Agry looked over his shoulder at his corporal, Ben Hodgson, and pointed ahead with two fingers as he looked. Hodgson advanced forward, his soldiers following him as they were covered by Agry’s contingent. Agry watched as they descended cautiously into the darkness and for a few moments there was nothing but silence. Then a series of glowing lights flickered on in the bunker, visible through the observation windows.
Moments later, Hodgson’s voice crackled in Agry’s helmet.
‘Not enough energy remaining for atmospheric heating, but bleeding air into the bay now.’
Agry’s gaze flicked up to the vents high on the bay walls in time to see vapor billow out of them like dark clouds, filling the bay with bitterly cold but breathable air and allowing the Marines to conserve their oxygen supply.
Moments later the lighting in the bay flickered into life and filled it with a deceptively warm glow to reveal an empty structure with no other vessels inside. A red light high on the walls of the bay turned green, and Agry gave a thumbs–up to his men. They switched off their oxygen supplies and opened vents on their masks to allow the air in, but kept the masks on as protection against the bitter cold.
‘Let’s move,’ Agry snapped.
The Marines headed as one for a series of hatches that led into the ship’s interior, all of which were sealed. A schematic projected onto Agry’s mask visor directed him to the hatch he wanted – the one that led toward the bridge deck.
‘Delta on me,’ he ordered. ‘Charlie, maintain the perimeter here and see what you can do about the temperature. Any signs of life from the ship?’
‘Nothing,’ Corporal Hodgson replied. ‘No incoming data so the computers are down.’
‘The Ayleeans are not aboard,’ Agry reassured the corporal, knowing that he and his men would be cautious of encountering Ayleean warriors. ‘But stay sharp.’
Hodgson nodded at the sergeant as he passed by the bunker, the twenty Marines of his platoon following as they approached the hatches and two soldiers eased forward of the rest without command. As Agry watched the two men worked efficiently to set small plasma charges against the hatch’s locking mechanisms and hinges, designed to burn through rather than blast off. The two soldiers hurried away from the charges and moments later the hinges flared brightly with a fearsome blue–white light, drops of liquid metal spilling away from the hatch onto the deck.
‘Rams, go!’ Agry whispered.
Two Marines hefted a metallic ram between them and rushed the door, and with a dull boom that echoed around the landing bay the ram slammed into the smoldering door and it broke free of its mountings and flew away down the corridor, the heavy metal hatch flashing dimly as it rotated in mid–air.
Agry rushed past the ram and into the corridor, his rifle’s flashlight illuminating the passage as several more soldiers thundered fearlessly in behind him, their footfalls echoing away into the distant, darkened ship. Their flashlights scanned the darkness like laser beams, but nothing moved but for the faint haze of moisture and ice clinging to the walls and to dense foliage and twisting vines coated in ice, the limbs frozen in position by the frigid cold.
Agry edged forward, keeping an eye open for opportunities for cover amid the frozen foliage in case something unexpected leaped out at them. The schematic on his visor guided him, overlaying vector lines across the corridor deck with arrows pointing to the bridge. The general turned left at the end of the corridor, glancing right briefly to see another corridor of endless bulkhead hatches stretching away far beyond the reach of his flashlight.
‘Deck Charlie,’ he whispered to his men. ‘We’ll ascend to deck Alpha at the first opportunity and then move for the bridge. Jesson, Miller, you wait here and guard the corridor entrance in case we need to retreat. I don’t want anything sneaking up behind us.’
A whispered Aye, Gunny reached Agry’s ears as the two men peeled off and took up firing positions at the entrance to the landing bay corridor. Agry moved on with the same deliberate, cautious gait. The corridor was long, one of the main arterial routes that stretched from bow to stern through the massive ship. .
He posted two more sentries, leaving him with eight men to ascend to the bridge, and then as one they moved into the stairwells and began to climb. The darkness was still bitterly cold, barely above freezing according to Agry’s sensor readings.
The troops climbed up without incident and reached A–Deck, Agry maintaining the lead as he opened the hatches and stepped out onto the deck.
Hexagonal in shape and as dark as the rest of the ship, the bridge deck was dominated by two massive hatches that were sealed. Agry crept forward as his men silently fanned out and formed a defensive ring, alternating men aiming inward toward the bridge doors and outward toward various access points from A–Deck.
Agry placed a charge on the bridge doors, set the timer for five seconds and then activated the charge before retreating to a safe distance. The charge lit and burned with ferocious intensity for several seconds as it seared through the doors’ locking mechanism, illuminating the deck with a flickering white light. Moments later, the mechanism glowed like magma in the darkness and dropped fat globules of glowing molten metal onto the deck as Agry advanced and waved his men forward. Together, Agry and two troopers leaned their weight into the doors. The general raised three fingers, then two, then one and then with a combined burst of effort the Marines slammed into the doors and they burst open.
Agry lunged onto the bridge as his rifle swept around for any sign of a target.
The bridge was darkened, none of the instrument panels aglow and the main viewing panel black and featureless. The flashlights of his men illuminated a series of control panels frosted with ice crystals as Agry moved forward and his light beam caught on what looked like a cylindrical panel, one of three mounted against the far wall of the bridge.
