by Jack Robuck
He put his hands on the console, and pried open his eyes. Four inches from his face was a kitchen stove. White, with a blood print on it. His head hurt. The windshield was gone. He looked over at the other jump seat. No Jimmy. He slid from between the seat and the stove, and grasped both seat backs. The floor tilted up into the sky, and the cargo door was still half open. Bodies and wreckage and packs lay against the wall that divided the cabin from the rear. He hoisted himself into the cargo bay.
A whimper in the near dark. Jimmy was sitting upright in the corner between the walls and the floor, holding his stomach. He raised his head. He began to chuckle, then seized with pain and smiled over gritted teeth. “Little help?”
Matthew made his way toward Jimmy, stepping over others who were beginning to stir. “Damn, you hit?”
Jimmy nodded, whispering. “Oh, yeah.”
“Is it bad?”
Jimmy gestured with his hands, a sort of shrug, and looked down, ashamed.
Matthew grabbed his shoulder, and shook it. “Okay, Okay, no problem, buddy. We're gonna get you out of here.” He looked around. Stephen was standing, leaning against the wall. Natalie was out cold. Glazier, Sean, and Charlie were on their knees or climbing to their feet. Ella sat against the wall, her eyes open in shock.
Glazier put both his hands to his face. He said aloud to no one, “They'll be coming.”
They climbed as best they could out of the side door, lugging gear, weapons and each other through the tilted portal. Natalie awoke as Charlie tried to pick her up, and she pulled her pistol on him before she realized who he was.
He let her go gently, and held up his hands. “Woah, lady, easy. Just trying to get you out of here. Let's limit the Asian-on-Asian violence, okay?” He pounded his fists together in a symbol of unity. Natalie chuckled and started coughing.
Ella was silent. She had a death grip on two of their packs, but she stepped out of the ship on her own. Sean and Matthew carefully slid Jimmy through the door and carried him, Sean under his arms and Matthew holding his feet. The others shouldered extra baggage and trudged forward.
The dramatic sunset was giving way to lavender dusk. The streets were silent, the buildings cast leering shadows, and they were all fighting to stay alert. Cradled between the two men, Jimmy flicked through screens on his handheld, searching for where they were. He looked dazed, his movements exaggerated and numb. He swallowed and whispered directions, waving a hand forward. Looking back, Matthew could see they were moving away from the elevated train line several blocks away, and meeting eyes, he and Sean both nodded.
Jimmy directed them down a side street, away from the crashed ship, and they zigzagged diagonally through blocks of squalid, mud-plastered apartment buildings to cover their tracks. They caught glimpses of skittish civilians through rag-draped windows.
They ducked into an alley market, hiding behind poultry cages and under a threadbare tent as a trio of assault craft patrolled overhead. Their turbines raised a little sandstorm in the alley, particles swirling in the cold white search lights. Matthew and his friends closed their eyes and covered their faces.
Just before dark, they limped into an open town square. On the long south edge was a shuttered stucco hospital. On either side, low wings of 5 or 6 stories had been devastated by battle. The roof was gone, and the jagged pillars between window holes pointed up at the sky like teeth in a cracked, dry skull.
The center section was as pocked and blackened as the rest of it, but somehow, the structure was intact. A squat faded plus sign still clung high up, but various letters from the signage had fallen off long ago.
Matthew looked from Sean to Glazier and Natalie. “Should we scout it?”
Glazier looked down at Jimmy’s greying face. “I think we’d better get him inside.”
As they quick-stepped toward the broad concrete stairs, the front doors swung open and a dozen rifle barrels glinted. They froze. A man stepped out. He was wearing a grey-green jacket with a sergeant’s chevron. He had a three-day beard and red-rimmed eyes. He limped down the stairs with his pistol raised and looked them over.
“I hope you’re not our reinforcements.”
Jimmy drew in breath, and gasped. “Special Ops. Coming back in.”
The man laughed. “And I’m the Salt Lord. What do you fucks want?”
Glazier broke in. “This man needs help.”
