allies and enemies 02 - rogues

by Amy J. Murphy

  “This won’t even get us out of the room.” Her hopes flattened. Rachel had seemed so pleased with her prize. “We cannot use this to open the doors, if that’s what you’re saying. They don’t work that way.”

  “Who said anything about leaving?” She lofted the device in a little victory wave. “We’re inviting the party to us. And you’re gonna help, whiz kid.”

  The term meant nothing, but Erelah guessed it was a type of off-hand compliment. “Apologies?”

  “These puppies disrupt the same communication frequency the UEC uses.” Rachel’s voice rushed with excitement. “You’re smart enough to modify it to send a message. If my people are listening, they’ll notice. Instant rescue.”

  Erelah looked down at the modest-looking thing and up into Rachel’s hopeful expression. What the healer was asking involved many unknowns. Considering the basic state of neglect to the compound, the personnel here were more soldiers than techs. Nevertheless, their captors would notice the signal eventually.

  Erelah chewed her lip. It was a big gamble. So far, Selto seemed content to play the beneficent host. How would he react to such a discovery? If this were “polite house arrest,” as Rachel called it, he might make things considerably uncomfortable.

  “I see your wheels turning, kiddo. Whatcha thinking?”

  “If I can do this, at best we might be able to send out a simple binary message. Our time frame would be limited by how long Selto’s people take to notice it.” She paused. “Hiding it would decrease the likelihood of that.”

  “Good.” Rachel grinned. “I’ll stow it in the medical bay when that asshole Ceric comes to bring me back there for more of Selto’s busy work.”

  Erelah had already loosened the cover from the device. She glanced up from the complex mass of circuits. “When will that be?”

  Rachel counted on her fingers. Then, “About thirty minutes. No pressure.”

  49

  That’s why they’re called ‘marks.’ You don’t get close. You don’t make them pets or get stupid ideas that they could see things your way.

  Asher spent the remainder of the day stalking the darkened catwalks above the hab area. In its better days, the place was essentially a giant machine, churning out mass quantities of cesium to fuel the vessels of war and commerce for a quarter of the Known Worlds. Now it was little more than a rusting skeleton. Like much of the Reaches.

  He had never known this place in any other state. Like the men and women of his age, he had to rely on descriptions provided by those elder to him. In his experience, they tended to embellish and assign a golden quality to things before the Collapse. It was their communal fairytale, one he could not share. It put him on the outside of it. Just as being a hybrid put him on the outside of everything else.

  Outsiders. Survivors.

  He scoffed. She had called them the same. As if she knew him or his life. When he was the one walking around with her wedged deep in his brain like a splinter.

  His hands tightened around the rail. The knuckles were white.

  Then why did it sting so much?

  Stick to the plan. You made a deal. This will all be set and over.

  The nightmare of the past two years would be over. He could go back. This time granted a hero’s return as well.

  Back to what?

  An irritated grunt pushed out of him. He straightened, shrugging his arms, vaguely aware of how much a madman he was, muttering to himself in a darkened corner.

  The girl’s memory bubbled up, just like the others: unbidden, unwelcome.

  Your brother is dead.

  I signed the warrant myself.

  Maynard’s dark eyes beneath the inky hood of slick hair. The hungry monster ready to feast on hurt.

  Jon could not be dead. Could not have left me to this world alone. What little remained of hope guttered like a candle in a harsh breeze. He cannot die…

  Asher shook his head.

  The catwalk rumbled beneath his feet. Someone approached. Through the gaps in the complicated labyrinth of pipes and conduits, he glimpsed two guards. Not a patrol. They’d already been past.

  They were here for him.

  His stomach tensed. One of them was Ceric. The hard lines of their shoulders and the way they kept their bodies at an angle to him meant he had gone from a barely tolerated guest to a hostile. Something had changed.

  “Selto wants you,” said Ceric. The corner of his mouth twitched. There was dark amusement there.