The sergeant eased his way toward the panel, his weapon pointed at it as the Marines behind him saw his path and target and silently formed up into firing teams, ready to blast whatever might come out of the capsules. Agry reached the nearest of the three capsules and took a final cautious step forward, unable to tear his gaze from the sight before him.
‘What the…?’
The lights from the Marine’s weapons illuminated the face of an Ayleean warrior, frozen in time it seemed within the claustrophobic interior of an emergency survival capsule. As Agry looked at the other two capsules he saw two more Ayleeans within, his Marines wiping frost from the observation panels.
‘We’ve got survivors,’ Agry reported in, ‘three warriors, they’re in what looks like cryogenic storage.’
Doctor Schmidt’s voice replied as his projection shimmered into view, illuminating the corner of the bridge with a pulsing blue glow.
‘That’s not possible, I didn’t detect any biological life forms aboard the vessel from here.’
‘You said your sensors may have been blocked by all the stray energy leaking out of the ship,’ Agry reminded him of the briefing the Marines had received. ‘The hull’s badly compromised and the ship won’t hold together much longer. If we don’t leave soon we’re going to be joining these guys as permanent residents.’
A long silence followed, and Agry could imagine the admiral picturing the scene aboard the stricken warship and also the political situation. The last anybody had heard of the Ayleeans was when one of their warships made a direct attempt to destroy New Washington, one of the largest orbital cities around Earth. Titan had defeated the vessel and saved countless thousands of lives with Admiral Marshall at her helm, and now the Ayleeans were a spent force. Yet despite the admiral’s insistence that the advantage should be pressed home, that the CSS fleet should deploy to Ayleea and take control of the planet for once and for all, as ever the Council of Governors on Earth had hesitated, reluctant to sustain a war–footing once again. Marshall had argued that the war would be quick, a decisive strike against an aggressive and implacable enemy, but the council had countered that the same had been
said of the previous Ayleean War, which had dragged on for more than a decade and cost the lives of thousands of human soldiers.
Marshall’s voice broke through the sergeant’s reverie.
‘Bring them back from that ship before it falls apart.’
Agry blinked in surprise. ‘Seriously? You know what they’ll do once they wake up, they can’t be trusted after what happened at New Washington and…’
‘Those were the actions of one Ayleean,’ Marshall cut him off, ‘not their population. We don’t know what happened here but those warriors might. Once you’re out we’ll blast that warship and finish the job. No sense in leaving it for them to put back into action, but if we can save the lives of those survivors it might convince the Ayleean leadership that we’re not intent on their destruction.’
Agry sighed. Marshall was right, of course: a political olive branch now might pay dividends in the long run and nobody wanted another war with Ayleea, but even so he didn’t like the idea of cheerfully transporting three of their hated enemies straight aboard the fleet’s flagship.
‘Roger that,’ he replied. ‘My teams will be clear in fifteen minutes. Have Schmidt on stand by to thaw these guys out and find out what happened to them. If this is another ruse, I want the warriors perforated with plasma before they can think to take their first breath.’
***
IX
San Diego,
California
Although a great many things had changed on planet Earth in the four hundred years since Nathan Ironside had left his old life behind, the crystalline blue waters of the Pacific Coast had not.
The taxi–shuttle descended down through a layer of light cumulus cloud and the city of San Diego glittered in the sunlight like jewels encrusted into a sandy beach, the ocean stretching away toward the west and a milky horizon.
‘Now this is what I call heaven,’ Foxx said as she leaned across Nathan to watch more closely as the shuttle came in over Ocean Beach to land at the city spaceport.
Nathan could see that the city was much smaller than it used to be, the sprawl from Miramar to Spring Valley now reduced to a patch of glittering skyscrapers that touched the three thousand foot cloud base, like giant glass crystals embedded into the earth. The spaceport was smaller than the airport that he remembered, no runways but merely large circular landing pads surrounded by dozens of smaller, similar pads and terminal buildings. He could see small craft catching the light as they flew out of the port toward terrestrial destinations around the globe, no location more than an hour away at near–orbital velocities.
Most all of Earth’s cities were a fraction of the size that Nathan recalled, his own home town Denver likewise reduced to a patch of human occupation on a planet now largely returned to nature. San Diego had once been home to well over a million people, but now his optical implant informed him that just seventy five thousand people called the city home. Only the wealthiest lived here on the surface, and such a visit was considered a luxury by Detective Foxx, her green eyes gleaming and a soft smile touching her sculptured lips as she pushed a strand of silvery hair over one tiny ear and watched the city passing by below them.
‘You see, hanging around with me is good for you. This is the second time you’ve been planet–side since I showed up,’ Nathan grinned.
‘Since you showed up I’ve also almost been killed several times,’ she reminded him. ‘But at least I get to breathe fresh air for a change.’
The shuttle landed on one of the smaller pads at the spaceport and a small vehicle drifted across to them, four seats inside and a low wind shield that apparently had no wheels and merely hovered just above the surface of the dispersal area. Nathan spotted a police department emblem on its side as he stepped out of the shuttle and smelled the wonderful scent of the nearby ocean and of air that hadn’t been recirculated through New Washington’s scrubbers a few thousand times.
