by MK Clark
“I’m not likely going to change your mind, so yeah, deal.”
Don gave him a quick nod of appreciation and continued down the hall. The more he thought about it, the more the plan grew on him. As dangerous as it was, it was also the perfect escape.
“Where are we going?”
“To pick up the bio-domes.”
“And how do you plan on getting those? They’ll notice if you just start loading them up without permission.”
“I’m still working on that.”
York clapped his hands together, and Don saw a gleeful look pass over his face. “I have so got this one! You just sit back and watch the master.”
Chapter 33
December 2, 627 T.A.
Don leaped from the passenger side of the mini-transporter, key card in hand. He could almost hear a clock ticking away the time. Despite York’s mastery of manipulation, it had still taken longer than he would have liked to hijack a transporter and load it up.
“You’re sure this is it?” York asked yet again.
“No, I’m guessing,” Don snapped angrily. He swiped Arrow’s card. It had already opened several doors for them, and Don had no doubt it would work again.
The door slid open to reveal a darkened room, and the light from the hall spilled in. Don could barely make out the shapes, but they were there.
“Well?”
“They’re here,” he answered, his voice full of relief.
“Then let’s get this bucket of bolts out of the hall before someone sees us and starts asking questions.”
Don scooted inside the room, allowing York to drive the transporter through the door. He hopped on the side as York passed. “Take us right below the closest one.”
Their light disappeared as the door behind them shut, and their helmets switched to night vision. By the time York had shut off the transporter, Don had already opened up the Wasp.
He tossed York the key card. “You’re going to need this,” he instructed as they began to unload the bio-domes. “When you get to the units, start one up but don’t connect it. That way they’ll think you’re controlling the Wasp, but when they come after you to shut down the unit, it won’t disrupt what I’m doing. It’ll take them a little while to figure that out.”
“What if they try to activate the self-destruct feature?”
“I doubt they will. Let’s not forget whose son I am.”
“Humble, much?”
“Only when it counts,” Don said and set the last bio-dome on the floor. “I’ll get these loaded. You head back. I should be finished by the time you get there.”
“What about the door?”
Don didn’t even spare it a glance. “If I can’t figure out how to open it, I’ll blow it.”
York nodded and vaulted himself back into the driver’s seat. “See you in a bit.”
Don watched him turn the transporter around and head for the door. He felt a little guilty that he hadn’t tried harder to talk York out of helping him, but at the same time, he was glad he hadn't.
He shook himself loose from his thoughts and tossed a bio-dome up into the Wasp. He crawled in after it and dragged it to one side. If he survived this, they’d ask him later why he’d done it. They would ask him a lot of things, but it would always come back to the why. He knew it would.
He’d only be able to tell them that he couldn’t stand by and do nothing, not when acting could save lives. It was purely an instinctive desire, but it burned so deep in him that he could not ignore it. They’d ask why he hadn’t trusted his orders, why he hadn’t trusted the system. He wouldn’t be able to answer. He wouldn’t be able to tell them why, but the ones who mattered― those people would know. He didn’t trust the authorities anymore, and he was tired of being helpless when it mattered.
He realized now he’d chosen wrong. He should have listened to his father at the beginning and gone to Commander’s School. He’d have had control, then. He’d have been able to put plans into motion that would prevent situations like this, and if not prevent, at least adapt to them. Instead, he was just a pawn, a pawn with no choice but to obey or disobey.
Don pulled the last of the domes into the Wasp and shut the hatch. He didn’t bother checking the hangar door. He knew it would be locked. He’d never planned on attempting to open it, not after he’d given York the key. It didn’t matter; he could blow the door easily enough.
Don settled himself into the seat and inserted his APRIL. The screen lit up, and the APRIL greeted him. He entered his manual-override code but left the Wasp powered down. No need to alert anyone until the last moment. A few minutes later, York’s face popped up on the screen. He was panting slightly. “Sorry. My transporter got hijacked.”
“Are you ready?” Don asked
York nodded. “Let’s blow this joint!” he said and then grinned. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”
Don couldn’t help the corner of his mouth twitching. He started up the Wasp and targeted the doors, ignoring the APRIL’s warning. The explosion threw him backward. He heard the Wasp crumple a little as it slammed into the wall. He ignored the squawking of his APRIL.
“You’d better hurry, man. They’ll be coming after you in a moment.”
He pointed the Wasp toward the gaping hole and took a deep breath, accelerating before he could consider what he was doing. The experience was more disorienting than he remembered. He barely recovered in time to avoid crashing into the crater wall.
“Too fast!” York shouted as Don pointed the Wasp toward the sky. “You’re pulling too many gees!”
Don heard York’s warning as if from a distance. He tried to reach for the throttle, but only his fingers moved. He could feel the air being squeezed from his lungs.
“Command zero six,” he wheezed, forcing his jaw to move. Immediately, the Wasp responded, slowing enough for Don to regain control. It was his turn to pant.
“What was that, O’Hara? Next time, I am so taking over!” York shouted. He looked white. “Anyway, what’s command zero six?”