  “I need to go to my quarters first.” He stepped forward, keeping his moves casual.

  The men barred his way. “Now.”

  50

  Asher descended the short flight of steps into the control suite. The space was a semi-circle with the horizontal surface of a main hub glowing at its center. Ulrid’s back was to the door, his broad shoulders rigid with attention as he worked. The darkened screens of the surrounding interfaces glinted in the hub’s cast-off light. The rest of the room was in more disarray than usual. Once-vital equipment silently decayed under a layer of dust.

  Asher paused; Ceric’s rifle muzzle prodded his back. They waited in an awkward quiet for Ulrid to acknowledge them. From the strange tension in the air, Asher had a bone-deep feeling that whatever held the older man’s attention was not good. An alert projected over the surface of the hub. It was silenced too quickly for Asher to read.

  “Ceric.” Ulrid waved a hand, beckoning. The sergeant strode past, purposefully jostling Asher. He watched the two men engage in a hushed exchange.

  Ulrid placed a hand on his second’s shoulder, a gesture that seemed almost fatherly. A dark little part of him reminded Asher of a time when Ulrid had regarded him that way, like a son. But no more.

  He scoffed inwardly, dismissing the errant wave of regret.

  Their conversation done, the sergeant nodded in salute to Ulrid and strode for the door. On his way out, Ceric directed one final withering stare at Asher.

  The heavy metal hatch shut. Asher cleared his throat. “If you needed me, you just had to ask nice.”

  Still Ulrid did not turn to look at him. A bad sign, he decided.

  “One of my men found this in the medisuite.” Ulrid cast a large hunk of plastic across the marred surface of the hub. His voice was odd and evaluating, somewhere between accusing and not.

  Asher looked. It was the remains of a handheld device. A set of EM nodes were adhered to the sides with bits of salvaged wire. It had once had a blue-and-gray cover, like any common medical device.

  Asher clenched his jaw. Northway.

  He forced his voice to remain neutral. “And?”

  “It’s been modified to send a rudimentary signal.” He studied him. “Any guesses as to who they were signaling? I’m giving you a chance to confess now.”

  At this, Asher nearly snorted, but thought better considering the red angry swath that was Ulrid’s face. He cleared his throat. “Confess what?”

  “Don’t be stupid, boy. You’ve always shown weakness when it came to women.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Enough lies,” Ulrid countered. “You’re determined to be a curse on my life, aren’t you?”

  “’Cause things have been going well so far.”

  “A joke. You’re going to joke now?” Ulrid was now fully incensed. Asher barely had time to steel himself before the older man’s blow caught him on the jaw. He staggered back.

  “You never took anything seriously. Did you? Never learned. I should have figured you’d get yourself burned. I was stupid to come to your defense. My entire career ended. For you.”

  “Guess that means you’re not going to help, are you?” Asher massaged his jaw. A hard knot was already starting to form there.

  “Ravinia ruined you. Your mother was an idealist. Those are the most dangerous kind of people. They never have to lift a weapon, yet somehow manage to get people killed.” He righted his clothes and ran a hand across his hair, as if surprised by his own sudden loss of self-control.<
br />
  An electric realization settled in Asher’s gut. “You took over on your own. You mutinied. You run Tintown. Not Ironvale.”

  That was the reason behind the feeling of walking in the wake of something damning and final. They’d gone renegade. Whatever drive tech the girl could offer, Ulrid would keep for himself and sell to the highest bidder.

  “Any Guild willing to burn a loyal soldier for another man’s sins isn’t worthy of my allegiance,” Ulrid growled.

  The skin across the back of Asher’s neck tightened. “You never meant to deal with Ironvale for me. You meant to keep the tech.”

  Ulrid crossed his arms. “Never were the brightest, were you?”

  Asher drew in breath to speak. But thought better of it.

  In the metal surface of the storage compartments, Asher saw the dim reflection of the remaining guard. The man’s attention darted between the door and the coms device strapped to his forearm. There was something worse still going on here. And it had to do with Northway’s improvised device.