The sergeant took one look at Jimmy, turned and waved them inside. Two soldiers rushed Jimmy away down a side corridor and Glazier followed. The sergeant led the rest of them through the dusty remains of the hospital lobby, and up a staggering set of stairs to the seventh floor. In a large, open room set with windows in one long wall, a man in a full uniform, the same grey-green color, hunched over a desk with two other men. One held a bundle of papers, and was showing them to the officer and his subordinate. As Matthew, Natalie, Charlie, Sean, Stephen and Ella entered the room, the officer turned to face them.
“You don’t look like Special Ops to me. Although you don’t look very much like Fleet spies either.” He turned to his colleagues, and one of them suppressed a grin. “I’m Colonel Anderson. Should I have a look at the back of your necks?”
Matthew felt Natalie bristle, and he put a hand on her arm. He stepped forward, and said, “Colonel, there’s a lot we need to tell you. The Fleet has been crashed into the desert. Most of their ships are destroyed. We came to Gate City to send out a broadcast, to tell everyone, ‘Now is the time to move against them'.”
Matthew told the Colonel and his men most of had happened, and when he had finished, Anderson let out a long, low whistle. “The Admiral dead and the entire Fleet head down in the sand.
“If what you’re saying is true, sending out that broadcast would give the entire rebellion a chance to rise up as one, all over the planet, and finish this fight for good. Unfortunately, things here in Gate City are very complicated. The tower is still locked down. Something’s been up with the Fleet contingent here for days, and now I think I know what it is.”
The officer on Anderson’s left wore thick glasses and a thin moustache. He reached out for the paper the other officer held in his hand. Holding it up, he said, “There’s been an increase in activity in and around the tower, and for the first time in years, out in the city sectors as well. They’re running patrols in the air and with heavy ground artillery as well. Our scouts reported some kind of explosion from the elevated train line just a few hours ago.”
Matthew nodded. “I’m afraid that was us coming in a little hot, sir. But what you say is true. There’s a man here, a Sunjumper that we’ve encountered before. Commandant Trague. He’s a vicious bastard to deal with.”
Anderson put his hands on his hips. "Sunjumpers? We’ve rarely seen them here in Gate City. I wonder what the hell’s going on.” He walked over to the windows, looking out over the city.
“Well, it won’t take us long to get to the bottom of it.” He turned back to face them with a comfortable smile. “As you know, without a transmitter like the one in the tower, we can’t even talk to Rebel Command on the far side of the planet. But almost a year ago, we captured a Fleet ship. I sent a small team to circumnavigate the inhabitable ring, and beg Command for reinforcements.
“From what we know, they’re in much better shape over there. That part of the planet has several large cities. There’s more of a Fleet presence, but there’s a vastly larger population to fight back.
“About six weeks ago, our team came back with a message. Long story short, we’re expecting reinforcement troops to arrive any day now. And when they do, we’re going to wipe the Fleet right out of Gate City and the tower, and the entire coast.”
The officer with the papers spoke up. “But sir, I thought we’d agreed to focus on the city? Attacking the tower could be a disaster now. It’s fully fortified, especially if it’s been reinforced by Sunjumpers.”
Anderson held up a hand and shook his head. “Nonsense. We’ve been crouching here waiting for the Fleet to
stomp us under its heel ever since the planet started spinning. We thought it was part of some broader plan. Now that we know their entire infrastructure is buried in sand half way to Noon, now is the time to strike. Especially before the Sunjumpers can dig in and dominate the three battalions of Troopers quartered in the tower.”
Matthew and his friends glanced at each other. He and Jimmy had filled them in about the Core Control Station at the tower. With Jimmy absent, he could feel them waiting for him to make the next move.
Anderson looked at Matthew, and said, “I’m going to be honest with you. You look like a kid who couldn’t find drinking water on his own out here, much less run an operation. But one thing is clear. You’re not telling me everything.” He continued staring Matthew down from beneath dark eyebrows.
Matthew stammered, “I’m not sure what you mean, sir. I tried to give you an accurate account of the events, and of my time here on this planet.”
