Messenger

by James Walker

  “She's loaded up,” Guntar exclaimed. “Everyone climb into the mag cars!”

  Together with the remaining rebels, Vic clambered into the nearest mag car. He climbed into one of the seats near the back and was flung into the cushions as the car took off before he could sit down. He righted himself, tore off his filtration mask, and glanced out the rear window at the dust-strewn battlefield. The boarding station rapidly disappeared as the mag cars sped away at breakneck speed, propelled by generating an electromagnetic field that reacted with the tunnel's spe­cial construction materials. Vic, along with Guntar and Esther, had boarded the mag car operated by Pierson. He saw no sign of Eric and assumed that he must have boarded the one being flown by Huan.

  Raised voices from the front of the mag car caught Vic's attention. In the pilot's seat at the front of the passenger compartment, Guntar was gesticulating at Pierson.

  “So what the hell was the point of that stunt?” he demanded. “Did you actually think that holding their leader hostage would accomplish anything? These drug smugglers don't give a damn about anyone. Not even their own comrades.”

  “I suspected the smugglers might be planning some sort of action against us,” Pierson replied. “But I didn't think it would come so soon. My plan was to capture the leader and force him to tell us everything, then threaten him into ordering his men to stand down. It took longer to locate him than I expected. By then, using him as a hostage was the only option left.”

  “Well next time, you'll consult with me before taking independent action,” Guntar said. “We can't have the second-in-command of this outfit going maverick on us.”

  “I'll be more careful in the future, Colonel.”

  The console emitted a shrill warning sign. “That was fast,” Pierson said. “Bogey closing from behind at high speed.”

  “Only one?” Guntar asked.

  “I doubt it,” Pierson said. “We know they've got at least one suit with stealth capability.” He called over his shoulder, “Someone man the turret and keep those bogeys off our backs.”

  Vic was the closest one to the spherical turret that the smugglers had installed at the rear of the passenger compartment. He climbed into the turret and strapped himself in. A holographic interface appeared in front of him. Following the on-screen prompts, he activated the turret, then grabbed hold of the handles and gave it a few experi­mental turns. It responded intuitively to his movements.

  Within seconds, two great wings of fire appeared in the distance and closed rapidly with the mag cars, revealing themselves as the propellant trails of a sleek exosuit. Then Vic noticed a second, much smaller propellant trail being emitted from nothing. A jagged wireframe appeared at the source of the smaller trail while the words “Active Optics On” flashed at the bottom of his display.

  “I think there's two of them,” he exclaimed.

  “Fine,” Pierson called from the front. “Make it zero.”

  Vic swept the crosshairs across both targets and held down the triggers. A stream of tracer rounds erupted from the turret's cannons and arced across the enemy exosuits' paths. The stream of fire was soon joined by a second from the other mag car. The two suits performed barrel rolls in opposite directions to evade the crossfire, then one flew high and the other low, enclosing the mag cars in a vertical pincer for­mation. A barrage of glowing emerald projectiles erupted from the suit with the fire wings, aimed at the other mag car. The cloaked suit seemed to hold its fire, but suddenly Vic found himself pitched to the side as Pierson banked hard to the left, and the next instant debris rained down from the ceiling, missing the car by mere meters.

  “Damn microfilaments,” Vic snarled.

  Vic returned fire at the cloaked exosuit, which weaved deftly away from his barrage. Several times his aim was spoiled by abrupt maneuvers executed by Pierson, who struggled to provide a difficult target for the enemy's invisible microfilaments. After several exchanges, the en­emy suit unleashed a barrage of azure particle beams. The mag car weaved its way through the arcing beams, then flew through an open­ing in the tunnel's criss-crossing metal supports, placing it on the far side of the tunnel from the enemy suit.

  Vic could hardly believe Pierson's daring. The supports flew past at such speed that he could barely even see the openings, let alone imagine attempting to fly through them.

