Road to Abaddon

by Vincent Heeringa

  Jonah’s pulse quickened. He didn’t want to betray Clunes.

  “Jonah?”

  He knew GK wouldn’t let him leave without a name. Whoever Jonah chose was a scapegoat. A sacrificial lamb. He winced as the words left his lips.

  “Tyrone Grainger.”

  “Grainger, eh? A recruit?”

  Jonah nodded, his head hung.

  “And you sure he’s the source?”

  Jonah nodded again. “What’s going to happen to him?” he asked.

  “Oh, nothing bad. We just need to, err, reframe him.”

  Jonah felt sick. Reframing sounded like a euphemism for something else. Something bad. True, Tyrone did say as much: That’s how we deal with rats. But he wasn’t the source. And the least important person to pass it on.

  “You’re feeling like you’re ratting on a colleague, I can tell,” said GK. It was an accidental irony that almost made Jonah laugh.

  “Now look at me,” GK instructed.

  Jonah looked into GK’s eyes and felt an intoxicating combination of authority and love. GK was right. Rooting out dissension and dishonesty was critical. Petreus’ death would be avenged.

  “It’s good that you feel bad for this, um, Grainger. It shows you’re human. But putting these rumours to rest is the right thing, Jonah. Petreus was murdered by Landers. The sooner we agree on that the sooner we’ll catch the scoundrels who did it. You do remember why you’re here, don’t you?”

  Jonah nodded.

  “Right,” said GK, putting his hand on Jonah’s shoulder. “We’d better make this visit official. As far as anyone’s concerned, we never had this conversation. I’m here to deliver a rousing speech to you ragamuffins. So, let’s slip out of here separately, eh?”

  They embraced and then Jonah saluted and left the room, taking care to slink back to his bunk unnoticed.

  It had been great to see GK and reassuring to hear that the rumours surrounding Petreus were just that, rumours. But his heart was heavy with the guilt of blaming Tyrone. He wasn’t a bad kid, just a bully. Jonah, by contrast, was a snitch. So much worse in anyone’s book.

  During GK’s speech at assembly later that day he did his best to betray no emotion. He sat bolt upright and dared not look around. He felt like everyone was watching him. At the end, when the recruits stood and cheered Kenrick’s rousing words, Jonah made sure he too punched the air and shouted “Metricia forever!”

  He didn’t see GK depart. He assumed the shuttle had slipped the island as quietly as it arrived. But what was noticeable was the hubbub in the dining room that night. Viper was in a state of high anxiety with whispered conversations and shaking of heads. They pointed at Tyrone’s empty chair.

  “Did you hear?” Grace whispered to Jonah as they craned their necks to see what all the fuss about.

  “No, what?” asked Jonah with a fake sincerity.

  “Tyrone’s been arrested by a Rep-G and taken away for questioning.”

  “Really? Whatever for?” asked Jonah.

  “Insubordination, rumour-mongering and threatening the Republic. That’s the official line anyway,” she said.

  “The official line. What else could there be?” asked Jonah.

  “The unofficial line.”

  Jonah paused. He knew what was coming next but had to ask anyway. “What would that be, then?”

  Grace looked him in the eye and said without emotion: “My guess is that he peed somebody off, big time.”

  Jonah swallowed. The implication was obvious. Tyrone bullies Jonah; Jonah’s grandfather turns up; Tyrone disappears. He was a marked man when he arrived at the Rock; now he was a dead man.

  Chapter 9 - Victory

  Studying for the last round of exams and the finale of the rushball tournament left little time for worrying. And he needn’t have. Within a fortnight Scorpio had won its semi-final and then destroyed Panthers and Viper in the final. Viper was demoralised by the loss of its leader Tyrone, and fell apart to end third overall. The retribution Jonah was dreading amounted to a few boos when he stood on stage to help Grace and Hugo lift the Rock Cup in victory.

  Viper had been extinguished. “No bite when you remove the head,” joked Hugo.