Anderson held up a hand. “That’s not what I mean.”
Matthew felt cold, he felt his stomach clench.
Anderson said, “I’m talking about the Sunjumper. Trague. How did he find you on the train? Why did he come to Gate City?”
Matthew tried not to audibly exhale. “Jimmy thinks the Salt People sold us out. But as for why he's here, that's a question that worries me.”
Anderson looked off into the distance. “You beat him once. If he's as vicious as you say, he's probably got it out for you. And he won't hold back. Maybe that's why he's here.”
In the silence, a thought hit Matthew like a struck bell, and he had to swallow it. Show no emotions. No thoughts. Because the answer was the secret. Trague might be pissed at Matthew and his group, but there was no way he could track them across the planet to Gate City. Somehow, Trague knew the importance of the tower. Matthew needed Anderson to attack the tower right now. Tonight. But without telling him the real reason why, Anderson had no motivation to do so. He blurted out, “The Admiral.”
The rebels all looked at Matthew. Anderson tilted his head, waiting.
Matthew said, “His surface HQ was here, in the tower, right? Jimmy said it’s the only planet-wide COM tower. Then Trague is just the first to arrive. The Fleet will have to rally under a new leader in order to survive. And the tower is the throne, so to speak. I bet there will be more and more Fleet survivors arriving here every day.”
Anderson tilted his head, and said, “Whoever controls the Admiral’s tower runs the Fleet. That’s very insightful, young man.”
Matthew tried to breathe. A plan was slowly forming in his mind, but now was the time act on it. “We can’t allow them to become a cohesive fighting force again, sir. Wouldn’t it be better to turn them against each other? In-fighting among different factions…a civil war.”
Anderson paced over to the window. He turned to face Matthew, his arms crossed. “How do we do that?”
Matthew swallowed. “The tower. We take the tower. We hold it. They’ll attack us, but Jimmy said it’s defensible. And the longer we have it…”
Anderson cut him off. “The longer we have the tower, the more they’ll struggle to maintain.”
Matthew walked toward Anderson. “We can even push them to fight. Attack their supplies. Create false reports.”
Anderson clapped his hands together, and laughed. “Classic guerrilla warfare. I love it.” He furrowed his brow, staring down at the floor, and Matthew could tell he was calculating all of the factors involved in an immediate strike.
Finally, Anderson said, “I'll send out a scouting mission immediately to assess the status at the tower. I want you people in on this, whoever's on their feet. We'll cover the logistics and the heavy fighting, but you’ve been out there in the field, and you know how Trague works.”
Matthew nodded. He looked from face to face, and back to Anderson. “When do you want to go?”
Chapter 17
The rebels used the hospital basement as their infirmary. Matthew found Jimmy amongst a long row of clean white cots set up in a wide concrete hallway. He was under blankets, and an IV bag was clipped to a pipe in the wall overhead.
Matthew began to turn away, but Jimmy opened his eyes and beckoned him over. When he told Jimmy of his success in getting Anderson on board, Jimmy looked surprised. He called out for the nurse, then turned back to Matthew. “What did you tell him?”
“He asked me why Trague was here, and I said probably to take command of the Fleet. I told him the tower was the command center, and without it, the factions of Fleet survivors could be turned against each other.”
Jimmy said, “That’s smart, but we've got a very narrow window of opportunity. Trague will just murder anyone who stands in his way. Especially if he’s got Sunjumpers with him. Rachel used to always fear that they’d move against the Admiral some day and become a far worse enemy.”
Matthew laughed. “Well. One step at a time.”
Jimmy smiled. “Great work kid.”
They broke off as the nurse arrived. Jimmy asked her to raise the dosage in his IV. She seemed reluctant, but she punched in a code on the monitor. When she was gone, Matthew said, “Anderson seems Okay. But as long as this is working, there’s no need to tell him the truth.”
Jimmy said, “So when will he move out? Trague’s probably in the tower right now, and I’m sure his first order of business is shaking the place down.”