“Something I programmed into my APRIL after our first mission,” Don explained. “I didn’t want to have to make a dead stop at high speeds again, so I programmed the APRIL to slow the Wasp down by verbal command.”
“Just on the far-off chance that you’d be piloting one of these from the inside again?”
“I suppose, when you think about it that way, it is a bit strange.” He shrugged, “I just thought it was a problem that needed solving.”
He’d leveled out the Wasp by now and pointed it back toward the planet. He found himself scouring the screens to find some kind of planetary landmark to get his bearings. There was nothing. Gradually, he realized what he was seeing. It was as if the entire bottom of the planet were being engulfed by a sandstorm.
“It’s massive,” York stated in awe.
“We’re running out of time,” Don confirmed. He began to plot coordinates into the computer.
York swore, and his picture disappeared from the screen. “They’re opening the hatch.”
Don keyed in a command to mute himself.
“Specialist York, you are hereby ordered to cease current operations of this unit and return it to base.”
“I can’t do that, ma’am. This is a rescue mission,” York answered.
Don balked at his bluntness. He’d forgotten to instruct his wingman to give up without a fight.
“Specialist, if you do not comply, we will remove you forcibly. If you resist, we are authorized to shoot.”
There was an audible pause and then, “I’m not foolish enough to argue with a MAG, ma’am. Remove away. I won’t resist.”
“Shut her down,” came the call, and then Don heard nothing more. Instead, he watched as he dropped below the top line of the approaching cloud. It was hundreds of meters tall.
“APRIL, bring me up a map. Indicate our position on it.”
The map appeared immediately on a screen.
“Now locate all mayday signa
ls.”
Only three targets appeared. Don turned and headed for the closest one.
“APRIL, search all frequencies and indicate the origin of any radio transmission.”
Slowly, more dots began to appear, more than he had bio-domes for.
He approached the farthest mayday call first. While still kilometers away, the cloud was close enough that Don could make out the many shapes it took as it rolled steadily toward them. He spotted the SCARs and made a wide circle. He quickly set the Wasp down and jumped from his seat. The domes had shifted to cover the hatch during the flight. Don fought with them, frustrated with how weak his body already felt.
By the time he had the hatch open, a soldier was standing outside, waiting. The rest of his comrades were not far behind. Don struggled with one of the domes and managed to drop it out onto the ground. He followed it.
“I don’t have much time,” he told the soldier. “This is a bio-dome for you and your men. Put out a call to anyone nearby, telling them it’s here. I don’t have enough for everyone.”
“Understood, pilot,” answered the soldier. Then he motioned to the SCARs behind him. “We’ve got a comrade who needs medical attention ASAP. Can we load him up with you?”
Don shook his head. “No, sir. Whatever he needs, you’re going to have to provide for him.”
The soldier took a step toward him.
Don backed carefully away. “Sir, I am sorry, but he’ll be worse off with me.”
“How so?” the question came instantaneously.
Don gave the soldier a quick salute, avoiding the query entirely. “I wish there were more I could do, but I have other stops to make.”
He turned, took the last few meters at a jog, and closed the hatch behind him. Then he headed for his next drop point. As he flew, he began trying to reach the soldiers his APRIL had found by tracking radio signals. He directed some of them to other coordinates and instructed some to stay where they were.
By the time he’d made the fourth drop, his hair was plastered to his face, and sweat burned in his eyes as it trickled down his neck. He knew the base had figured out his and York's sleight-of-hand because they had tried to contact him twice already. Don refused to answer. The technicians would be working furiously now to try to override his manual control, and eventually they would do it.
After his first experience, Don contacted each group of soldiers on his approach and pushed the dome out of the hatch without even landing. By his seventh drop, he knew the effects of the Wasp were starting to alter his reaction time and judgment.
He took a pass over their location. He was surprised to see the battle still raging. Both sides seemed unaware of the cloud bearing down on them.
Don’s thoughts moved sluggishly as he tried to grasp the most immediate threat to the soldiers. Finally, he targeted a Zarwean crawler. Don circled around as it blew and sprayed the enemy with the Wasp’s plasma cannon. He brought the fighter nearly to the planet’s surface. He made his drop and moved on, drawing the fire he’d attracted away from the spot.
Don had his APRIL gauge the distance of the cloud so he could decide if he was able to help the soldiers further, but there was no time. Their survival was up to them now. There were only two domes left. He’d been saving them. From what he’d heard over the radio, he would need them both.
He glanced at his map; it stilled showed the points to which he had not yet been. Those would be the soldiers who didn’t make it. He knew now that even if the cloud never reached them, and the technicians never interfered, he would still be forced to stop. Slowly but surely, he was losing the battle with his body.
He flew with reckless speed toward Tyson’s coordinates. All the clocks were ticking now, and he didn’t know which one would run out first. He didn’t bother to hail the soldiers as he approached. They were all hunkered down behind rocks protruding from the planet’s rough surface.
