Markus limped up behind Beckman, his anxiety subsiding at Nuke’s ominous words.
“If you had power?” Beckman said, “Could you blow it?”
Nuke thought for a moment. “If there was enough power to generate a magnetic field strong enough to detonate the torp, yeah.”
“What about the stealth emitter power packs?”
Nuke’s face flashed with surprise. He’d considered the radio batteries, but not the GE packs. “Should work.”
“Good. Use Hooper’s power pack.”
“But there’s no timer,” Nuke said warily.
“I know. You’ll have to show me how to detonate it manually.”
Nuke swallowed, then replied barely above a whisper. “Yes sir.”
Beckman realized everyone was looking at him. “I’ll give you as much time as I can to get clear, but if we’re attacked, I’ll have to detonate the warhead.”
There was silence for a moment, then one by one, they continued their preparations; Tucker sharpening his knife, Xeno adjusting the straps on her stealth harness and Cougar cleaning his rifle. Bandaka turned back to his family and friends to say his farewells, knowing the soldiers could not find their way down the cliff face without him. He lifted Mapuruma into his arms and hugged her, then set his daughter down and put his arm around Djapilawuy. He kissed his wife on the cheek, whispered something to her as the rest of his group gathered around him, saying their goodbyes.
“This is madness,” Markus said.
“It’s improvisation. You don’t have to come. No one will think ill of you. This is a military operation now.”
Beckman went to his pack to retrieve his stealth gear, while Nuke took the GE power supply from Hooper’s pack and hooked it up to the torpedo’s detonator.
Markus caught Laura’s questioning eye, reading the disbelief on her face. In spite of everything, they’d failed to stop Beckman. They’d failed to save her husband. And worst of all, Markus’ holy grail was about to be annihilated.
* * * *
The four hunters followed the ridge north of their camp towards where they’d seen a column of steam rising the previous night. The gray cloud it had formed had dissipated by dawn, replaced by wispy threads of smoke snaking skyward from the smoldering ruins of the destroyed power plants and the shell of the tower. Some of the metallic debris surrounding the mine still glowed, while the surrounding forest was scarred black from extinguished spot fires.
“Must have been a bloody big explosion,” Cracker said, wishing he’d seen it go up.
“That’s what they get for nicking our beer,” Slab declared.
They started down the slope for a closer look, searching for any sign of movement. The closer they got to the clearing, the more they began to appreciate just how big the central tower had been. When they reached the edge of the forest, they stepped carelessly into the clearing, surprised at the spongy surface beneath their feet.
“It’s Astroturf,” Wal suggested. “Anyone got a footy?”
“Hey!” Slab barked. “We play footy on grass, not plastic carpet!”
A soot-like dust sprinkled with tiny metal droplets covered the ground. Bill picked up one of the droplets and turned it in his fingers, then showed it to the others. It was the remains of vaporized metal, cooled and fallen to earth. “Metal rain drops!”
They headed towards a circle of ragged foundations, all that remained of one of the power plants. A melted machine stood in the center of the ruins surrounded by a debris field of melted metal and twisted equipment. At one time, the machine would have resembled a horizontal capsule supported by triangular mounts, with a circular translucent surface in the center through which the transmission beam was projected. Now the capsule had been torn open like tin foil, and the heat radiating from it was so intense that it prevented them approaching.
Giving the shattered power plant a wide berth, they headed toward the wrecked central tower. Its featureless wall rose ten meters above them to the jagged line that marked where the roof had been blown off. Strewn around the central tower were fragments of the upper walls, slivers of steam vents and the remains of the rings that had encircled the building. Jutting from the river was a large white section of the domed roof, now perched on by a dozen birds who had mistaken it for an island.
Cracker moved ahead of the others, surveying the damage to the central structure when he noticed a dark shape out of the corner of his eye. He turned, discovering a black rectangular vehicle parked halfway between the circle of shattered power plants and the river. Three small circular windows were evenly spaced along its side, one of which was cracked. A wall segment from the central structure pinned it to the ground, although the vehicle showed no other signs of damage.
Cracker waved to the others. “Oi! Over here!”
When they came up beside him, Slab said, “Looks abandoned,” then started towards it.
“Careful, mate,” Bill warned, “Might be someone inside.”
“I’ll give them a knuckle sandwich if there is,” Slab growled belligerently.
The others exchanged uncertain looks then followed Slab toward the vehicle. It sat on the ground, rather than floated above it, indicating it was fully powered down. A light covering of sooty dust coated the vehicle, while some of the metal raindrops had managed to land on its roof.
“Tough bastard,” Slab decided, guessing the wall fragment had hit it hard, but had barely scratched it. He didn’t realize the ship’s propulsion field had taken most of the impact, before collapsing, and that the hull was moderately armored.
Wal stepped up to the side of the vehicle and used his finger to write ‘Wash Me!’ in the thin layer of soot covering it, then turned and gave his mates an amused look.
Bill looked around for a body on the ground. “Where’s the pilot?”
“Maybe he was inside the building?” Cracker suggested.
Wal discovered the rear hatch was open. “It’s unlocked!” His eyes widened as a larcenous grin spread across his face. “Do you think we could nick it? Use it to get out of here?”
