Earthbound (The Reach, Book 1)

by Mark R. Healy

  He had big plans, machinations that he had been dreaming up for years now. As much as he respected Wilt, he knew there were ways he could make things better. More efficient. Many of Tucker’s plans had already been set in motion, surreptitiously carried out without the knowledge of Alton Wilt. The angles that Wilt was using, the creds he was bringing in – that was child’s play compared to what Tucker was going to do. He’d turn Link upside down, and eventually the Reach as well, and make every inch of this place his own.

  Tucker would make Alton Wilt look like an amateur.

  He had it all ahead of him.

  But right now, he was going to enjoy dealing with this kid. He was going to draw it out for as long as he liked, make her wait until he was ready.

  Tucker pulled the .45 from its holster and racked the slide. The sharp sound of it cut through the background noise like a knife.

  He hoped the kid heard the sound and recognised what it was. He hoped she knew what was coming.

  The kid turned into a narrow ramp that led to a blank wall, and then Tucker saw her head to the right and stumble. She disappeared from view.

  Don’t worry, kid. Not long now.

  He stopped and waited, holding back to see if she emerged from the other side of the conduit. She did not.

  Tucker walked slowly, letting his boots thump against the steel beneath his feet. He faced the blank wall and stopped, taking a deep breath. He listened for movement, but there was nothing to hear.

  Sounds like she’s given up.

  He started to walk again, edging to the left so that he could see where she had disappeared. It looked like a dead end. No wonder she wasn’t going anywhere.

  Okay, enough. Time to end this.

  With a sharp movement, Tucker rounded the corner and brought up the .45.

  There was nothing there. Just a control panel, the walkway, and empty space.

  “Hey!” came the kid’s voice.

  Tucker turned to see her slumped against another panel on the floor behind him, pointing a 9mm right at his chest.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Surprise, fucker.”

  Tucker had time to wonder how on earth she’d managed to double back around without him seeing her, and then the gun boomed.

  Ursie pulled on the trigger and the 9mm jumped in her hands with unexpected violence. She tried her best to keep the muzzle down and kept squeezing the trigger, hoping that she was hitting something, and when the magazine emptied she clicked away with nothing in the chamber, just to make sure she’d fired everything she had. When it became clear that it was spent, she finally dropped the gun and let it clatter on the walkway. A helpless sob erupted from her mouth. She was certain that she would see the man still standing there leering at her, untouched, with scorch marks from ill-aimed bullets all around him.

  But Tucker wasn’t standing. He was crumpled on the floor, staring at her but unseeing, a wound in his neck and one in his chest. His gun had evidently flown from his hand and dropped over the edge of the walkway, for now Ursie could hear it clattering as it caromed off the fan blades and handrails far below.

  Ursie let out another sob, this one tinged with relief and disbelief, and the two of them sat there slumped against their respective consoles as she tried to regain her breath. Her legs still ached, and now that she was sitting, she did not feel like getting up again.

  But she knew that she had to.

  She gripped the edge of the console and lifted herself up, groaning, then gathered up her satchel and slung it over her shoulder again.

  She gave the slumped man one last look, and then got moving out of the dead end.

  The door. Find that damn door before time runs out.

  She limped back through the maze of machines, a remote part of her brain wondering if there were more goons coming after her, another part not really caring. If the men in suits came for her, they could have her. She did not have the energy to resist them anymore.

  The notion of falling into the arms of death and finally finding rest was almost appealing to her at this point.

  As if it were mocking her previous attempts to find it, door ‘G’ materialised before her in only a matter of seconds this time around. Part of her scorned it for all the trouble it had caused, and the other part welcomed it as her saviour. She stumbled toward it and pushed on the handle, shoving her weary body against the wedge of steel to force it open.

  Ursie had expected to find another ladder or maintenance shaft when she opened the door, but instead she was greeted by the harsh glare of the afternoon sun and a whirling wind so strong that it almost wrenched the door handle from her grasp.

  Before her was a three-kilometre drop straight down into nothingness.

