“What?” he muttered, trying to rise.
Glancing to the rear, Petrov said, “I'm working with Saxon. I'm your contact on the surface. My guess is that you've already completed the mission you were sent down here to complete, and if you want to live through it and do some good, put this kit on and come with me, now. I've got a way out of here, but the window of opportunity for us to escape is pretty damned narrow, and closing by the minute.”
Reaching for the back, Kani started to tug on the thick jacket, and replied, “The serum...”
“I knew that Pierce wouldn't dig deep enough. I figure that if he'd asked a few more questions, we'd have all been in real trouble. Lucky for you the guy's a butt-kissing moron.” He shrugged, then said, “Well, not just luck. I made sure he was your interrogator. It's all about pushing the right collection of buttons.”
Sliding his feet into the boots, Kani rose to his feet, and asked, “Where are we going?”
“I've got a plane waiting outside. I'm assuming your piloting skills are up to the challenge.”
Cracking a smile, Kani replied, “Never ask a rocket jock that question. Lead on.”
Petrov raced down the corridor, Kani struggling to follow as he took turn after turn. Cameras tracked their every move, but Petrov simply ignored them, rushing on towards his destination, so Kani followed suit, demonstrating a similar lack of concern at the surveillance systems. It had occurred to him that this might be a trap, some ColSec ruse to uncover more information about his real mission to the surface, but so far, everything had gone perfectly according to plan, right down to the shaped charge he'd placed on his own fighter before launching from Polaris.
At the end of the corridor, a pair of guards stood watch, snapping to attention at Petrov's approach. For a moment, Kani thought that his suspicions had been confirmed, some sort of trap sprung at the last instant, and he turned to run, but before he could make a move, one of the guards smoothly drew a pistol and shot his comrade in the foot, sending him collapsing to the floor. Petrov faced forward, hypodermic in hand, slamming a shot of tranquilizer into the man's arm, his struggling figure slumping as his muscles relaxed. Finally, the feared sirens began to sound, and Petrov sprinted across the threshold, his co-conspirator following with a regretful glance at his erstwhile comrade.
Inside, a small biplane waited, a colonial design that could have flown out of an aviation museum, metal frame gleaming, engine ready. Kani walked into the hangar, then climbed into the cockpit, settling at the controls as Petrov and his comrade settled into the passenger compartment behind. As he ran his eyes over the controls, trying to rapidly familiarize himself with the display, he heard footsteps approaching, and turned to see a squad of troopers running into the room, Pierce in the lead. He tapped the starter, the engine firing with a series of angry jerks, and eased the throttle up with his right hand, guiding the plane carefully onto the waiting runway outside. Gunshots echoed all around as he gathered speed, the plane moving ever faster along the hardened surface, sending a spray of snow into the air on both sides.
“Any idea what the specs on this thing are?” he asked, not really expecting a reply. It had been years since he'd flown in any sort of atmosphere, never a plane like this, but it seemed a forgiving creature, and he gently eased her into the sky, gently tugging back on the control stick as he raced past a hundred miles an hour. A crosswind immediately pushed him to the left, but a series of experimental tugs on the stick dragged him back on course. Glancing behind him, he saw half a dozen figures futilely chasing after them, emptying their clips into the sky, and pulled back once again, sending the plane rising over the treetops.
“Don't go too high,” Petrov warned. “The orbital network will be watching us like a hawk. The defense systems will engage at anything over a thousand feet. Lower than that, and they'd risk damaging the landscape.”
“They actually care about the wildlife?”
“What, burn the Chairman's garden world?” the guard said. “More than the life of the poor damn bastard at the trigger is worth, believe me.”
Nodding, Kani guided the plane down, skimming just over the treetops, and asked, “Where are we going? This thing doesn't have any maps on it.” Looking around the cockpit, he continued, “And where did you find a beast like this, anyway?”
