by Simon Haynes
Teresa was wearing a broad leather wristband, and she turned it to checked a small, inlaid display. "Smith's due in twenty minutes. I'll grab some fuel, and then we'll make our way to the middle of the landing field."
"You call this a field?" said Alice, gesturing at the thick trees.
"Landing forest, if you prefer. But if we wait in the middle, we'll be close to all the pads. I can't tell which he's going to use, so that's the best we can do."
Alice peered over the edge of the pad at the thick undergrowth. "Do they have snakes here?"
"Sure."
"Do you have a bigger can of that spray?"
Teresa laughed. "They'll get out the way if you make enough noise. Come on, give me a hand with the fuel pipe."
They unhooked the thick hose and dragged it the ship, and after Teresa touched her wristband to a contact on the pump, fuel began to flow. It didn't take long, and then Alice hauled the pipe back to the edge of the pad again, while Teresa sealed the fuel cap. By the time Alice got back, Teresa was just stepping off the ladder, having closed the landing hatch. She was tucking something into her jacket pocket, something which looked like a bundle of plastic strips.
"What's that?" asked Alice.
"Just something we might need. Come on, we'd better get moving."
Then they leapt down into the undergrowth, and, with Teresa leading the way, started on foot towards the center of the landing field.
Chapter 21
Tyron's vessel was getting ready to land, and the ride had been a whole lot smoother aboard the big ship. It had dealt with reentry imperiously, without the shaking and buffeting that Alice had experienced, and now it approached the landing field with fire jetting from its thrusters.
There were no windows or portholes in the flight deck, but the big wrap-around screen showed the view just as well. Better, in fact, because it was enhanced by low-light cameras, and there were overlays showing speed, heading and altitude, along with a hundred other variables. A flattened circle in the darkness highlighted their destination: a landing pad still hidden by the tree canopy.
Tyron was sitting at the centre console, the flight stick in one hand, his gaze fixed on the screen. Three other crew, plus Harriet, were sitting in the lesser positions to the sides.
The circle expanded as they approached the landing pad, and when it was just about to slip off the bottom of the screen, Tyron eased the stick back and brought the big ship in for a perfect landing. There was a scraping noise from somewhere along the hull, and then a bump.
"Damn trees," muttered Tyron. "Next time, I'm going to burn the damn things with the jets."
He cut the engines, and gestured at one of the crew members. "You, get the fuel hose connected. I want to be out of here in ten minutes."
"Yes sir," said the man smartly, and he almost ran to the airlock door. He pulled it open and vanished into the airlock proper, closing the door behind himself.
"Been here before?" Smith asked Harriet.
She shook her head. Smith and her, they might have a truce, but her wrists were still sore from the ropes and she wasn't about to engage in chit chat.
"Lucky," remarked Smith. "It's a horrible place. Cockroaches, snakes, vicious animals … and that's just the people."
Despite herself, Harriet smiled.
Smith glanced down at a display. Harriet could just make out the graphics from her position, and she could tell it was an empty bar. Fuel, no doubt. She wondered how long it would take to fill up, and then she put that out of her mind and turned to more important matters. What would happen when they got back to Dismolle? Smith would probably accompany her to the station, but if she walked in unannounced Alice might do something stupid. And Bernie … how would the big robot react? Harriet could imagine the scene now, with Bernie charging at Smith, eyes glowing red, fists ready to smash everything in her way. And Alice most likely hurling computer screens, keyboards and chairs.
Nope, that wasn't going to work. Sure, Smith would probably get away, but the idea was to get Alice to agree to the deal Harriet had made, not drive Smith off so he could return with an even greater force. She did wonder whether they might just arrest him, but she'd already dismissed that idea. He'd be sure to bring his goons along, and even without guns they would be a huge danger to herself and to Alice.
She heard Smith cursing under his breath. He was still looking at the bar on the display, and from what she could see, it was still empty.
"You," said Smith, gesturing at the female crew member. "This is taking too long. Go and see what that idiot's doing."
