"It doesn't matter," Farrow said, defeated. "We've shit choices. Either we attack with our current strength and be slaughtered by the peacekeepers, or try to acquire the batteries we need and get butchered by stingers. Or do nothing at all, hiding in our crumbling base, and suffer the wrath of the shitting Children of Saria if they return."
Kari said, "We could..."
"We could what?" he snapped. "What the shit can we do? Tell me, I'd be overjoyed to hear a plan, Kari, because I'm all out of ideas. Charge the peacekeepers with knives, like some group of courageous maniacs? Win the war in hand-to-hand combat? Politely ask them to ground their Riverhawks, abandon the orbital blockade, and allow us to retake the planet with a smile and a handshake? Tell me your fucking plan, Kari!"
The room had grown quiet during his outburst. Mira and Dok stood to the side, shocked. The cluster of other scavengers shifted uncomfortably.
Kari stood very still, her face a mask as she stared at Farrow. Her hand hung next to her knife, the thumb twitching briefly. You've a knife and I've a gun, he thought, tucking his thumbs behind his belt, and I know that my draw is faster.
But it was Binny that knocked Farrow out of his rage. She moved at the edge of his vision, by entrance to the workshop. "Farrow!" she hissed, a mixture of surprise and scorn.
Guilt washed over him. Losing control of his emotions around Kari or Mira or any of his men was bad enough, but Binny's disappointment he could not bear. He slumped as all the tension left his body. "I..."
Mira stepped between him and Kari. "We're all upset," she said, although she seemed more nervous at interjecting than anything. "Let's discuss what to do after we've calmed down. When our heads are cool."
"Yeah," he said, running a hand through his hair. Kari still stared at him, so he looked at his toes. "That's a good suggestion. We can come up with a new plan tomorrow, when I've had time to think."
Hob finally finished putting away the cruiser and approached them. "Time to think about what?"
"What to do next. Kari salvaged four batteries from the graveyard, and I'm assuming you couldn't acquire any in the city?"
Hob grimaced, a motion that scrunched up his red, windburned cheeks. "Visited two of our foreman friends. Neither are willing to take any additional risks. After the shootout at the Station, with dozens of renegade, weaponized electroids, the peacekeepers are afraid of any materials getting out. They've tripled the patrols at all factories to that end. The Governor has even sent part of his own palace guard to see that no electroids escape."
"Wonderful news," Farrow said. "Maggy will be happy to learn she won't be getting new packages of grain any time soon." Food was one resource they could not manage without. He added it to the already towering list of problems they needed to solve.
"Oh, I didn't even think about food," Hob said. "Yeah, that's bad, I suppose..."
"Bad," Farrow agreed.
"...but those aren't the only security measures the peacekeepers have taken." For some reason Hob seemed excited at that.
Farrow barely suppressed a groan.
"One of the factories, number twelve, is being dismantled. It was one of the ones most corrupt, according to the peacekeeper tallies of missing parts. That factory produced electroids sent to the ore mines to the west, to supplement the Praetari workers there."
"So they're shutting down one factory," Kari said. "What of it?"
"I didn't say they were shutting it down," Hob emphasized. "I said dismantling. They're preparing to move the factory to another location entirely."
"I fail to see the importance of that distinction," she said.
"Rather than build those electroids in the city and transport them to the mines--a process which has any number of vulnerabilities along the way, and allows for several layers of corruption--they're going to erect a factory outside the mines and build the electroids right there, on-site."
"I'm not sure what you're suggesting," Farrow said. "We can siphon electroids from this new factory at the mines? That's hardly ideal; the mines are guarded just as well as the city, if not more." Not to mention the factory would probably not be operational for several months. By then it will be too late.
"What I'm suggesting," he said, "is that we attack them while they transport the supplies to the new factory." His eyes sparkled. "Their freighters are passing within fifteen miles of Victory Base. A freighter is moving electroid material tonight."