  Oh, god no.

  There was a steel walkway outside the door, but it was so thin that it looked about as strong as chicken wire. It ran along the edge of the Reach exterior, and at its conclusion were indentations in the wall leading upward, but these were nothing like a proper ladder. They looked more like grooves in the wall than handholds.

  Further up she could see a ledge that might have been the Atrium.

  She looked out toward the murky horizon, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu from the day before. This was just like the last climb below the Greenhouse, except that this time there were no ropes. No carabiners. No proper ladders. No Knile to help her. And this time she was three times higher.

  Actually, this was nothing like the first climb.

  Fuck you, Knile, she thought. Why did you send me this way? I can’t do this.

  She realised with dread that she had never felt further from the top of the Reach than she did at that very moment.

  40

  Wilt moved with blinding speed, and, as quick as he was, Knile could not entirely get out of the way of his swinging fist. The blow glanced off Knile’s neck, but even that was enough to knock him off his feet.

  He rolled and got back to a standing position in one motion, but Wilt was already upon him again. The tall man drove the palm of his hand into Knile’s solar plexus, sending him sprawling back against the nearest of the baffles, where he jarred his back and neck painfully.

  Holy shit, this guy hits like a sledgehammer.

  There was no time for further thought. Wilt was zeroing in again, and as their eyes met, Knile saw an uncompromising coldness in his adversary’s eyes. In that one instant Knile understood the extent of the man’s conviction, his will, and the very force of it seemed to push against Knile’s resolve, compelling him to submit.

  Knile moved, and this time he avoided being struck, albeit by the narrowest of margins. The blow to his midriff had winded him, and now he gasped for breath as he danced away from his larger opponent.

  Wilt came again, and Knile countered with a blow to the jaw, but Wilt seemed to barely feel it, never breaking stride as he closed the gap and wrenching Knile by the shoulders, throwing him across the floor toward the giant sphere.

  “Where are you going, Knile?” Wilt drawled. The eerie light of the field generator whorled and rippled across his face as he strode forward. “You’ve nowhere left to run.”

  “I don’t know what you want, man,” Knile gasped, “but I think you’ve got the wrong guy.”

  Wilt stopped with a shocked expression on his face, as if he’d been slapped.

  “How dare you?” he breathed. “How dare you treat me with such disrespect? To think I’m so stupid.” He waved his hand around. “Did you think I’d fall for that? Maybe just turn around and walk out of here, leave you to go on your way?”

  “I don’t–”

  “I deserve more than that from you, Knile,” Wilt grated. “You’ve earned my respect during our time together. The least you could do is show me the same.”

  “I don’t know you, and I don’t know who you think I am,” Knile said, maintaining his pose of ignorance. This infuriated Wilt even further, and he advanced again.

  Wilt struck him again in the stomach, then in the ribs, and Knile coughed as
he rolled away. He dry retched, distantly glad that there was almost nothing in his stomach to bring up. In desperation he looked over at the control terminal for the field generator. The Stormgates were still set to reverse with his initial configuration settings, and that meant they would only do so for one or two seconds. That was a very small window in which to get Ursie through, but maybe it was enough.

  He wasn’t going to win this fight with Wilt. No way. There was no point trying.

  Knile pushed himself up off the floor and ran for the baffles. Maybe he could lose Wilt in the darkness and head up to the Atrium to meet up with Ursie.

  He reached the baffles, but someone was coming through from the other direction. The butt of a gun came arcing through the gloom and clipped him on the jaw, sending him crashing back to the floor, dazed.

  He looked up and saw the man in the suit, the one with the star tattoo on his cheek.

  “Good timing, Mr. Jordan,” Wilt said, standing over his fallen opponent. “I think our friend here was just about to leave the party.”

  “No problem, Mr. Wilt.”

  Wilt dropped down on Knile, jamming his knee painfully into his back. Knile cried out in pain, writhing helplessly like an insect that had been pinned to a corkboard. Jordan laughed. Two other men in suits appeared behind him.