  Back in the common room the party raged for hours, with the trio of friends feted like heroes. Jonah even received a hug from Grace, though she couldn’t resist a dig. “You were better off the field than on, Salvatore.”

  “We all have our place,” he winked.

  It felt good to belong and it wasn’t until later that night, when the snores of the recruits kept Jonah awake, that Clunes’ words crept back into his head. Jonah hadn’t mentioned the sergeant’s conversation to anyone. He’d pushed it to the reaches of his mind and focused on winning the cup. Now, with the pressure gone and the celebrations finished, he found them replaying: Your daddy created plenty of enemies in Metricia.

  He tried to reason his way out of it: sure, Petreus had people who hated him for being so successful. And his peace-making wasn’t welcomed by everyone. Jonah could buy that. Which hero didn’t have haters, even from within? But that didn’t mean he’d been murdered. It was inconceivable! And this Concordia rubbish – a bunch of conspiratorial nonsense, he reasoned.

  The snores grew louder and the thrum of the aircon rattled the grate above his bed. He tossed this way and that, determined to sleep but unable to get Clunes from his mind. The next thing he knew, Grace was shoving him with her foot.

  “C’mon you idiot. Wake up! You’ve already missed breakfast.”

  “Ugh,” he groaned. “I must’ve fallen asleep.” And he rolled over towards the wall.

  “Yeah that’s what happens when you go to bed. C’mon, get up! We’ve been summoned to the Commander’s office,” and she dragged the blanket from his near-naked body.

  “Hey! Steady on. I’ll have you done for indecent assault!” he cried, grabbing at the sheet.

  But Grace pulled it further. “We’re in Lee’s office in five minutes. Chop, chop, sleeping beauty!”

  Commander Lee sat like a child behind his desk and beamed at the small gathering of recruits. Representatives from Viper and Panthers were there too – altogether twelve students stood in Lee’s magnificent corner office. Outside, the mist had cleared enough for them see through a gap in the wet trees and down to the ocean and the north-most island, hundreds of metres below.

  The mood among the recruits was buoyant. The commander didn’t disappoint.

  “Well, well, here are my little mutant-busting babies,” he cooed. “Just six months and look at you, gestated, matured, ready to be thrust into the world!” He said the word with a trembling rrrrr and little flecks of spit flew from his mouth.

  Hugo began to snigger and got a sharp elbow from Grace.

  “You may wonder why just twelve of you have been invited here to meet me,” said Commander Lee.

  They nodded their heads.

  “Well, not everyone makes Flying Squad, you know!”

  The students gasped. Flying Squad!

  “Yes that’s correct. You are to become our next generation of pilots. You are the elite, the crème de la crème, the top doggies!”

  The kids looked at one another in amazement and Jonah burst out laughing. Flying Squad was a dream not worth having – so few in Metricia ever got to become pilots. Of course, Petreus had been and GK before him. But it was a hope he’d not allowed himself to indulge in. And now Jonah too was to become a Top Gun himself!

  Hugo slapped Grace on the shoulder and she laughed.

  “You’re to leave tonight. Basic training’s over, kids! Say goodbye to your comrades and pack your things. Your chariot awaits!”

  The chariot was a sleek, silver SubOrb that crouched on the tar-seal. The goodbyes had been brief and only a little bit sad. The rest of the squad congratulated them with mixed feelings. Jonah, Hugo and Grace didn’t hide their euphoria and, once aboard, they pretended to clink glasses as the supersonic aircraft blasted down the runway and climbed into the sky
.

  Goodbye and good riddance, thought Jonah as the tropical island vanished beneath the mist. It had been a gruelling few months. He’d tried to avoid Clunes as they said their goodbyes but the sergeant had found him and squeezed his hand. “Take care, Salvatore,” he said, as if nothing had ever passed between them. But the steady gaze said it all.

  Jonah shuddered. With the cloud swallowing the jungle, he decided to forget about Clunes’ conspiracy. Whatever had passed between them was now part of the island, like an ancient legend. The future beckoned.

  And he laughed out loud.