Chapter 11
The corridors swarmed with men and women carrying supplies out of the armoury: rifles and pistols, plated armor, bags and bandoliers full of spare energy packs. Farrow moved through the apparent chaos like a stinger through the sand, making sure they gathered everything needed. They would be taking half their strength, the largest single maneuver they'd ever attempted.
"The only part that concerns me is how we can shoot it down," Hob said. "We'll need to use two, maybe three of our Riverhawks. But the freighter will see them coming in the sky. It won't be able to stop them, but it will tip off the rest of the Melisao on Praetar as to our strength. Once we do that, they'll know we have the ships."
Farrow smiled at that as he opened a crate and removed his personal rifle. "Dok fixed our two anti-air lasers. If we reach the interception point in time, we should be able to set them up and swat the freighter out of the sky no problem."
"They'll still be able to send out an alert..." Now that they had accepted his plan, Hob seemed suddenly cautious and conservative.
"Dok fixed the radio jammer too," Farrow said, slinging the rifle over his shoulder. "Only took him ten minutes. Once the freighter is down they'll be as mute as a tongueless whore."
Mira chuckled at that while helping a Freeman load his pockets with ammunition. Farrow gave her a grin.
"Oh," Hob said stiffly. "I've no complaints with the plan, then."
Farrow realized what was bothering Hob. He put a hand on the engineer's shoulder and said, "Dok is brilliant with weapons, but he's too analytical, and has a poor social temperament." Especially lately. "You've done a wonderful job bringing this opportunity to us. That's more valuable than anything Dok has done so far."
It wasn't entirely true, but Hob beamed and left to busy himself preparing. When Farrow had a chest full of ammunition he made his way down the corridor too.
"So they've been transporting electroids to the mines all this time," Mira said, following behind.
"Yep. Once a month, or there abouts. They don't last long down in the tunnels, man or machine. Need to be replaced often."
"Why didn't you shoot down any of those freighters?"
"Well, there's the radio jammer and anti-air lasers that were non-functional," Farrow began, pausing as they passed through a doorway. "But mostly it's because the electroids are tagged with trackers at the factory. So their locations can always be monitored, whether they're repairing a space station or hauling ore deep inside the mines. Even if we managed to shoot down a freighter, we'd need to remove the tracking devices from each electroid before bringing them back, or the peacekeepers would immediately know that we've refurbished Victory Base. That would take hours, while sitting vulnerable in the sand.
"Beyond that, shooting down a freighter is risky. Any large disturbance like that draws attention. Fifteen miles away is far enough that they might not immediately think of this base..." he shrugged. "Or it might, and they'll send fifty peacekeepers to investigate the area. Either way, it's a desperately risky move."
"And we're that desperate now?" she asked. "That it's worth the risk?"
It was the question that had been burning in his mind for the past ten minutes, since Hob told them. "A month ago I would have said no. But now..." he nodded, more to himself than her. "Now, we're as desperate as we're ever going to be."
"Are you desperate enough to take me?"
He glanced sideways at her. "We're a long shitting way from being that desperate."
She nodded, and even looked disappointed. We'll use that enthusiasm later, Farrow thought. W
hen she could handle a weapon better.
She tenderly grabbed his arm and moved it out of the way, revealing three marble-like orbs hanging from chains on his coat. "What are these?" she asked. "I saw Kari and Hob take them, too."
"These are something I hope we don't need to use. And if we do... mother have mercy on us." When she looked another question at him, he said, "Take care of Binny while we're gone. Don't let Maggy feed her too much."
Farrow arranged them in three groups of five. Groups led by him and Kari would each transport an anti-aircraft laser, while Hob's group controlled the radio jammer. They only had enough rifles for three per group, while the rest carried pistols. They had no idea how many peacekeepers would be traveling with the materials, if any.
Saria struck them with oven-like heat as they climbed out of the hatch and emerged into the sun and sand. Their three sand cruisers joined them from the workshop bay, bearing the anti-aircraft lasers and the jammer. With them loaded down, most of the fifteen Freemen were forced to walk. Hob knew the freighter's schedule, and their anticipated intersection time, so he led the way in one of the cruisers. The group began moving north, pale orange sand capes fluttering behind them.