  The true crisis wasn’t in here. It was somewhere out there. With Erelah.

  “Don’t you realize who they have summoned here?” Ulrid jabbed a finger at the hub. The surface was presenting proximity reads. It displayed an estimated landing trajectory for a ship of unknown design.

  Summoned?

  “I honestly have no idea.” He never thought Northway clever enough to pull off such a thing. It meant Erelah had helped her.

  “Ulrid, who the Sceelah did they signal?” Asher threw his hands wide. “I’ve been out in the deep black for nearly two years.”

  “The Humans.” The bleakness in his tone told it all. There was a dread connected to it. They were a threat, worthy of his reaction and his concern. “They wiped out an entire Sceeloid outpost in the Thermalyea Fray. Humans claimed it as their prize.”

  Asher frowned, incredulous. How had he not heard of this? Even on the run in the Mercy, this was news that should have reached them.

  “Their ships are swifter than any of our velos. They hail no quarter. Demand no tithes. Simply take what they want. Some say they act in vengeance for how the Sceeloid treated their ancestors, the Palari.” Ulrid planted his hands on the surface of the hub. The blue-green glow of its surface made the ravages of age on his face look that much more pronounced. “And now they have come here.”

  “Sir. There are hostiles on approach to the complex.” The vox echoed from the hub. “Orders?”

  Ulrid jabbed at the vox interface. His stare, hot with rage, fixed on Asher as he ordered: “Avoid engaging them. Be certain the two females are secured. They’re the true targets.”

  He turned on Asher. “You bring everyone ruin.”

  51

  Another guard had left after a terse exchange with Brilta. No explanation given. No announcement. A moment later metal shutters rolled closed over the exterior of the long window of the room. Brilta now checked and rechecked the immense rifle across her chest like a compulsive habit. From here, Erelah could see the red primed ready light.

  “Do it. Now.” Rachel pointed over her shoulder at Brilta. “While she’s distracted.”

  Erelah stiffened, shook her head. “I won’t. I refuse.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “She’s no harm to us. It wouldn’t be right.”

  The towering woman was as simple as a thumb. It probably would never occur to her to be cruel. She followed orders and wanted only praise like some eager child, especially from Selto. Yet Rachel did not know what she asked by using the Sight on Brilta. As if a sight-jack were a simple conjurer’s trick to perform for the delight of children.

  Rachel did not understand what she asked.

  “Something’s going down. You don’t think that hack to the scanner worked already, do you?” Rachel gasped her elbow. “That’s the second time a guard has come and gone. This is might be our only chance to get out of here, while they’re this distracted.”

  Erelah looked at the floor but saw nothing of interest. She frowned at Rachel in confusion.

  “It’s an expression,” the doctor huffed, rolling her eyes.

  “The worst place for us to be would be out in the corridors.” Erelah kept her voice low. “They are trained Guild soldiers, not like the men that Ix employed. Their vigilance will be considerable.”

  “You got a better idea how we get outta here?” Rachel folded her arms.

  Erelah bit her lip. Abruptly, she looked up as an idea formed. She made for Brilta’s location.

  Rachel seized her elbow. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll ask her.”

  52

  When compared to the considerable hole that had just been made in the bunker wall, as well as the one created in the Guildsman posted at the door, the man that stepped through it seemed unremarkable, nearly disappointing. He was clad in a familiar uniform: a solid blue shipsuit, festooned with fasteners and zippers. Insignia glinted at the neck and colored patches decorated the sleeves at both biceps like some sort of tribal brands.

  Just like Northway’s.

  Asher cursed under his breath.

  Seconds before, the room had rocked with the force of the explosion. Part of him now wondered what sort of weapon could create such a perfectly shaped hole, but he doubted the invaders were about to explain. The room filled with other armed figures. Identical to the attackers to Ix’s ship, they wore heavy armor and their faces were partially obscured by gleaming black helmets.

