pierson paused to fiddle with his pocket computer.

  “I'll set my com to track our movements,” he said. “I tried to memorize the map Mwatabu brought up for us. I didn't get all the details, but I think I've got the general idea of the layout.”

  They pressed on into the gloom. The winding tunnel eventually led to a sprawling habitation district like the one the rebels had passed through en route to the supply area. Here, too, piles of garbage rested against the sides of graffiti-covered walls. The best illumination that the half-functional lighting could manage was a dim fog punctuated by clouds of dust that the unreliable ventilation system failed to remove. Nearly every block was dotted with the flashing neon lights of bars, casinos, and strip clubs.

  “It seems the forsaken settlement of Gemdrop is practically one big red light district,” Pierson observed. “Appropriate for a city of eternal night.”

  “This place is a craphole,” Eric said. “But what else can you expect? Just another place forsaken by the Therans. Everything they turn their backs on goes all to hell.”

  “I don't know,” Huan said. “I wouldn't mind trying one of the casinos.”

  At that moment, a man came out of a nearby bar, taking a draught from a bottle of liquor. He ran into Pierson, muttered an inarticulate curse, and stumbled away.

  “Excuse me a moment.” Pierson put a hand on the man's shoulder. “Can you tell us the way to the mag station?”

  “Huh?” The man looked over his shoulder at Pierson with a sneer. “You ain't from around here, are ya?”

  “No, we're not,” Pierson admitted. “That's why we could use some directions.”

  “Go bother someone else, wipe,” the man spat before stumbling away.

  “Friendly town,” Huan said.

  “You four,” came a gruff voice from the opposite direction.

  Pierson and the others turned to see a trio of uniformed men approaching with stun rods in their hands. The badges on their chests suggested that they held the status of police within the illegal settlement.

  “Where the hell did you people come from?” one of the police demanded. “Didn't anyone tell you firearms are prohibited inside the set­tlement? We'll have to confiscate your weapons and take you down to the station for questioning.”

  Eric made a move for his gun, but Pierson grabbed his wrist to prevent him from drawing it. He stepped forward and said calmly, “You'd better not. We're from the SLIC unit that's taking temporary refuge in this settlement. I would hope you've been informed of our presence.”

  “SLIC unit?” The constables exchanged looks. “These must be the rebels the chief mentioned. I think we'd better not mess with these guys.”

  The first constable hesitated. “All right,” he relented after a moment's consideration. “You can go about your business. But don't cause any trouble. This is our settlement. We won't put up with outsiders trying to throw their weight around.”

  Pierson watched the constables leave. “I don't think we're going to get much help from the locals.” He turned to the others. “Let's go somewhere less inhabited. We're too conspicuous here.”

  They continued exploring the town, taking care to avoid any further contact with the locals. At one point a prostitute propositioned them, but once it became clear that they weren't interested in her business—aided by Eric stomping on Huan's foot to shut his mouth—and that they had nothing to trade in exchange for information, she left without telling them anything.

  Finally, the group found their way out of the residential and commercial districts and entered an industrial sector. This part of town was filled with factories, refineries, and warehouses, most of which had been shut down and converted into makeshift residences. Hungry eyes stared at them out of shrouded alleyways. They kept their hands close to their sidearms, but no one ventured out of the shadows to challenge them.

  “It looks like the settlers have made some expansions to the original plans,” Pierson observed. “These areas are bigger than the map in­dicated. But I'm pretty sure I know where we are. We should be getting close to the station. It was built near the industrial sect
or to facilitate the transfer of goods and raw materials between settlements.”

  “I'll sure be glad to get the hell out of this place,” Eric whispered. “This is the nastiest slum I ever saw.”

  “Definitely not something a Theran would say,” Vic muttered. “I've seen worse.”

  As they continued down the street, they noticed the characteristic dome of a Luminous Shrine on the other side of the street. Its windows were dark. The religious structure stood out starkly against the utilitarian architecture of the warehouses on either side.

  “A shrine,” Pierson said in surprise. “That certainly wasn't in the original plans. Judging by the neighborhood character, I doubt it's been used in a long time.” He started across the street.