Hob set a slow but steady pace, staying mostly in the low areas between dunes, moving in a zig-zag pattern that partially climbed the low face of each rise, a compromise between a straight line--that would have climbed over each dune--and a long, flatter route. Sand was fickle, uneven terrain, which meant every step became a battle to maintain your footing. Soon sweat rolled down Farrow's face from the effort.
At ten minute intervals Kari called out, "Water," ordering each person to drink from the canteen on their belt. Farrow had told her she didn't need to come--she had only just returned from three days salvaging in the sand, after all--but she brushed aside the suggestion with a snort. With any other Freeman he would have put his foot down and ordered them to stay at Victory Base, but Kari knew her body well enough. She wouldn't become carelessly dehydrated. He watched her leading her group a few paces away, head down, strides strong and determined. She always looked at home on the sand. She never even appeared to be affected by the heat, eyes cool and skin dry underneath her hood. And her long legs seemed to glide through the dunes with ease. His eyes lingered there, on the baggy pants that bunched up at the ankle and knee, yet hugged her thighs and backside...
She abruptly looked over, catching him staring. Embarrassed, he returned his gaze forward. Although he couldn't be sure, he had the feeling she was laughing at him.
He trusted the assassin. Few of the Freemen were as competent as Kari; he could send her out in any number of missions and she would always return safely, with her objective completed to the best of her ability. Hob was the unofficial second in command, but Farrow had instructed Maggy to make sure Kari took charge after that. She would hate it, and prefer to go out on missions rather than give orders, but there was no doubt in Farrow's mind that she would do her duty.
He remembered Mira's touch on his arm, still felt it on his skin like a patch of cold. She intrigued him in a mild, innocent sort of way. A slow, pleasing candle flame. Whereas Kari had a sharp, fierce presence beyond ignoring, that flared suddenly and unexpectedly and disappeared just as fast.
Without warning Hob began shouting orders. "Down, everyone flat! Cover the guns!"
Everyone scrambled to perform the maneuver they'd practiced so often. Farrow rushed forward to his sand cruiser, which the driver had lowered onto the sand. He opened a compartment on the back and pulled out a folded sheet, thin and colored the same pale orange as their capes. Unfolding it, he tossed one corner to the woman next to him, who carried it across to the other side until the entire craft was covered.
Farrow stole a glance to the sky and saw it. To the east, nothing more than a tiny pinprick of reflected light high in the sky. A peacekeeper aircraft. On a random patrol, or coming straight for us?
He used his boot to drive a metal stake into the corner and threw himself flat like the others, ensuring his sand cape remained flat enough to cover his feet.
Silence stretched for several minutes as the craft neared, the thunder-like sound of its engine soon drifting over the dunes. Farrow held his breath, as if the motion of his chest would somehow give them away. Slowly the aircraft passed overhead. A Goshawk, based on its speed. It flew at an incredible height, nearly orbital, leaving a soft trail of white behind it in the sky, like foam. Farrow twisted his head to watch, transfixed by the small object.
The Goshawk disappeared in the distance, the white trail dissipating into nothing.
Farrow stood and called out orders. They removed the covers from the sand cruisers, returning them to their compartments.
Hob looked a question at him, and Farrow shook his head. "Let's keep going. No reason to think it spotted us." If it had noticed something it might peel back for a closer look... or it might continue on so as to not give anything away. There was no way to know, and they couldn't abandon their attack on the freighter.
Hob nodded, his face expressionless. Within moments the group began trudging north again.
The sun drifted in the sky and their shadows shrunk then stretched as they made their way across the desert. Up close the air seemed clear, but at a distance one could see the wind blowing the tops off the dunes, spreading sand into the air like mist. Despite his raised hood it managed to fill Farrow's ears, clump inside his nose and at the corner of his eyes. It rubbed between his teeth, sucking away the moisture like a parasite. Mira is stronger than I give her credit, he thought as he shook the grains from his boot. How could anyone survive one shitting day without supplies, much less three?