  “Yun,” Pierson shouted. “You've got to weave through the supports to get the enemy off your tail. It's only a matter of time 'til they hit you if you let them stay on your six like that.”

  “That's—that's impossible,” Huan's panicked voice came over the comm. “There's no way I can do that!”

  “You have to,” Pierson yelled at him. “Do it. Do it or you're dead!”

  Through the gaps in the support beams, Vic watched the other mag car in trepidation. The fire-wing exosuit spun away from its prey's ineffectual defensive fire with the ease and grace of a dancer, all the while maintaining a tight, ruthless shot pattern. Within seconds, Pierson's prediction was borne out as finally an emerald pellet struck one of the mag car's stabilizers.

  The car went into a spin and curved toward the far wall. The exosuit closed instantly with the mag car, drew a long blade from its waist, and severed the passenger section from the cargo compartment in one clean stroke. The suit then sheathed its blade and grabbed hold of the cargo compartment, saving it from destruction. Huan's terrified scream came over the comm only to be abruptly cut off as the passenger section crashed into the wall and skidded across the floor, sending debris flying for hundreds of meters. Both the fire-wing exosuit and the re­mains of the mag car soon faded from sight.

  Another particle beam lanced at the remaining mag car from directly behind. Pierson banked left at the last instant, avoiding the beam by a hair's breadth.

  The other exosuit had followed them through the supports.

  *

  The cargo compartment was too heavy to allow Lambda to maintain her lift. Firing her thrusters at maximum, she made a controlled landing and set the container down roughly on the ground. Omicron could handle the other mag car while she examined her catch.

  She lowered her exosuit to a crouch, opened the canopy, and leapt out. She opened the visor of her helmet and made her way around the cargo container. Although she had prevented it from sustaining any major damage, the rough landing had caused the door to break loose from one of its hinges, hanging ajar at an odd angle. She leaned around the corner and peered inside.

  The interior was a jumble of broken crates. Lambda stepped gingerly inside and investigated the contents. Drugs, alcohol, illegal spices—nothing but petty contraband. She sighed and left the container. Apparently the rebels had loaded Charlie onto the other mag car.

  Having confirmed the contents of the cargo compartment, she turned to the task of searching for survivors. The remains of the mag car and its passengers were strewn for hundreds of meters across the tunnel floor. Most of the remains weren't even recognizable. 100% fatalities, as expected.

  Lambda turned away from the scene of carnage and started toward her suit when a pained moan made her stop. Hardly able to believe her ears, she followed the sound to its source and found a rebel lying on the ground, his lower body trapped under heavy debris. He was a young man, large, broad-shouldered and square-jowled. He was covered in blood. His terrified eyes met Lambda's and he reached out his one free arm to her.

  “P—please,” he gasped through ragged breaths. “Please help me.”

  Overcome with pity, Lambda stepped closer. Enemy or no, she would not leave an injured man to his death if she could help him. The debris trapping the injured rebel looked heavy, but with her artificially augmented muscles, she might be able to move it. First, she reached out to take his hand, to reassure him.

  Then everything went black.

  Abruptly, the world came back into focus. Lambda stopped, confused. She looked at her outstretched hand and saw that her arm was covered with blood from her elbow to her fingertips. She looked down at the inju
red rebel and nearly retched at what had become of his face. There was no helping him now.

  Lambda stumbled back to her exosuit in a daze. She crawled inside, closed the hatch, and leaned forward, cradling her face in her hands. She was wracked with confusion. How had the rebel died? Had he ever been alive? Was she hallucinating?

  As quickly as it had come, the wave of uncertainty passed. Lambda sat up straight, her face back in its usual expressionless state, and strapped herself in. If Omicron hadn't finished with the other mag car yet, she would help him take it out. She revved up her exosuit's engines and blasted off down the tunnel after them.