Matthew said, “Tomorrow. We're going out at first light.” He raised a hand at Jimmy’s pained but determined expression. “Not you. Not this time. He just wants a few of us to accompany his team. Do the scouting.”
Jimmy lay back against the starched white pillow. When he looked at Matthew again, the glazed look in his eyes had returned. The way his brow furrowed, he looked like a child worried about missing homework.
Matthew patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry.”
Jimmy said quietly, “Okay.”
Matthew left him, walking back down the long hall to the staircase. A nurse offered him a stack of blankets, which he gladly accepted, and carried up the long stairs to the roof.
Colonel Anderson had set his friends up with rooms on the third floor of the hospital, and gave them supplies and rations, but they were all up on the roof, where the soldiers had built campfires on the tile and concrete floors of the hospital’s blasted-out top floor, open to the sky. Late into the night, they all sat up talking about the end of the war and where they would each go next. They huddled in separate groups among the soldiers, trading stories and correcting the torrent of rumors that had started to flow through their ranks from Anderson's office.
He laid a blanket over Glazier, already sleeping near a camp fire. Natalie declined the offer. She sat by another fire, telling stories about Trifecta to some of the soldiers. In the distant corner, he saw Ella, clutching a lantern in a concrete corner, staring up at the stars. He walked over and showed her the pile of blankets.
Her eyes lit up and she stood up, her feet crossed, and quick-stepped over to him. She stuck her face into the blankets, and smelled them, coming up smiling.
Matthew smirked at her, and said, “Blanket?”
She nodded, and she took him by the hand, the other holding her lantern high overhead, and he followed her, trying not to drop the pile, as they shuffled over the broken floor.
She led him to an empty room, and pointed toward the corner of the floor opposite from the window. Matthew shook out a blanket with one hand, and let it drift open across the floor. He looked at her. She was framed by the white light streaming in through the window. Over her shoulder, he could see three tiny moons in a row. He had never noticed them before. She looked back over her shoulder to see what he saw. Her profile was a soft white glow, a lightning strike down the arc of her forehead and the jags of her nose and lips and chin. His eyes floated down her long neck to where her shoulders crested from her clavicle, paper white.
Turning back, she batted her eyelashes and said, “Moons.” She smiled. "I’ve never seen all three at o
nce. I guess you did that too.”
Matthew stuttered. “Uh… you’re welcome?”
She came to him, and they sat down on the blankets, cross-legged. “I thought you weren't coming to the ocean.”
Matthew's eyebrows shot up. “Are we there?”
Ella smiled. She lifted her nose to the wind, and closed her eyes. “It’s there, waiting for me on the horizon. Can't you smell it?” She put a hand on his wrist. “It’s waiting for us.”
Matthew looked to see if she had Jimmy's glazed look, but she was stone sober. “Waiting for us to do what?”
“To come. To see.” She smiled again, biting her lower lip. “To listen, and smell, and taste, and that's all.”
Matthew chuckled, and shrugged.
Ella scooted closer to him. “I realized something when I was out there in the desert on my poor, poor lizard. Out there in the sand. I realized that I had never planned to go back to Luna. And I started wondering what I would do if I actually reached the ocean. So I remembered.
I thought back to all the times I dreamed about it, about the sun flying high overhead, warm, and bright, and about wading out into the water, and swimming, and swimming, and I realized I'd been seeing myself swimming out into the water forever and never coming back. Swimming out until there was no return.”
She put her elbow on her knee, and rested her face in her palm. She glanced at him, and her eyes glittered in the lantern’s amber light, her freckles warm and ancient like constellations. “Do you understand what I mean?”
Matthew nodded slowly with the weight of her confession, and what he said came out in a whisper. “Yes.”
She raised her chin at him, and looked at him through her long lashes. She opened the lantern and blew out the flame. She slipped her dress down past her shoulders and onto the floor in one long graceful movement. She was silhouetted there, firm and proud. She raised a hand and beckoned to him with two fingers, and eased herself back onto the makeshift bed, nestling deep into the pile of blankets in the darkened corner. Matthew put one knee on the edge of the blanket, afraid to touch her.