“Brilliant Einstein!” Slab said. “Who’s going to fly it? You?”
Wal’s brow furrowed as he realized none of them could even pilot an earth-built aircraft. “Well, no plan’s perfect.”
They gathered at the rear of the transport and peered in through the large circular hatch. Inside was an empty cargo compartment with a blank wall at the far end. Empty mounts of various sizes were placed along both walls for spare battloid weapons and shields. It was lit by only the sunlight shining through the hatch and side windows, as the interior lights were out. Even though the transport was capable of interplanetary flight, it lacked an air lock because battloids had no need of atmosphere.
“It’s a truck,” Bill said, recognizing the transport’s utilitarian nature.
Slab took hold of the side of the circular hatch, pulled himself up, and moved through the compartment curiously. When he reached the end of the compartment he turned and looked back at the others.
“This is a bloody boring UFO,” he said, then vanished.
“Slab!” Bill yelled, jumping up into the transport compartment and running to where Slab had disappeared. A moment later, the other two followed more cautiously. When Bill reached the far wall, he ran his hand along it, feeling for a concealed door. He blinked and found himself in the transport’s control room. Slab was crouched on the floor in front of him. Before Bill could speak, Slab’s big paw wrapped itself around his arm and dragged him down to the deck.
“Take it easy, mate!” Bill demanded, pushing Slab’s big hands away.
“Shh.” Slab pointed through the cockpit window. “There’s something out there.”
Bill sobered, peering uncertainly toward the control room window. It was a narrow horizontal slit that wrapped around the vehicle’s snub nose. Small, rounded windows were located further back on each side of the control room for lateral viewing. Before Bill had fully oriented himself, Wal appeared on the e
levator pad, and was promptly tackled to the ground.
“What did you see?” Bill asked Slab, not bothering to explain to Wal why his face was jammed into the deck.
“Some kind of flying machine,” Slab replied as he pushed Wal back onto the elevator plate. “Tell Cracker not to go outside,” he said, then he let go and Wal vanished before he could speak.
Slab crawled on all fours toward the two wide seats positioned in front of the controls, and peeked over the console through the window. A thick black disk a meter across floated in front of the transport’s nose. It was equipped with six tentacled arms, each fitted with dexterous metallic fingers capable of performing almost any maintenance task. Beneath the disk was a flat dome that glowed a soft orange, while above the dome were three more tentacles ending in glassy black metal bulbs. The bulbs were the machine’s ‘eyes’, swaying back and forth constantly, watching in every direction. One of the eye tentacles snaked down beneath the vehicle to examine the craft’s underbelly, while another studied the side of the transport that had been peppered with debris from the explosion. The third eye floated free, observing the wrecked mantle mine’s central tower and keeping a track of its surroundings in case hostile forces approached. The eye tentacle on the right side swayed across the control room window forcing Slab to duck down before it spotted him.
“It’s giving this thing the once over,” Slab said.
Several dull metal clangs sounded from below, then an electrical hiss began.
“Repairing it, more likely,” Bill said.
Cracker appeared on the elevator plate. “What’s going on in here? Wal’s babbling some rubbish about you blokes rugby tackling him.”
The glassy eyed tentacle outside the control room stopped, and turned toward Cracker, who stared back surprised, then Bill dragged him to the floor. The eye tentacle outside drifted toward the control room window as Bill and Cracker crawled across the deck to join Slab hiding beside the pilot’s seats.
“Did it see him?” Bill asked.
Slab looked disgusted. “How could it bloody miss his fat head?”
Cracker looked wounded. “Hey! I’m full-faced, not fat-headed!”
Slab crawled past the seats to the wall, then eased himself up, trying to catch a glimpse of the eye outside. Instinctively, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He turned to see a glassy black eye staring at him through the side window behind him. Another eye was watching him through the window on the other side of the control room.
He sighed and stepped out to see the third eye watching him through the front window. “Game’s up, fellas.”
Cracker and Bill stood, and together they stared at the tentacled machine curiously. The lights in the control room blinked on while the two consoles in front of the pilot’s seats glowed to life, displaying geometric patterns adorned with swirling characters.
“O-ho,” Bill said apprehensively.
A loud clang reverberated through the control room, as an access panel was slammed shut on the underbelly of the transport. A faint machine hum began, then the craft floated silently off the ground. Outside, the wall fragment was pushed silently away from the transport by its propulsion field.
“We’re moving!” Cracker exclaimed, feeling no movement, but seeing the ground outside fall away.
The vehicle rose above the tree tops as gently as a hot air balloon rising on a thermal. As they gained altitude, the forest spread out before them. Slowly, the transport turned to the west, bringing the ragged ochre cliffs of Parson’s Range into view. Without any sensation of movement, the vehicle accelerated at seventy gravities to twenty-five times the speed of sound.
Wal appeared on the elevator plate, an alarmed look on his face. “The back door’s closed!” He pushed past them to stare astonished at the green landscape sweeping beneath them in a blur. “Hey, we’re flying!”
“No mate,” Bill said gloomily, “We’re history!”