“Squadron Leader, you are currently flying the pride and joy of Chancellor Thierrs. It's a restored Waco biplane, as flown by the Mexican Air Force a couple of centuries ago. We've got a few indent mechanics who work on it for him.” A smile spread across the rebel's face, and he added, “I thought we could use some more insurance. Nobody's going to shoot us down, that's for damned sure. Not from the surface, anyway. From orbit they might be able to get away with it. Though even so, I suspect that the man who fired the missile would earn a one-way ticket to Triton.”
Shaking his head, Kani replied, “How do they expect to win a war like that?”
“Personally, I rather hope they don't,” Petrov said. “Though I admit that I'm biased. Turn thirty degrees west, and run straight on to town.”
“Aren't you worried that they'll know where we're going?” Kani asked.
“There's only one place on this planet where we could go,” the guard replied. “Unless you want a scenic tour of the gadolinium mines. There's one big landing field and a few smaller ones, and by now, all of them will be covered.”
Frowning, Kani said, “I'm having enough trouble keeping this bird in the air. I think I can manage a landing on a decent runway, but if I try and set her down anywhere else, in this climate, we're going to have problems. She's not really rigged for arctic conditions.”
“Part of the authenticity,” Petrov replied with a grimace. “You really don't want to know how much it cost to ship this thing out here.” He grinned, and said, “I've got a plan. Just keep us low and steady.”
“Not a problem,” Kani replied, guiding the plane towards the dawn, the sun rising over the frost-covered landscape. He looked out at the wilderness beyond, spotting a pack of mammoths running through the trees, tusks raised high to the sky as they bellowed the forest awake. Even with a combat rifle, he wouldn't want to take them on.
Over to the right, he saw the local monorail track, the train itself miles ahead of him, and swung around to hang low over the rails, using the natural path through the terrain. That, and it occurred to him that he could garner even more safety by putting Hyperborea's only reliable transport link in danger. One overshoot could easily wreck the track beyond repair for a mile in either direction.
He peered into the distance, searching the horizon for the city as the plane flashed over another work camp, a dull dome rising for the sky, surrounded by tree stumps, the latest work of the labor gangs. Kani frowned, looking at the devastation they'd wrought in such a short space of time. Hyperborea's bio-system had been ravaged enough by Earth already. The Federation was giving every sign of wanting to strip-mine the planet, remove everything worth taking and leave a dead world behind.
“I know,” Petrov said, shaking his head. “We all feel the same way. A lot of the locals would rather be independent. I've been stuck here for five years, and it breaks my heart to watch them ruin the place. There are plenty of good minerals on the local moons, more than enough to support a civilization without resorting to all of this.” He grimaced, and added, “And whenever one of the Central Committee turns up to visit, they treat us like god-damned feudal serfs, doffing our caps to our masters.”
“Not any more,” the guard said, looking out of the window. “Not any more.” He turned his neck forward, and pointed at the horizon, saying, “There it is. Just to the left.”
Kani followed the man's finger, and spotted the city in the distance, a cluster of domes reaching to the sky, surrounded by rough-hewn buildings scattered in all directions, nestled on the banks of a frozen river. He turned the plane away from the tracks, lining up a straight-line appr
oached, then turned back to Petrov.
“Where do you want to land?”
“There's an autopilot hidden on the console. Just tap the altimeter three times, and it'll automatically bring the plane in to Amundsen Field.” He reached under the chair, bringing out a backpack, and added, “We're not going to be on board when that happens.”
“Parachutes?” Kani asked. “Won't they spot us?”
“Not if we get undercover quickly enough on landing.” He passed the backpack to Kani, and said, “Strap it on, lock it tight, and release it right away when you reach the deck. Then run for cover, wherever it is. We'll try for the shanty down. Nobody there has any love for the Federation. You'll find a rebel on every street corner.” Petrov smiled, and added, “I've never been happier to say that than I am right now.”