  *

  The deadly pursuit continued. The rebel mag car weaved back and forth through the webs of supporting beams that separated the tunnel into sections, repeating multiple times the miracle of weaving through small openings at high speeds. Not to be outdone by rebel scum, Omicron mimicked the maneuver every time, continuing his attacks. The mag car unleashed streams of slugs at him every chance it got, but they might as well have been throwing spitballs for all the good they did. Omicron would never be clumsy enough to allow himself to be hit by fire from a single turret.

  Still, the rebel pilot was unreal, to be able to evade Omicron's attacks for this long. Countering evasive maneuvers was one of the primary strengths of the Ghost's armaments. Omicron remembered Lambda's report that the rebels had ace pilots in their ranks and was forced to confront the possibility that she had been telling the truth.

  The thought filled him with rage. How dare this rebel trash fight on par with him, the pinnacle of the Union's augmented human research? He would not allow himself to be humiliated by this terrorist garbage.

  Screaming with anger and frustration, Omicron fired all of his particle beams at once. Yet again, the rebel mag car found a gap in the attack and squeezed through. Several of the beams struck a common support pillar, blasting it into vapor.

  At once, the ceiling gave way and poured rocks down in front of Omicron. He hit the air brakes and retro thrusters at full blast; but at his velocity, that was not enough to prevent his suit from bouncing off the wall of rubble and sprawling onto its back. Debris continued pouring from the ceiling, half-covering the bottom of his Ghost, then finally the cave-in slowed to a trickle of pebbles and dust.

  Omicron dug his way out of the rubble, returned his suit to a standing position, and checked the damage readout. The front armor plating had sustained heavy damage, and the cloaking system was totaled. It could have been much worse.

  He turned his attention to the wall of rubble now blocking his path. Briefly, he wondered whether he might be able to dig a hole through it. No chance. It would take hours, maybe days, even with exosuits. By then, the rebels would be long gone.

  The sensors showed an object closing from behind at high speed. Omicron turned around and saw the signature fire wings of Lambda's Arrow-3 blazing toward him. As she drew near, she fired her retro rockets and landed next to him.

  Omicron opened a connection. “Well?” he demanded. “Was it there?”

  “No,” Lambda replied. “The target must have been with the other mag car.”

  “Ah.” Omicron swiveled his suit's main camera to view the cave-in blocking their path. “Well, it's on the other side of this rubble now.”

  A pause. “How did it happen?” Lambda asked.

  “Stray fire.”

  “From who?”

  Omicron grimaced. “From me,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “You're Chi strain, all right,” Lambda said. “Even the earth itself isn't safe from your rampages.”

  “Shut up.” Omicron terminated the connection and slammed his fist on the instrument panel. “Saucy wench.”

  THIRD MESSAGE: HONGPAN ~ A DARKNESS SHALL SEEK TO FILL THEE

  19

  The cluster of azure beams flew all around the mag car. Vic never perceived how Pierson maneuvered the car out of that death trap, but the next instant the roof of the tunnel came crashing down behind them, blocking the pursuing exosuit from view. Vic held his hope suspended for several agonizing moments, but there was no further sign of pursuit. Finally, he let out a long breath, climbed out of the turret, and collapsed into the nearest seat. He could hardly believe their luck. They had been saved from certain death by a fluke.

  A pang of grief ruined Vic's momentary relief. Huan had been piloting the other mag car. There was no way he could have survived that crash. And Vic saw no sign of Eric Hound—he must have been riding in the other car as well. Their mutual antagonism seemed like such a petty thing now. Whatever his failings, Eric had fought bravely for what he believed to be a righteous cause, and now he was dead.

  “That's it,” a nearby rebel croaked, his voice tinged with hysteria. “The end of the Quicksilvers. They took out nearly half of us on Port Osgow, and now they just cut our numbers in half again. This unit is finished.”

  “And for what?” another rebel demanded. “A fucking box! We don't even know what's in the damned thing. We could open it up and find that it's filled with gummy balls.”