His head pounded unbearably as he studied the scene. It took him a minute to find the reason for the soldiers’ concealment. Up on a plateau, farther than any of their weapons could reach, was a scorpion drone. The slightest movement was enough for it to send a barrage down on them. Even through his haze, Don felt the smile that pulled at his lips. They had not expected him. He let his APRIL aim and fired. Don watched with satisfaction as the scorpion drone exploded.
Movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He glanced toward his map and saw a line moving across it, blacking out everything it passed. He forced himself not to look up at what he knew would be the deadly cloud approaching.
“APRIL, how much time until that line reaches us?”
“Approximately seven minutes.”
Don dropped the Wasp in a quick, slightly uncontrolled descent behind a cluster of soldiers. He dragged himself to the hatch. He barely managed to kick out the two remaining domes.
He tumbled to the ground after them and struggled to pull his trembling legs up underneath him. He felt helping hands on his arms. “You picked one helluva place to land, pilot.”
“Hey, these are bio-domes!”
Don shook his head as he tried and failed to clear it. “Five minutes,” he blurted out. “You’ve five minutes to set those up.”
The soldier understood immediately. “Dillon, take one and run it down the line. Set it up when you’re two minutes out. Get everyone inside. Private, go the opposite direction! Go now!”
Don felt relief fill him. Someone knew what to do with the gift Don had brought them. He leaned against the side of his Wasp and felt himself slipping away. He didn’t try to fight it, only closed his eyes and let it come.
“Pilot, it’s time to move!”
Don’s eyes snapped open, quickly locating the one SCAR not moving. He pushed himself forward, swayed dangerously. It took him just a few seconds longer to miss the vibration of the Wasp on his back and realize what it meant. He’d left the Wasp running. He couldn’t leave it like that.
“Wait,” he said, halting his steps. “Got to get my APRIL.”
“Pilot, there’s no time.”
“Go, then,” Don snapped and wearily turned back toward the Wasp. In a moment, the SCAR had out-paced him. “Where is it?”
“Inside, plugged to the console, on chain.”
“Stay here,” the soldier told him. He sprinted the short distance and crawled inside the hatch. He was back in mere moments, slapping the APRIL into Don’s hand. Before Don could thank him, he grabbed Don’s arm and pulled him forward.
The moment they crossed the bio-dome barrier, Don sank to his knees and squeezed his eyes shut. The pounding in his head had grown. It was now a deep, stabbing pain behind his temple, and each pulse bought a wave of nausea with it.
“Pilot, are you wounded?”
Drops of sweat sprinkled the shield of his helmet when he shook his head. The action made him gag. He took a deep breath and forced the rising bile back down. Somewhere above him, he could hear a conversation progressing.
“Are the dome filters working?”
“Yes, sir.”
That was enough for Don. He reached up, undid the latches on his helmet, and pulled it from his head.
“Shit, he’s one of them kids. This is why I hate that program!”
“Tyson Namm,” Don interrupted.
“What did he say?”
“Tyson Namm?”
“Hey, Peaks, think he means that kid from the Hell’s Angels?”
“Find him. He’s in this dome. I saw some of his boys.”
Don forced himself to sit. Slowly, he opened his eyes. The world swam crazily but steadied bit by bit. He felt a boulder behind him and leaned back against it.
“Peaks, his body temperature is off the charts. It’s higher than when he got here. We got to do something, or his brain is gonna fry.”
Don frowned a little, eyes flickering from one SCAR to the other. He would have argued with them — he didn’t feel like he had a temperature — but the SCAR’s system didn’t lie.
&nbs
p; “Peaks, this is him,” a voice said from behind. Don turned his head to see, but there were too many suits blocking his view.
“Are you Tyson Namm?”
“Yes, sir. What can I do for you?”
“Soldiers, move! Do you know this pilot?”
The SCARs parted, letting Tyson through. Don heard a string of curse words, and then Tyson pulled off his helmet and crouched beside him.
“You flew it, didn’t you? You flew that damn Wasp.”
“Had to save your butt, sir,” Don retorted.
“Did they order you to?”
Don shook his head slowly.
Tyson did not miss the face he pulled. “Dammit, O’Hara! Even though you knew what it would do to you?”
“Do you know what’s wrong with him?”
Tyson didn’t respond. Don could see a kind of helplessness in his eyes.
“We have to figure out how to treat him…”
Don watched as Tyson looked at the soldiers standing around them and wondered what he was looking for. Then Tyson turned his attention back to Don.
“How long were you in it?”
A bead of sweat ran down Don’s neck, sending a shiver through his body. “Less than two hours, more than one,” he answered through gritted teeth.
“What can we do?”
“You can’t.” The throbbing in his head had doubled. He let his eyes close, trying to relieve the searing pain. “Just let me sleep it off.”
“If I do that, what are the chances you wake up again?”
Don forced his eyes back open. “I will wake up,” he whispered fervently. “You promised to help me.”
Tyson smiled, but Don could see his heart was not in it. “Yeah, I did.”
“You’re not getting out of this one. I’m going to hold you to that.”
“Deal.”
Don grimaced and pressed the heels of his hands against his temples. “Sir?” he asked.
Tyson nodded for him to continue.
“Permission to sleep this off?”