* * * *
Bandaka picked his way sure footedly down a crevice carved out of the rock by a narrow stream. The crevice’s normally ochre walls were gray from the ash of the fires that had raged after the landing. A third of the way down, it opened into a natural stairway where the water ran over rock ledges in a series of mini waterfalls, all the way to the valley floor. Following Bandaka in single file was the payload delivery team, led by Beckman. Only Virus found the going difficult, but Tucker stayed close to him, catching him several times when he stumbled.
When they emerged from the crevice, they found themselves in the shadow of a rock spur that ran southwest from the ridge, hiding them from the mothership. Not far from the spur, ashen waters crept toward them as the river slowly inundated the lowlands. Floating in the water were thousands of charred trees and the rotting corpses of countless birds and animals. A few water birds had flown in from beyond the valley, and were now picking their way over the watery graveyard while goshawks, falcons and eagles circled above in search of prey. The birds were unusually quiet, unsettled by the devastation and spooked by the gray metal mass that now dominated the valley. For once, they need not have feared the crocodiles, for none had survived the nuclear-like impact.
Out of habit, Bandaka avoided the water, choosing to stay close to the cliffs as he led them along the foot of the spur into the valley. When he reached the end of the cliffs, he stopped and watched as the soldiers approached in single file. When Beckman reached Bandaka, the hunter pointed his spear at the edge of the cliff a short distance away. “They see us there.”
“How far is it to the ship?”
Bandaka looked thoughtfully at the rocky terrain, made more difficult by so many fallen trees, and knew Beckman’s team would have trouble crossing it. “You very slow.” He motioned to a point in the sky where the sun would be by midday. “Sun go there, before we reach other side.”
Beckman realized Bandaka thought it would take them nearly two hours to cross. “We must go faster. As fast as you.”
Bandaka gave him a doubtful look, then Beckman raised his voice for everyone to hear. “We’re stealthing from here. We’ve only got forty five minutes. Bandaka will set the pace. Be sure to keep up, or you’ll get caught in the open.” He turned to Bandaka and pointed to his stealth gear. “When I turn this on, we won’t be able to see you. You must make a sound so we can follow you.”
Bandaka tapped his boomerang against his spear. “Like this?”
“Perfect. Pick the easiest, fastest path for us to follow.” He turned to the others. “Stay close together, I don’t want to lose anyone going in. Virus, are you going to make it? Last chance.”
Virus’ face was pale. “I’ll make it,” he said as he popped another painkiller.
“All right, let’s do it.”
Beckman activated Bandaka’s power pack. The tall black hunter blurred before him, then when he stepped back from the light bending field, Bandaka vanished completely. One by one, the rest of the team activated their power packs and faded from sight within spheres of warped light. When Beckman activated his power pack, the world transformed to an altered dimension of shifting shadows and gray silhouettes created by the merest ray of light penetrating the field enabling him to see.
“OK Bandaka, go! Fast as you can.”
The hollow click of wood tapping on wood moved off around the rocky spur. Beckman immediately followed the sound while behind him, the rapid crunch of boots told him the others were rushing to keep up. They’d trained long and hard for stealth movement, mostly with blindfolds, but occasionally with power packs. Normally Beckman or Hooper made the guide sound, but Bandaka had a good eye for the terrain, and was their best chance for a fast crossing. He followed an ancient track around the spur until they were well away from the river, then he moved out from the cliffs, and started on an oblique course toward the ship. Beckman looked up at the great bulk of the mothership looming before them. Even in the shadowy, ethereal world of warped light, the sheer size of the dark mass ahead overwhelmed his senses. He forced himself
to focus on Bandaka’s tapping, but the closer they got to the mothership, the more its sheer bulk distracted him.
A shadow streaked overhead, catching Beckman’s eye. It came from the east, moving too fast for him to recognize its rectangular shape in the stealth field’s shadow world, but he guessed it was a vehicle of some kind. For a moment, he wondered if it was searching for them, then it was gone, passing out of sight above the mothership.
Whatever it was, it hadn’t seen them.
* * * *
“Strewth!” Wal declared as the transport skimmed over a vast gray metal plain. To their left, the hull sloped gently up toward the ship’s central spine half a kilometer away, while to their right, it ran almost level for more than a kilometer until it curved down out of sight toward the burnt out wasteland below.
“It’s a big bastard!” Bill said.
Cracker nodded. “Bloody Oath!”
“It’s a wreck,” Slab declared, motioning towards the jagged holes that were wide enough for the transport to fly into.
“Geez, I hope they have insurance!” Wal said.
Slab gave Wal a harsh look, then realized the transport was decelerating rapidly. The abrupt change in velocity, with no inertial effect, defied their senses, yet they could see how rapidly they were slowing against the hull below. A large rectangular hatch with smooth, rounded edges began to open in the hull ahead of them.
“That must be where we’re headed,” Bill said uncomfortably.
“Not me,” Cracker declared as he slid a detonator into a stick of dynamite.
“You can’t use that in here!” Slab said.
“You got a better idea?” When Slab gave him a helpless look, Cracker said, “Get back!”
The Mothership Page 27