  As the others followed him, Vic asked, “Why are we going to the shrine?”

  “Curiosity,” Pierson answered. “It's so out of place here, I can't help but want to check it out.”

  One of the shrine's double doors was missing and the other hung at an awkward angle. The rebels stepped through the doorway into the domed interior. Benches radiated outward from the center of the space in concentric circles, all focused on the raised platform in the middle. Forbidden by Union law, the architecture and functions of Luminous Shrines were unfamiliar to law-abiding citizens, but it seemed clear that the structure had once been far more splendorous, its former beauty ruined by years of abuse and neglect.

  Huan pulled out a flashlight and flicked it on. He swept the circle of light from one side of the shrine to the next, revealing mostly dilapidation and disrepair, as well as a few syringes lying on the floor. Then he pointed the beam at the central platform and illuminated a tall figure cloaked in black robes, a great scythe held in one hand. A grinning animal's skull peeked out from under the hood, and the stone at its feet was stained with dark fluid. Everyone recoiled at the monstrous sight.

  “Shit,” Pierson hissed. “That's not good.”

  “What's wrong?” Vic asked.

  “They've desecrated this place, turned it into a shrine to Mohku Shiga,” Pierson said. “It's a new cult that popped up recently, popular with some illegal groups in the outer colonies. They worship this thing as some kind of death angel, offering it blood sacrifices to grant their wishes. Most worshipers are into heavy narcotics use. Any place where this thing is worshiped is bad news.”

  “Are we in danger here?” Vic asked.

  “Without a doubt,” Pierson replied.

  “Then we should get back to the others and get the hell out of here,” Eric said.

  “And go where?” Pierson demanded. “Into the waiting arms of the Spacy pursuit force? We've still got to find the transcontinental tunnels. Once we do, we're getting out of here. To hell with waiting for the mag cars—if they even exist.”

  Huan flicked off the flashlight and they filed out of the shrine. Back on the streets, they were even more cautious than before, ready to draw their weapons at the slightest sign of attack.

  At the next intersection, they found a sign hanging from the ceiling that read, “To Magnetic Transport Station,” with an arrow pointing to the right. They followed the sign and proceeded down yet another dingy street, which terminated in a wide tunnel leading downward. The entrance to the tunnel was flanked by two guards armed with automatic rifles.

  “Halt.” One of the guards pointed his rifle in the rebels' direction. “Unauthorized passage beyond this point is prohibited.”

  “This is the mag station?” Pierson asked. “We're from the SLIC unit that's taking refuge in this settlement. We were told there are some mag cars we can use in exchange for the provisions we traded.”

  “The cars are out at the moment,” the guard replied. “Passage is prohibited. Come back when the cars have returned. Until then, the station is off-limits.”

  “All right.” Pierson backed off and gestured to the others to follow.

  They went back down the street and turned the corner. Once out of sight of the guards, they paused to consider their options.

  “Even more suspicious,” Eric said. “Why wouldn't they want us to see the station? There's something wrong here.”

  “That much is obvious,” Pierson agreed.

  “Should we go back and report to the others?” Vic asked.

  “I'd rather collect more information first,” Pierson said. “I don't want any surprises waiting for us when we hightail it out of here.”

  “We won't get past those guards without a fight,” Eric said. “The four of us can't fight the whole settlement by ourselves.”

  Pierson glanced at Eric out of the corner of his eye. “Sergeant Hound,” he said, “you're a loyal soldier, but sometimes you're not very creative in your thinking.”

  Eric looked confused. “Sir? What do you mean?”

  “Why force our way through the front door when we can sneak in the back?” Pierson replied. “This settlement is riddled with maintenance tunnels. Follow me.”

  They followed Pierson to the edge of the settlement. The walls that marked the boundary of the space the excavators had cleared out of the rock were covered with metal plates, but in several places they had come loose, exposing the bare stone underneath. Pierson traced a path along the wall until he came to a channel cut into the floor. He dropped down into the channel and found that it terminated in a heavy iron door. The others climbed down after Pierson while the latter examined the door.

  “This will do nicely,” Pierson said.

  “Will it open?” Huan asked.