The woman nodded, and got up.
"If he's standing around having a break, tell him he's just lost his bonus."
— ♦ —
"Don't just stand there," whispered Teresa. "Come and help!"
Alice was still in shock. They'd seen Smith's vessel approaching, had covered their ears as it landed, billowing smoke, and then they'd watch it set down. Moments later, a passenger ramp unfolded from the hull, high above, and then a member of the crew had made his way down to the landing pad. As he approached the refuelling rig, Teresa stood up and calmly shot him.
He'd fallen without a sound, and now lay in a huddle on the concrete. Teresa ran to him, and was now dragging him towards the edge of the pad.
Alice shook herself. "I thought that gun was for show!" she hissed.
"It is. I just showed him who's in charge." Teresa frowned at her. "Come, give me a hand before he comes round."
"Comes … round?"
"Of course!" Teresa started. "Oh hell. You didn't think I killed him, did you?"
"N-no, of course not." Alice vaulted onto the pad and took the man's free arm. Together they dragged him to the edge, where Teresa unceremoniously rolled him off. He landed in the undergrowth with a thud, and she reached into her pocket for the bundle of plastic strips. "You do his arms, I'll get his ankles. Make sure they're behind his back."
Alice took one of the strips, and together they bound the man hand and foot. Teresa checked the strips were tight, then glanced towards the ship. "Let's hope he's dumb enough to send them out one by one. Now come on, with me."
They clambered onto the pad, and Teresa led the way to the ramp. They got there just in time, crouching in the darkness just as the airlock door opened overhead.
"Matt?" said a female voice.
Hesitant footsteps came down the ramp, and when the shadowy figure reached the bottom, Teresa raised her gun. There was a muted fizz, and the woman crumpled, unconscious. Then Teresa handed Alice a couple of plastic strips. "Put her with the other one. I'll wait here and cover you."
Before Alice could move she heard a whining noise, and when she looked up she saw an opening in the hull, gradually getting wider. Something was emerging from the opening, and she stared at it, wondering if it was a weapon.
"Jacket!" hissed Teresa. "Quick, before they see us!"
Alice shrugged the thick coat off and handed it over, and Teresa reached up and draped it over the device. Alice guessed it was a camera, and with the jacket covering the lens it was useless. "Now go," hissed Teresa. "Get a move on!"
— ♦ —
Smith operated the external camera, but no matter which way he pointed it, the display was pitch black. "This is getting ridiculous," he muttered. "What the hell is going on out there?"
"Maybe someone's trying to snatch the ship." The speaker was the last remaining crew member, who was sitting to Smith's left.
"Don't be ridiculous. They know who they're dealing with, and they know what I'd do to them." Smith pressed a button. "Hello?"
"Engine room."
"Tom, there might be trouble. Bring a couple of weapons. Big wrenches or fire axes or something."
"Yes sir. On my way."
As he waited, Smith moved the camera around, muttering in frustration.
Harriet could feel the tension, and she wondered whether a group of locals really were planning to take the ship. She hoped not, because Smith might be a
crook, and potentially a murderer, but at least he was reasonable. Who knew what kind of hard-bitten criminals might come pouring through the airlock at any moment? Peaceful old Dismolle, with its population of gentle retirees, suddenly seemed impossibly remote.
Tom arrived, and Harriet realised it was the same man she'd held captive earlier. He ignored her, handing Smith the gun before passing one pickaxe handle to the second crew member, keeping another to himself. "What's up, boss?"
"Might be a hijacking. Matt and Lydia went out to refuel, haven't heard anything since. And the camera's been covered up."
The crew members exchanged a glance. "What's the plan?" asked Tom.
"One of you go first, the rest of us will follow. They can't hit all of us at once."
From the look on the men's faces, Harriet could tell they weren't entirely sure about the plan.
"Look, these people know me," said Smith. "Attacking me is suicide, and they know it. It's just some mix-up, and we'll be laughing at this over our beers in a couple of days."