Foxx led the way across to the police vehicle as its side door opened and a detective leaned out and shook her hand. Stocky, perhaps a little overweight, with thinning brown hair and an easy smile, he looked every inch the lucky cop who got the planet–side gig while the rest of the department sweated it out in New Los Angeles orbit.
‘Detective Larry Samson, first precinct, San Diego,’ he introduced himself as they climbed in. ‘You guys on the Reed case?
‘Down from New Washington,’ Foxx confirmed as the doors closed and Samson drove out of the airport, the craft as smooth as could be on its gravity–defying propulsion system.
‘Must be a hell of a ride,’ Samson pointed out as he switched the craft onto some kind of autopilot and stretched out in his seat, swivelling it around to face them. ‘So what’s the deal here? Xavier Reed went hands–down on the best built case we had this year, no contest from the defense or the jury other than the usual hearsay. What gives?’
Nathan replied, keen to take any flak away from Foxx.
‘Questions,’ he said, ‘about motive and about Reed’s record prior to the event.’
‘You’re investigating the motive?’ Samson chuckled. ‘You know that Ricard died from a plasma hit to the chest at close range after an argument, right?’
‘Reed claimed that his weapon fizzled, that he didn’t make the fatal shot.’
‘Sure, that’s what Reed used as his defense and it was rejected out of hand. His family screaming about it won’t help, the guy’s a convicted murderer.’
‘He still claims a third party was involved,’ Nathan added.
‘So? These dudes would likely invoke the presence of Zeus if they thought it would get them off the hook! Do you know how many homicides we had in the city last year?’
Nathan shook his head.
‘Fourteen,’ Samson replied. ‘That’s more than one a month and the worst it’s been for decades. The police commissioner’s already been hauled over the coals by the governor about the rise in crime and he’s not going to take kindly to somebody walking in here and overturning a solid conviction.’
‘Even if that conviction turns out to be unsound?’ Nathan challenged.
‘You ever heard of a stronger case?’
‘In my time,’ Nathan said, ‘there were a hundred homicides in San Diego every year.’
‘What do you mean your time?’ Samson asked, confused.
‘You worked this one, right?’ Foxx guessed, quick to intervene.
‘Sure I did,’ Samson admitted, ‘but don’t go gettin’ any ideas that I’m fighting for my pride here. Reed’s as guilty as they come and no appeal is going to dig his sorry ass out of Tethys.’
‘Then you won’t mind us taking a look around,’ Foxx said with a sweet smile.
‘You go for your life,’ Samson said, and then glanced out of the windshield as a gentle ping sound alerted him. ‘Here we are.’
The craft slowed alongside an old building that looked somewhat like a barn, located at the foot of the hills at Montecito Point alongside a low warehouse that looked like it had been boarded up decades ago. Nathan climbed out with Foxx and looked around them. The residential areas that had once densely populated the area in Nathan’s time were long gone now, the rocky hillsides peppered with scrub and bushes, palms swaying in the gentle breeze from the coast that swept up the valley and carried with it the scents of the ocean and wildflowers. If Nathan looked carefully, he could just make out the centuries old foundations of the homes that had once stood on the hills, angular outcrops in the otherwise wild landscape.
‘This is it,’ Samson said as he gestured to the barn.
The barn itself was a bar, Nathan realized, devoid of tenants at this time of the morning as they followed Samson to the left of the building.
‘Reed and Anthony Ricard came out of the side door here,’ Samson pointed to a small access door in the side of the bar, ‘then stood here in this clearing. Reed shot Ricard, who fell right about here.’
Nathan looked at the spot where Ricard’s life had ended, his chest a black mass of cauterized
flesh. The spot was probably no more than five paces from the access door.
‘Looks like it happened fast,’ Foxx said. ‘They didn’t get far before the shooting started.’
‘That’s what the witnesses reported,’ Samson agreed. ‘The pair of them walked out here and moments later they heard the plasma shot. Case closed.’
Nathan shook his head. ‘Quite the opposite.’
Samson peered at him. ‘You kiddin’ me? Reed was caught by his own friends with a smokin’ pistol in his hand and one really dead buddy lying in the dust at his feet.’
Nathan gestured to the door.
‘They walk out here and shots are fired within seconds. Witness statements said that Reed led the way, right?’
‘Sure,’ Samson said, ‘so what?’
‘Well, if Reed led the way he would have had to draw his pistol, turn and then fire on Ricard. For his part, Ricard would have had to have been blind not to have reacted.’
Foxx stared at Nathan for a moment. ‘The reports said that Ricard had been drinking heavily, enough that he could have been surprised by Reed even if what you’re saying is true.’
‘And Reed could have had the pistol concealed, maybe pulled it discreetly or even drawn the weapon and spun at the same time,’ Samson added. ‘It’s not enough to question Reed’s conviction.’
‘It’s enough for me to look further,’ Nathan said as he looked across the clearing to the abandoned warehouse, leaving Samson to shrug indifferently.
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