Tugging on the parachute, Kani pulled back the throttle as low as he dared, and replied, “It's been a long time since I've used one of these. And last time, I wasn't trying to land.” At Petrov's expression, he said, “Skyriding in the Thulian Stratosphere. You really ought to try it some time.”
“You're crazy,” the guard said.
With a shrug, Kani replied, “I'm here, aren't I? Where do we link up on the ground?”
“Go for the Prancing Mammoth,” Petrov said.
A smile spread across Kani's face, and he said, “That I've got to see. Let's go.” He pulled open the door, testing the straps on his parachute for one last time, and rolled out into the air, the chute deploying less than a second after he fell away from the plane, snapping into position with a crack as he dived through the trees. He counted two more parachutes falling after him, as the plane banked away towards its destination, now with only a computer at the controls.
He was drifting away from the town, a gust of wind tossing him carelessly into the forest, and he reached for the control straps in an attempt to guide himself to a safer landing, raising his feet to avoid crashing into a tree. While he fumbled with the controls, he caught his canopy on a wide-ranging branch, arresting his fall and leaving him dangling in space, a hundred feet above the ground.
Cursing his ill-luck, he swung himself around, trying to get to the tree itself, the straps and the chute creaking above him, tears already forming in the material. Just as the fabric began to give, he reached the trunk, wrapping himself around it and slamming his chest into the tree to release the canopy, a tattered sheet fluttering to the ground beneath him. All around him, he could hear sirens, and he looked around to see the source of the trouble, half-expecting guards to race towards him at any moment. One glance down indicated to truth of the alert, and he saw a pair of huge beasts rushing from the forest, sharp fangs dropping from their mouths. Their distinctive howls left no possible room for doubt. Sabre-toothed tigers, recreated as sport for Oligarch hunters a century ago, now a growing menace on the planet.
Whistles blew in the streets nearby, and he could hear the sounds of a crowd fleeing for safety, running into the cover of the buildings. If his guess was right, ColSec wouldn't intervene. He'd doubtless already managed to trigger a local security alert, and as a rule, they rarely gave much of a damn for civilians in any case. Which at least meant that he wouldn't be caught up here. He could spot half a dozen of the tigers running around, and five of them raced into town, doubtless chasing some luckless or careless individual still picking his way through the streets.
Which left only one, glaring up at him with cold, soulless eyes, teeth shining bright in the dawn as it waited for him to descend. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, it raced away to join his fellows, and he breathed a sigh of relief. By lucky coincidence, they'd give him the perfect distraction. He looked down at the ground, trying to spot whether the predators were still around, and shook his head.
Somehow, he didn't think anyone would object to him waiting a few more minutes, just to make sure. He'd gone to a lot of trouble to get here, and ending up as tiger food wasn't on his agenda. The Prancing Mammoth could wait a while.
Chapter 12
“Emergence in three minutes, Commander,” Voronova said, while Norton looked down at the helm controls over her shoulder, anxiously monitoring their return to normal space. “I'll be putting us a hundred thousand miles from Khiva Station.”
“All decks are on standby alert,” Rojek added. “I can be at battle stations...”
“No,” Curtis replied. “That's not on the agenda today. We're here to make allies, not wage war. Blasting into the system all guns blazing will only invite a fight.” He paused, then added, “Having said that, monitor all activity in the system. Though we'll bug out of the system rather than try and fight them all off if necessary.”
Turning to him, Voronova said, “Some of them will listen to reason, sir. There are enough people in the Commonwealth who want to go home, regardless of the political consequences.”
“And just as many people who will attempt to take advantage of the situation,” Saxon warned. “The exiles won't give up their dreams of conquest easily or quickly.”
“That's what you're here for,” Curtis replied. “I want live intelligence reports on anyone we encounter. No matter how minor.”
“All prepared,” she said, holding up a datapad. “Let's hope Federation Intelligence did its job right for a change. I suppose there's a first time for everything.”