Still the men hesitated, until Smith casually waved his gun. "I'm not going to ask again."
The two men headed for the airlock, holding their makeshift weapons at the ready. Smith was about to follow, but then he beckoned to Harriet.
"What?"
"You're with me. Come on."
"You want to use me as a shield?" demanded Harriet incredulously. "What sort of man are you?"
"A cautious one." Smith gestured with the gun, and Harriet saw she had no choice. His ship was on the line, and he wasn't bluffing.
Together they followed the other men into the airlock, and then Smith stood behind her as the door opened. The two men went first, looking around as though they expected a volley of withering fire from the darkness at any second. Harriet came next, with Smith close behind. She could smell corruption in the air, rotting vegetation laced with the pungent smell of burnt fuel. Insects buzzed and chirped, and she swatted away a persistent mosquito. Tree branches reached towards the ship like grasping arms, and she could see white, splintered wood where they'd been snapped off by the hull.
The men reached the foot of the ramp and spread out. Harriet and Smith followed, and the four of them stood there, peering into the darkness. Then, without warning, they heard a soft fizz, fizz, and the two crew members crumpled to the ground.
"Don't move," said a female voice, directly behind them. "Next time I'll shoot to kill."
Chapter 22
Alice was crouched behind the ramp when Teresa shot the two crew members, and in the sudden flurry of action she'd barely glanced at the other two people who'd emerged with the men. Then, with the first two on the ground and out of action, she realised it was Harriet standing nearby, and felt an overwhelming rush of relief. She'd been dreading what they might find when they caught up with the freighter, but it seemed Harriet had come through unscathed. There she was, wearing her Peace Force uniform, and looking as calm and collected as she did when heading into the office first thing in the morning.
Then Alice noticed the man standing next to her, and her eyes narrowed. Tyron Smith! The thieving, scum-sucking, bottom-feeding murderer who'd ended her uncle's life … standing right there, in the open.
Before she knew what she was doing, Alice stood up and wrenched the gun from Teresa's hand. "Smith, you lousy bastard. This is for my uncle!" She aimed and fired at him in one quick motion, and as her shot skimmed by Smith's shoulder he turned to face her, already firing from the hip. Alice ignored the bright, angry shots as they tore by, and fired repeatedly, shouting at him, screaming at him to die.
Smith fired twice more, then ducked and ran up the ramp towards the ship, dragging Harriet along with him. Alice ran to the foot of the ramp and aimed the gun upwards, trying to get a clear shot, but all she could see was Harriet's face, her eyes round with surprise and shock.
The outer door slammed, and Alice banged her fist on the handrail. Her heart was pounding, and she wanted nothing more than to run after Smith, drag the door open and corner him, making him beg for his life before she put an end to him. But as her blood rage ebbed, she reminded herself Harriet was in there with him.
"Alice. Help."
Alice turned at the sound, and saw Teresa on the ground behind the ramp. She was clutching her shoulder, and her face was deathly pale in the darkness. "No, no," muttered Alice, and she ran over, Smith all but forgotten.
"You bloody nutcase," growled Teresa, her voice weak. "What the hell were you thinking?"
Gently, Alice moved Teresa's hand, and she winced when she saw the woman's shoulder. The jacket was torn where the blaster shot had struck, and there was a lot of blood. Quickly, Alice tore strips off her shirt, and with the makeshift bandages she did what she could to stop the bleeding.
"Give me the gun," said Teresa, struggling to sit up.
Alice shook her head. "I'm going to end this. You can't stop me."
Teresa sank back again with a sigh. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I should never have brought you along."
"It's just your shoulder. You'll be fine." Privately, Alice hoped so. It wasn't like there was a hospital nearby, and her first aid skills began and ended with bandages ripped from t-shirts. She glanced up at the ship overhead. Smith would come for them, she knew it, and they had to be ready for him.