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Guntar's gravelly voice cut through the outburst. The portly commander forced his way through the narrow aisle to the back of the mag car. “I won't hear any of that defeatist garbage out of the mouths of my men. You seriously think the Cage's contents are some trivial thing? When our agents stole it out of a maximum-security convoy? After they deployed an assault carrier loaded with their most elite troops and blew up half of Port Osgow trying to get it back?”

  Guntar looked around at the soldiers' frightened faces. “I know there have been many sacrifices. I feel the death of each and every one of my soldiers like he was my own brother. But that's war. That's what we all signed up for. And I promise you: Once we pry the Cage open and find out what's inside, that very act will strike the greatest blow against the Union since the victory at Halispont. Don't forget,” he swept his hand toward the pilot's seat at the front of the mag car, “we've got the very man who brought us that victory right here with us.”

  Vic could see the rebels' emotions vacillating between hope and despair. One of them hung his head and muttered, “Halispont screwed everybody, not just the Union. Why is it every time we score one of these so-called great victories, we hurt ourselves as much as the enemy?”

  “You want to say that a little louder?” Guntar grabbed the soldier by the collar and yanked him out of his seat. “It's only thanks to Halispont that we're able to fight the Union at all. Our enemy is the greatest military force in the history of mankind. They could burn this entire world to ashes in seconds if they wanted to, only it's too valuable for them to throw it away. Opposing them means walking a razor's edge between life and death. You think you can fight an enemy like that without sacri­fices? If you can bring us victory without losses, then I'll gladly give you my job as commander of this unit right now. Well? Can you do it?”

  The soldier sputtered incoherently.

  Guntar pushed him back into his seat with a snort. “Being a leader means having the guts to make hard decisions. If you can't take it, then keep your mouth shut and follow orders.” He looked again at the stunned faces of his subordinates. “I'll tell you again, every man we lose is like a knife in my heart. We've taken heavy losses and we're going to take a lot more before this war is over. That's what a rebellion is. But in the end, the Union will be defeated and this world will have a beautiful future free of their brutality and oppression. Then the heroic sacrifices of our comrades will be vindicated. Never lose sight of that goal.”

  Guntar returned to the front of the mag car, leaving silence in his wake. As he passed Esther, he said, “Dr. Klein? We've got some wounded men. Can you patch them up?”

  Esther looked up at him, only half-comprehending. “Huh? But... our medical supplies...”

  “Some of the men have their first-aid kits on them,” Guntar replied. “It's not much, but it's better than nothing. Get moving. They need your care.”

  “Yes, of course, Co
lonel.”

  Esther made her way down the aisle, tending to the injuries as best she could under the circumstances. She came to Vic last and leaned down to get a better look at him, her tired eyes marked with pity.

  “You look even worse than you did after the ordeal on Port Osgow,” she said. “Do you have your pack?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Vic pulled the backpack out from under his seat and lifted it with a grunt. “Right here.”

  “I just need the first-aid kit.” Esther extracted the kit, pulled out some cloth, and wiped Vic's face. “I can't even begin to make out the extent of your injuries with your face like that.”

  Esther finished wiping the blood off, then tilted Vic's face up and scrutinized it closely. “Looks like you got grazed by a bullet,” she observed. “It's actually not too serious. It might leave a scar, though. I'll apply some disinfectant. This might sting a little.”

  Vic barely flinched despite the sting of the disinfectant, then remained motionless as Esther covered the wound with a bandage. “Any other injuries?” she asked.

  “Just some cuts and bruises,” Vic replied. “Nothing worth getting upset over.”

  “Still, just to be safe, I'll give you an injection as well.” Esther administered a dose of regeneration fluid via jet injector, then packed up the first-aid kit and turned to leave.

  “Thanks,” Vic said. “It's almost strange, feeling a gentle touch in the midst of all this death.”

  Esther glanced at him over her shoulder. She said quietly, “The world is a cruel place. What gentleness there is, we must bring to it ourselves.”

  *