  “Screams like a bitch, huh?” Jordan said.

  Wilt began to roughly search Knile’s body, his fingers darting into Knile’s pockets, and then the knee lifted from Knile’s back. Wilt flipped him over unceremoniously and then the knee pushed down on his chest as Wilt searched his front.

  “Check the pack,” he ordered, waving at Knile’s backpack, which lay on the floor over by the terminal. Jordan obediently sauntered over to investigate.

  Wilt’s hands moved through the remainder of Knile’s pockets, then he checked his boots and pulled roughly at his hair and wrenched open his mouth.

  “It must be in there,” Wilt said, turning to Jordan.

  “No sir, Mr. Wilt. Nothing in here but a bunch of tools. The guy isn’t even packing a weapon.”

  “Is that so? Hand me a gun,” Wilt ordered, holding his hand aloft expectantly. Jordan obliged, and as soon as the gun was in his hand, Wilt levelled it at Knile’s face. “You have five seconds, Mr. Oberend. I want the passkey.”

  “You blow my head off and you stay earthbound,” Knile said, unflinching. He’d decided the time for playing the innocent was over. “You’ll never find where I’ve stashed it.”

  “Mr. Wilt?” Jordan said. “Allow me.”

  Wilt glared down the barrel at Knile for a moment longer, then pushed himself off, his mouth a thin line of displeasure.

  “He’s all yours.”

  Jordan hunkered over Knile and began to feel through his pockets, much like Wilt had done moments before. However, where Wilt had failed, Jordan found the secret compartment in only a matter of moments.

  “Ah, here we go,” Jordan said, his voice drenched with satisfaction as he drew out the passkey. “That’s an old gutter rat trick if ever I saw one. Wouldn’t expect any less from one like this.”

  He handed the passkey to Wilt, who took it almost reverently, staring at its golden curves as his jaw dropped open and his face went slack.

  “Finally,” he gasped. “Finally, I have it.”

  “It won’t do you much good,” Knile said acidly. The comment disrupted Wilt from his reverie and the look of frustration returned to his face.

  “I think we’re done with you, Knile,” Wilt said, stepping forward and raising the gun again.

  “Do you have any idea how those things work?” Knile yelled up at him. “You won’t get through the Stormgates with my name on that passkey.”

  Wilt paused and seemed to think of something.

  “I think we’ve got that covered,” he said, pulling out his holophone. He tapped on the screen to initiate a call, then waited patiently for someone to answer, but as the seconds ticked by it seemed evident that this would not occur. “No response from Tucker,” he said to Jordan, stowing the passkey in his breast pocket.

  “Maybe this glowing ball thing is affecting the signal,” Jordan offered.

  “Yes. Maybe. He’s probably already reached the Atrium.”

  “What if he hasn’t?” Jordan said.

  “Then I’ll have no one to hack this passkey.” Wilt turned back to Knile. “It seems you might have one bargaining chip left, Knile. Can you hack this thing?” Knile glared back at him balefully. Wilt raised the gun. “I said, can you hack this thing?”

  “Yes,” Knile snapped bitterly.

  “Then you’re coming with me.” He hauled him to his feet and gripped him in a headlock. “You’re my insurance policy.”

  “I’ll need my tools,” Knile gasped, straining for air beneath the pressure of Wilt’s forearm. Wilt gestured for Jordan to retrieve the backpack, and the man did so, handing it on to Knile.

  “Good, now–”

  “Knile!” came a loud voice from somewhere within the baffles. “I know you’re in here. Give yourself up!”

  Wilt responded immediately, dragging Knile toward the darkness and hissing instructions at Jordan and the other two men. They complied, splitting up and heading into the baffles as Wilt drew Knile in the other direction.

  “Knile, don’t do anything stupid,” came the voice again. “I know where Mianda is. I can see that both you and she are kept safe if you’ll do what I say.”