  “Not without a little help,” Pierson replied. “It's locked, no doubt to prevent people from doing exactly what we're about to do.”

  “Then it's no help to us,” Eric said.

  “Not quite true.” Pierson reached under his jacket and extracted a packet of plastic explosives and a detonator. “This will get us in.”

  Eric stared in disbelief. “Are you serious, Major? The noise will bring the entire settlement down on our heads.”

  “I'll only use enough to blow the lock. It won't be loud enough to attract attention.” Pierson went to work on the door. “Even so, you might want to stand back.”

  Pierson fitted the explosive into the crack between the door and the wall and attached the detonator. He set the timer for ten seconds, then stood back with the others and watched the door intently. Once the countdown was finished, they heard a muffled whoosh and a tendril of smoke wafted from the door. Pierson pulled the door open and looked back at the others with a grin.

  “Well? Better hurry up. We don't want to get caught by one of those charming constables.”

  Pierson entered the tunnel and waited for his companions. One by one, they came forward, ducked their heads, and stepped through the door into the constricted tunnel beyond. Pierson directed Vic to close the door behind them, then extracted a flashlight and flicked it on. Huan followed suit. The lonely beams were their only source of light within the darkness.

  Pierson led the way through the maze of the tunnels. The group splashed through puddles formed from leaky pipes that ran along the ceiling, keeping their heads low to prevent from brushing against curtains of cobwebs. From time to time, shining eyes appeared in their lights before scurrying off into the darkness, but not before revealing the long whiskers, ridged backs, and hairless tails of mutated Chalice rats.

  Finally, they came to another door. Pierson put his hand on the latch and nodded to the others. He and Huan flicked off their flashlights. As everything plunged into darkness, Pierson opened the door.

  Dim light revealed an immense tunnel separated into sections by criss-crossing beams made of special magnetic material. Pierson leaned out and looked to the right. The tunnel stretched into the distance as far as the light could penetrate, vanishing into blackness. He looked in the other direction and saw a cluster of lights in the distance, the source of the tunnel's illumination.

  Huan let out a low whistle. “It's gigantic.”

  “This is the transcontinental tunnel,” Pierson said. “And
I'd wager those lights to our left are the station. Let's see if we can't get a little closer.”

  Pierson dropped to the tunnel floor, followed by Eric, then Huan, and finally Vic. The four of them made their way cautiously toward the lights. As they drew closer, they readied their sidearms and stayed alert for any sign of danger.

  Finally, the hazy illumination clarified into a platform adjoining the tunnel. Two large magnetic cars sat next to the platform with their loading ramps hanging open. A handful of guards were milling about the platform, along with a squad of armed men in tattered cloaks. Several workers were offloading boxes from the cars.

  “I knew it.” Pierson scowled. “All the mag cars are out, huh? It looks like there's some kind of delivery in progress. Wonder what the goods are.” He turned to the others. “You three cover me. I'm going to take a closer look.”

  Pierson crept closer to the station until he was flush with the platform. He waited until no one was looking in his direction, then ran at a crouch and hid behind the nearest mag car. The workers seemed to be concentrating on offloading the other one first. Pierson crept to the back of the car, reached inside the cargo bay, and checked the con­tents of several boxes.

  One of the guards started toward the mag car. Keeping his body low to the ground, Pierson darted back toward the others and hid in the shadows. The guard leaned around the mag car and looked down one end of the tunnel, then the other. He spat a wad of phlegm into the darkness, then turned around and wandered back to the other guards.

  Pierson crossed the remaining distance to his companions. “Liquor and drugs,” he whispered. “Including ether-shroud. Nasty stuff. The situation is even worse than I thought. These drug smugglers are just as bad as the Union. With these settlers as their customers, we're pretty much in a den of rabid wolves.”

  “What's the plan, Major?” Eric asked.

  “You three go back to base and report to Guntar,” Pierson said. “Tell him to get everyone down here to the station. Blast their way past the guards if they have to. We'll steal the smugglers' mag cars and scram.” He input a rapid sequence of commands to his pocket computer. “I'll forward you the data from the movement tracker just in case you can't remember the way.”