They were nearing their target when Kari began yelling. "Shit. Shit. Everyone spread out. Spread out!"
Everyone knew what that meant. Farrow ran to her while the others obeyed. "Where?"
Kari pointed in the direction they had come. "Somewhere over there. I think..." she cocked her head as if listening to something only she could hear. "Yes, definitely over there. Hob! Keep the cruisers hovering! Don't let them touch the sand!"
Where the group had reacted calmly and methodically to the aircraft, they showed fear and insistence now. "Are you sure?" Farrow asked as they scattered.
A low rumble deep in the ground provided the answer, a feeling that caused everyone to pause for a long, expectant moment until it stopped. Kari gave him a pointed stare. "One charge each," she said, turning away. "Hob! One charge each, spread as far apart as you can throw it! Wait for my signal!"
She took off to the south at a dead sprint.
Cursing under his breath, Farrow followed as fast as he could in the shifting sand. Hob did the same on the other side of Kari. The assassin had an acute sense for detecting stingers, and she was usually right.
The ground rumbled again, louder and more intense. Closer.
When they were a hundred feet away from the group Kari pulled something off her belt. Farrow did the same, removing one of the marble-like spheres from the chain on his chest. It began beeping as soon as the chain disconnected. While still running, Kari pulled back and hurled the charge as far as she could to the south. The two men quickly did the same, sending the spheres flying through the air. When their charges stopped bouncing and rolling they formed a line in the desert one hundred feet long. Hopefully that's far enough.
To his right, Kari stopped, spreading her feet apart to stand very still. Farrow copied the stance. I hate this shitting part.
Farrow stood paralyzed as the rumbling in the ground grew. Constant, no longer intermittent. Was the sand shaking from the vibration, or was that just the wind? He could feel the tremble in the ground, moving into his feet and up his legs. Soon it became so loud, reaching such a crescendo, that he was certain they would die.
He breathed rapidly, bordering on panic. Every instinct told him to bolt, to run away as fast as he could. His fear became so debilitating that he very nearly did, though he knew that would mean certain death, for him an
d probably the others. The stingers would sense him immediately if he moved, whether by sound or vibration or some other method. Nobody was quite sure. Some Praetari claimed the stingers could sense the electrical beat of a human heart. If that were true standing still was useless, and most people on the planet agreed remaining motionless helped. Sometimes.
The charges went off, vibrating with a low, steady sound. Farrow felt the pulsing in his boots even from so far away. But whether or not it would work, and draw the stinger away...
The pinnacle of the quaking arrived, the final moment of fate. Farrow sent one final look in Kari's direction--the assassin stood with her hands behind her back, staring up at the sun reverently--before clenching his own eyes shut.
As quickly as it had arrived, the trembling began to pass. He sensed it move beyond him, like a large vehicle rumbling away. Within moments the ground became silent, and the only shaking was Farrow's knees.
Moments later the sand to the south erupted into the sky as the stinger breached. Farrow never saw its body in the chaotic tumult of orange before it fell back to the ground, partially obscured behind a dune. The sand writhed and bubbled like a boiling cauldron as the stinger searched around for the charges, moving in and out of the sand as easily as a bird moves through the sky.
Now he did run, turning and sprinting back to the group along with Kari and Hob. "Just one," she said as their paths converged. The color had drained from her face. "We were lucky."
"Lucky," Farrow agreed.
Once on the cruisers, Hob led them away at a speedy pace, requiring the Freemen on foot to jog. Nobody complained.
Chapter 12
They marched in silence for another hour before Hob finally called them to a stop. Staring at a computer on his cruiser, he drove around seemingly randomly, first to the north, then to the east, then back to them. He nodded definitively. "This is the spot. The freighter will pass overhead, at an altitude between two and four hundred feet."
Born of Sand (Tales of a Dying Star Book 5) Page 12