— ♦ —
"What the bloody hell was she thinking?" raged Harriet, pacing up and down the flight deck with her hands balled into fists. If she could have grabbed Alice at that moment, she would have shaken the girl until her teeth fell out.
"Er, hello?" said Smith. He was leaning against the console with the gun in his hand, watching Harriet with something approaching amusement. "I'm the one she's after."
"She could have hit me!" shouted Harriet. "That stupid, reckless—"
"Hey, it's me she was trying to kill."
Harriet rounded on him. "Yeah, but you deserve it. I'm supposed to be her sister!"
"Yeah, good luck with that."
"Don't laugh. Do not laugh." Harriet stood still, hands on hips. "You think you've got a hostage, don't you? Well guess again, buddy, because that girl will shoot me down to get at you. Have you thought of that? This is not going to end well, not for either of us."
"What do you suggest?"
"I suggest you didn't kill her uncle!" shouted Harriet. "I suggest you didn't come sniffing around the office, sending your thick-headed goons to capture a teenage girl. I suggest—"
"Things could have gone better," admitted Smith.
Harriet stared at him, mouth open. Then the red mist descended, and she almost launched herself at him. "Could have gone better?" she snarled. "Are you completely insane? They just shot four of your people, and let me tell you, buster, you're next. Alice isn't going to stop until she's splashed your brains all over the walls of your precious ship."
Smith winced at the graphic image.
"Not that it'll make much of a mess," added Harriet. "Just a spot or two, from what I can tell." Then, before Smith could stop her, she turned and strode to the airlock door.
"Hey, where do you think you're going?" Smith waved the gun. "I've got this, remember?"
"I've seen you using it. You couldn't hit the side of a planet," said Harriet viciously. She hauled the airlock open and took three steps to the outer door. As she went to open it, she hesitated. Alice could be just outside, waiting to fire. "Screw it," muttered Harriet, and she opened the door a crack. "Alice! It's me, Harriet."
"Send Smith out!" shouted Alice.
Harriet was in no mood to take orders, but she bit off her angry reply and tried to sound more like Harriet Walsh, calm, measured Peace Force trainee, and less like Harriet Walsh, furious and angry and consumed with white hot rage. "Alice, I've worked out a deal. We can all walk away from this."
"He's a dead man," shouted Alice. "You can shove your deal."
Harriet was about to reply, but at that moment there was a loud whining noise outside. "What the…?" she began, and then s
he got it. Smith might not have enough fuel to take off, but he could fry everything on the landing pad with the thrusters. Hurriedly, she left the airlock and ran to the flight deck, where she found Smith at the controls, one hand on the throttles while the other was busy flipping switches. The gun was on the console next to him.
"Smith! What are you doing?"
He ignored her, and studied the engine gauges, waiting impatiently until they were ready to fire.
"Your people are down there too!" shouted Harriet.
"I can always get more people," he remarked.
"What about the box?" Harriet asked desperately. "You need Alice to open it. You'll lose your precious cargo."
Smith shrugged. "I only need her DNA. I should be able to scrape enough up … afterwards." He abandoned the switches and turned to the throttle, and she saw his arm tense as he prepared to push it forward.
At that instant Harriet took two steps from a standing start, and launched herself at him.
— ♦ —
Alice crept towards the airlock, placing her feet carefully to avoid making too much noise. The ramp was made from thin steel, with slots to reduce the weight, and every now and then it buckled underfoot with a hollow sound. Fortunately the insects were still making a racket, but she wasn't convinced they'd mask every sound she was making.
As she got closer to the door she turned her head to one side, trying to hear something, anything, but all she heard was the endless chirping, buzzing and creaking from the planet's wildlife. Then, all of a sudden, she heard something clearly: a shout of alarm, and a gunshot.
Alice sprang for the door, hauled it open and ran into the flight deck. She saw Smith and Harriet locked in a struggle, Harriet with her back to the airlock and Smith with one hand in the air, the gun in his grasp. Harriet was trying to reach it, and even as Alice burst in, the gun fired again, blasting a hole in the roof panels.