  — PART TWO —

  Chapter 10 - Sabotage

  The walk out to a hoverpod is the most exciting in the world. Decked out in a full-bodied Kevlar flying suit and carrying his helmet, Jonah felt excitement surge as he strode out. Lights flashed on the hoverpod’s fins and a start-flame spat from its single rear engine.

  “Well, this rocks,” shouted Hugo. “Our first mission: you, me and Miss Ice Queen, 2143.”

  Grace cracked a smile and they laughed. It was awesome to be the first to fly in a hoverpod. It was six months since they’d left the Rock, the rushball cup safely locked in the Scorpio trophy cabinet. The island was almost a distant memory. Here on Minoa, the military base perched high on the old island of Crete, they’d learned the theory of flight and air combat and flew flight simulators on their holodecks day and night.

  Of course, Grace had topped the class. She’d won the right to the first real training flight, with her choice of crew. Jonah was chuffed she’d chosen him. They were joined by an instructor, and their mission was a routine reconnaissance over northern Egypt, taking photos and surveying hostiles. The area was notorious for mutant bandits and the Metricians had some kind of interest in the coastal regions. They had no idea what and it wasn’t their place to ask.

  “Just complete the flight plan, keep an eye out for the freaks, and Scion will do the rest,” said the flight commander.

  A spypod is effectively a giant wing with curving tips and a single fin that spikes upwards from the back. It reminded Jonah of a manta ray. You entered through a porthole, forward of the wing and sat in a tight cockpit. Grace slid into the co-pilot’s seat and grinned at the array of lights and touchpads.

  “All yours, young lady,” the officer said and waved his hands at the controls.

  Grace let her fingers dance over the dashboard. Soon the engine wound up to a roaring pitch and the porthole door slid shut.

  Within seconds the hoverpod was floating. Grace dipped the craft’s nose in a cheeky nod towards her instructors and gently eased the thrust. As they rose above the hoverport, the faces of their jealous classmates disappeared into a blur of colour. Grace pushed the throttle forwards and, with a shout, she threw the pod into an ambitious trajectory, the engine firing a massive blast. Seen from the ground, the hoverpod swam upwards and waggled teasingly above the port then screamed south, leaving a white jetstream in its wake.

  Inside, the crew were thrown back into their chairs and the g-forces pulled at their bodies. Machines bleeped in their headsets and a voice calmly told them they’d reached the speed of sound. The hoverpod was flying over the old Mediterranean Sea. Through patches in the cloud Jonah could see the brown line of the north-African coast.

  “Three minutes to destination,” Grace’s voice crackled into his head. These mind-speak helmets still freaked him out. Bad enough that she was in control of the pod, now she could get into his head as well.

  “Roger that,” he fizzled back.

  His job was to set up the surveillance gear, a series of heat-detecting cameras that could pinpoint a pet snake in a mutant’s sock. He tapped at his screen but was puzzled to see grey static instead of the usual 3D terrain maps. He tapped harder but this time the screen flashed, reduced to single pinpoint of light and then went dead.

  “Hey, what the ...?” said Grace.

  Jonah looked up and saw the screens and dials on Grace’s cockpit flashing and then dying in the same way. One by one the monitors fell dark as some kind of bug ate its way through the electronics.

  “Manual override,” the instructor said and took the controls from Grace. He jabbed at a series of buttons on the console and then harrumphed. Nothing responded. He jabbed again, this time with more feeling but still no lights appeared. The joystick felt limp in his hands.

  “Zero-two to base, zero-two to base,” he spoke into his headpiece.

  Static.

  “Zero-two to base. Do you copy?”

  Static.

  Jonah swapped glances with Hugo; his eyes were wide with alarm.

  The instructor was trying for a third time and muttering about how unusual this all was when he was cut short by loud bang at the front of the craft. A small explosion opened the nose and shrapnel flew through the windshield, shattering the glass and peppering the cabin with fragments of metal.

  Jonah looked in horror as the instructor was stabbed by a storm of wreckage, his blood showering the cabin in red mist. The pilot spasmed and slumped forwards just as the power restored and cabin filled with a deafening siren and flashing lights.