  “On your knees! Hands behind your head!” The commands were barked in barely comprehensible Commonspeak.

  They could have been a detachment of Eugenes soldiers, the kind they called Volunteers. Their moves were well-practiced. But that’s where the likeness ended. The four men spoke back and forth to each other in clipped staccato, their words nonsense, like the yapping of spike hounds.

  Asher found himself kneeling beside Ulrid, hands clasped behind his head.

  The man in the shipsuit took in the room. His moves did not seem as easy as those of the armored men. Asher suspected he was someone higher ranking and used to giving commands from afar, an officer.

  As he watched, one of the soldiers strode up, offering the hacked med scanner to the officer. The man regarded it with a curious frown while they conferred in their strange tongue. He thrust it back at the soldier and focused his attention on Ulrid.

  There were more commands and two of the sentries jogged out of the room.

  The officer stood over them. His eyes were a strange icy blue. Asher had never seen healthy eyes that color, ones capable of sight. This was Northway’s UEC? A Human? Where was the ferocity Ulrid warned about? The officer gestured for the soldier, a stocky dark-skinned man that had been yelling in Commonspeak.

  “Captain Wren regrets this hostile action is necessary. We will locate and extract the fugitives that arrived here a few days ago. No other harm will come to you for cooperation.”

  “Fugitive is a pretty broad term around here,” Asher volunteered, just as Ulrid drew in breath to speak.

  The soldier translated. Wren’s mouth twitched with a sort of wry amusement: “A female arrived here. Where is she?”

  “That depends,” Ulrid spouted. “What do we get in trade?”

  This elicited a narrowed stare from Wren once translated.

  “The UEC does not negotiate with terrorist organizations or organized crime syndicates. We deal with recognized governments. This operation is a rogue mining facility with a forced labor base.”

  Asher muttered. “Guess he told you.”

  “Shut up,” Ulrid snapped. His attention swiveled back to Wren. “Now listen. That’s not how this works.”

  Wren didn’t wait for the translation. He made a slashing motion across his neck. The Human guard raised his weapon, a heavy, boxy thing with the shape of a rifle. A wicked red light traced a path up the floor to nest in the center of Ulrid’s chest. Some type of targeting system, he guessed.

  “Look. I’m not wi
th these guys,” Asher offered.

  The leader shook his head at the translation he received. A similar red dot of light appeared in the center of Asher’s chest.

  There was a ping of metal on metal as an object flew into the room through the blasted-out wall. The item fell to the floor and rolled to a stop near Wren’s boot.

  Concussion grenade.

  Ceric’s doing. Had to be.

  Asher flexed down, covering his head.

  The walloping flash-pop of the compression wave flattened his lungs. He saw the veins of his eyelids outlined with sudden brightness, as if someone had unleashed a tiny sun in the room.

  There were a series of barked shouts in the Human language. A volley of pulse rounds. A body hit the floor nearby. Something heavy and soft fell across his legs. Ulrid. That’s where he was when the room last made sense.

  Above him, the air filled with the answering bark of the invader’s weapons. The echoes were punishing against the metal walls of the room.

  Cover. Get to cover.

  Neglected training cut a path through the haze of his brain. Asher straightened, or at least tried to, but a wave of vertigo overwhelmed, driving him back to his knees. He settled for an unsteady crawl. Ulrid’s body fell away. Squinting against the flash burn of dark that engulfed the room, he made out Wren staggering to his feet, one of his soldiers pulling him up by the elbow. A thick layer of dust covered the once-neat blue uniform.

  Boots scuffed. Another shout, this time in Common. As he took cover behind the shoulder of the hub, Asher glimpsed Ceric leaning into the hole in the ruined wall, pulse rifle trained on Wren. The Human aiding him pushed Wren out of the way. The pulse round struck center mass on the heavy chest armor. The Human fell back. Incredibly, he rolled to his side and shifted his weight onto one knee, taking aim at Ceric’s location.