  Knile suddenly recognised the voice. It was the Enforcer, Duran, the one who had been tracking him years ago. Was he telling the truth about Mianda? Could that really have been her down in Lux?

  Knile raised a hand to Wilt’s arm to steady himself, and he vaguely saw the digits counting down on his wristwatch.

  The Stormgates were waiting, and time was running out.

  Duran crept through the baffles with his .40 clasped in both hands. He’d heard more than one voice inside the field generator room, and one of them was definitely Oberend. The man sounded desperate. If Wilt’s men had found him, Duran wasn’t sure what was going to happen. He still didn’t know what they wanted him for. If it was a debt or some sort of grievance, they probably wouldn’t wait long before killing him, and Duran didn’t want that. He wanted Oberend alive, if possible. He wanted him to live long enough to see justice done, to get what he deserved.

  Duran hoped that by calling out he had distracted them and delayed the execution for a few moments at least, long enough for Duran to intervene. He had no idea whether Knile would believe what he’d said about Mianda, but at this point the girl was about the only thing Duran could use for leverage.

  Of course, if they wanted something else from him, such as information, they might be in the process of moving him to another location. Duran would have been better served waiting for them at the door in that case, but since he didn’t know for sure, he couldn’t take the chance of sitting idly by and hoping that Oberend came out alive.

  Now, through that weird hum of the field generator, Duran could hear the furtive movements of the other men as they spread out through the room. He hadn’t identified himself as an Enforcer yet, and he doubted that it would make any difference – these kind of men respected no one, least of all the men in black, so he knew he was probably going to have to incapacitate them or kill them outright if he was to get through to Oberend.

  I’m probably not going to leave this room alive. It was the same thought that had occurred to him when he’d spoken to his father not so long ago. So be it.

  The twisting light played tricks on the imagination in here. Three or four times Duran thought that men were coming at him, their shadows appearing from around the sharp corners of the baffle walls, but there was nothing. They were merely ghosts conjured by the light emanating from the field generator.

  Duran looked behind him, back from where he had come. The light was easier to cope with in that direction, coming from over his shoulder. On a hunch, he began to move back toward the door, and a moment
later he almost collided with one of the men in suits. With the light in his eyes, the man reacted more slowly, and Duran was able to grasp his gun hand and force it up toward the ceiling. The man grunted in surprise and the gun went off, and Duran pistol whipped the man in the temple. As he crumpled, another man appeared around the next corner, gun raised, and Duran fired, hitting him with a neat double tap to the chest. The man fell back against the wall and slid to the floor without a sound, a dark patch spreading across his shirt.

  Duran kept moving, taking the impetus and hoping to take down more of them if they’d all followed each other down the same path, but his luck did not extend that far. There were no more here.

  He doubled back to the entrance again, but, upon finding no one there, continued around the perimeter of the baffles, strafing and checking each in turn. He was not picking up the sound of movement anymore, and he wondered if there were any men left. Had they bound and gagged Oberend somewhere? Was he lying in the darkness, waiting to be found?

  There was a subtle clicking sound, and Duran realised someone was at the door.

  He responded swiftly, moving with small, rapid steps back the way he had come.

  There was a muzzle flash in the gloom, and Duran spun like a top. He barely heard the sound of the gun firing. One minute he was on his feet, and the next he was face down, gasping for breath.

  Now, even though his ears were ringing, he could hear the footsteps again, and then the shooter laughed, a cruel and hollow sound. He was closing in.

  Duran got up, gritting his teeth at the pain in his shoulder. He half slid along the wall, half ran, and then he found his balance again. Turning, he brought the gun up, waiting for his pursuer to appear, but there was no one there.

  He melted into the baffles again, attempting to control his ragged breathing, trying to ignore the pain in his shoulder and neck. That laughter came again, and it bounced around through the baffles like a dozen voices all at once. It was everywhere and it was nowhere.

  Duran closed his eyes and steeled himself.

  Tunks was right about you. So was Prazor. You’re a misguided, self-important fool who’s going to die because he was too proud to admit to his own flaws.