  By the now the windshield was a gaping hole and the hoverpod was falling. Grace, wiping the instructor’s blood from her face, struggled to gain control. The pod was filling with smoke and accelerating in a downwards spin. She heaved at the joystick screaming curses. A fire was now inching its way across the fuselage and the fuel tank on the left wing ignited, sending a ball of flame into the sky.

  It was hopeless, they were going down.

  “Feng it!” she shouted. “Eject!”

  Her fist slammed a large knob triggering a hideous alarm. The cockpit roof ripped apart and the students were tossed out like popcorn. Jonah’s spine was crushed with the force and he clenched his teeth remembering something from a classroom about not biting your tongue. His ears were ringing with the fury of the explosion.

  And then silence.

  Jonah opened his eyes and found that he was falling, held up by the gentle rustle of a huge, white parachute. The hoverpod was far south, leaving a trail of black smoke, and then disappeared into the dusty haze below.

  “Hey, hey!” he heard a voice. He looked around and saw another white chute. Grace was drifting at the same altitude. “Are you okay?” she shouted. She banged the side of her helmet as if to say ‘does this thing work?’

  He was about to yell back but then realised he hadn’t checked. He ran a quick diagnosis: head, check, limbs check, feet, fingers, neck, check, check, check. He took a deep breath and felt only a bruise in his chest. No worse than a tough day of rushball, he thought.

  “I’m fine! You?” She was descending faster and couldn’t hear but from her gestures he figured she was okay.

  “Wait till the sergeant’s done with her,” he muttered.

  He searched for Hugo and saw his ‘chute, a white flower against the brown dirt below.

  Landing in an ejected hoverpod chair is rough-going. The ground raced up and smacked him hard on his bum, the chair bouncing across the rock and sand. The ‘chute caught a breeze and pulled Jonah sideways, dragging him though a thicket of thorns and dumping him in a pile of rocks.

  “Welcome to Egypt, we hope you enjoy your stay,” he grumbled.

  Always one step ahead, Grace had already landed and now was standing with her hands on her hips and looking down as he fumbled with the straps.

  “Quite ready?” she smiled at him.

  He squinted at her against the bright grey sky. “All in good time, young lady. Please fetch my bags, would you?” he answered.

  “We need to find Hugo,” she said, ignoring him. “He’s about one kilometre in that direction,” and she pointed north-east.

  Jonah scrambled out of his chair on all fours like a baby. The ground was hard and cut into his hands. They were in a tiny valley, an indentation, surrounded on all sides by rising dunes. Clumps of shrubs were dotted around in patches and a breeze blew scrappy weeds across the sand.
>
  Tan, beige, bronze or caramel – you can have any colour you like, so long as it’s brown, Jonah thought.

  The air was hot. Not humid, like the Rock, but dry, flaking, as if the land had dermatitis. The heat burned the hairs in his nose.

  Grace was already striding off, following a makeshift path. He scrambled up and followed her, making wide, deliberate arcs through the dry shrubbery. Any evidence of Hugo and his parachute were nowhere to be seen. Grace checked their bearings on her wrist-monitor and furrowed her brow. “We should be on him by now,” she said.

  Jonah caught her arm. “Did you hear that?”

  “No, what ...” and then she heard it too. Mechanical, like the growl of an engine. Machines, out here in the middle of nowhere!

  There was more. Voices, shouts and then boom, boom, boom.

  “Guns!”

  Scrambling to the top of a knoll, Grace could see why they’d missed Hugo. Their friend had heard the same sound and done a runner. Or at least that’s what they hoped because standing on his empty ‘chute were ten men dressed like bandits, with weapons. A short fellow, with a shiny bald head and round glasses was giving orders, pointing in several directions. Just in case the message didn’t get through, he shot several rounds into the air.

  Grace and Jonah grabbed their lasers and scrambled back down the slope. Through a thicket of brambles they spied a narrow crevice between two overhanging cliffs. Without talking they pushed through the brush and squeezed into the notch.