“One minute,” Voronova said. “Preparing for transition.” She looked up at Norton, and asked, “Am I getting anything wrong?”
“Not yet,” Norton replied. “Just don't get too comfortable.”
“Don't worry, I'd far rather be sitting in a fighter right now. This ship handles…,” she looked up at Curtis, her face reddening, and said, “Sorry, sir. I'm not used to a ship of this size.”
Cracking a smile, Curtis replied, “Relax, Lieutenant. You're doing fine.”
“Ten seconds,” Voronova said, reaching across the console. “Initiating warp dump.”
Polaris slewed back into normal space, sending waves of nausea running through Curtis as the inexperienced helmsman managed the transition. A flash of blue light washed over the bridge, and the starfield snapped into view, framing a purple and orange ball at the heart of the screen, a series of pinpoint dots arranged all around. The heads-up display immediately flickered into life, data streaming alongside each one as the combat computers labored to match the ships in the system with known hostile targets.
“I have positive identification of Achilles, Agamemnon and Theseus, Commander,” Rojek said. “All of them have gone weapons hot, and are heading on an intercept course. Two fighter squadrons are orbiting the planet, but none of them have moved to engage as yet.” Turning to Voronova, he said, “This make sense to you?”
“First Cruiser Squadron,” she replied. “I was expecting them.”
Nodding, Curtis said, “Maintain current posture. Norton, take the helm, but hold position for the moment. No hostile moves. Voronova, I assume we have an escape course plotted?”
“Ready to go, Commander.”
“Then in that case, hail the Commonwealth Squadron.”
Rojek turned to the communications technicians, the staff working to establish a link-up with the incoming squadrons, struggling to keep their firewall in position as the Commonwealth hackers began their work. Technically, it was a hostile act, but Curtis was trying to ignore it, knowing that he'd have done the same in their place. Until the kinetic projectiles started to fly, there was a chance that all of this would still work out.
“I have Commodore McKinnon for you, Commander,” one of the technicians said. “Voice only, no audio, maximum scrambler.”
Reaching for a headset, Curtis said, “This is Commander Edward Curtis, currently in command of rebel space forces. I'm here to discuss options for joint military action against the Federation. While Polaris is armed, we are holding at alert status for the present. I request permission to hold my current posit
ion at the edge of the system while we discuss terms of alliance and cooperation, and suggest that a ten thousand mile buffer zone be maintained to reduce the risk of an accidental incident.”
There was a long pause, until finally McKinnon said, “The last time we met, Commander, we were exchanging kinetic salvos. I presume you understand that what you are suggesting is contrary to my orders? That I have firm and precise instructions to capture or destroy Polaris?”
Nodding, Curtis replied, “I presumed as much, Commodore, but that sort of an attitude isn't going to get either of us anywhere. If you close any further, I will pull Polaris out of the system before you can reach me, and in the unlikely event that you find a way to get here first, my ship is the match for any two of yours. You won't do well in a battle. As I believe we have already proven.” Leaning forward in his chair, he added, “I'm here to talk peace, not war. I know that the citizens of the Commonwealth have wanted to return home for decades. Maybe we can find a way to make it happen. I'm willing to make the first move.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “I will come unarmed to Khiva Station and discuss the situation with you and the Commonwealth leadership.”
“Unarmed?” McKinnon said, as Saxon looked on with disgust. “What guarantees for your safety would you require?”
“I'll accept the word of a senior officer of the Commonwealth. Just as I would expect you to expect the word of a senior rebel officer. If you promise me safe passage back to my ship, we can have some sort of basis for negotiation.” He looked up at the glaring Saxon, and added, “The party will consist only of myself and my senior aide. No guards, no staff. Just two persons.”
Hudson shook her head, whispering, “Sir, we can handle all the negotiations remotely. You can't put yourself at risk like that? Do you really think that they'll honor their word? We're talking about the Commonwealth here, and...”
Starcruiser Polaris: Terrible Swift Sword Page 8
