Skybreach (The Reach #3)

by Mark R. Healy

  “Yeah, okay. You can come.”

  “It’s settled, then,” Remus said. He clapped them both on the shoulder merrily, then bounced away after the others who had gone ahead to prepare for departure. Knile and Roman exchanged another glance, and Knile thought he saw a glimmer of satisfaction in the boy’s eyes.

  Yeah, you won that one, Roman. I’ll give you that.

  Talia was waiting for them at the door.

  “I’m going to join the others in Alpha in a minute, so I’m not going to see you guys again before I leave,” she said. “Now, I don’t want any goodbyes, because this isn’t where it ends. Right?”

  Knile smiled reassuringly. “Right.”

  She stepped forward and hugged each of them in turn, a little hurriedly, Knile thought, as if she was eager to keep the exchange as short as possible.

  “So, I’ll see you,” she said, backing up slowly toward the door. She paused with her hand on the door frame. “I’ll see you at the top.”

  “See you at the top, Tal,” Roman said.

  Knile gave a little salute, meant to put her at ease, but Talia didn’t smile. She turned away and disappeared out into the corridor, leaving the two of them alone in the meeting room. Knile watched the empty hallway for a moment longer, wondering how many more times he was going to have to say goodbye before this was over.

  How many more times were the three of them going to part ways, wondering if they would ever see each other again?

  He put an arm around Roman’s shoulder and gave him what he hoped looked like a reassuring smile.

  “Time to pack.”

  25

  Team Alpha filtered out through the eastern access door of Skybreach headquarters. Talia felt a little thrill of excitement, mingled with more than a hint of concern. She looked around at the others in the group as she tried to gauge their demeanours, figuring she couldn’t be the only one who felt this way.

  Ahead, Holger stood against the wall of the corridor, impatiently waiting for the others to catch up. Outwardly he showed no signs of nerves. Silvestri stood not far away, cool and collected, although Talia could see something else beneath – a flinty glimmer in his eyes, like that of a warrior about to step onto the battlefield.

  Next to her, Yun looked edgy, glancing around as if expecting Enforcers to come at them the moment they left the doorway. Aksel, lugging a metallic suitcase, also seemed flighty, and his collar was stained with sweat. He blinked owlishly at Talia through his spectacles as he moved cautiously forward.

  Behind them came Morgan, one of Holger’s brawlers, a barrel-chested man who had food stains on his shirt and long, unkempt hair. There was a stoic expression on his face as he pushed the large frame of Aron Lazarus in a wheelchair.

  “This is demeaning,” Lazarus muttered as he rolled past. His face was unreadable, hidden as it was beneath a swath of white bandages, but his displeasure was evident from the tone of his voice. His hulking frame was so large that it barely fit into the wheelchair at all, and his weight created such a strain that the wheels creaked like those of a busted shopping trolley.

  “It’s necessary,” Talia said unsympathetically. “The Redmen who are guarding the Atrium know you. You used to work alongside them. If they recognise you – which they will – the game is over.” She reached over and pulled the cowl back onto his head, hiding him even more effectively. “Make sure you keep that in place.”

  “If I must wear this hood, then I will discard these infernal bandages,” Lazarus said, reaching for his face. “They impair my vision–”

  “Hands off!” Talia snapped, giving Lazarus a sharp crack on the wrist. He looked up at her with what she imagined was surprise under the bandages. “You’re a Consortium worker who was burned during one of the explosions. You need medical attention. That’s your cover story, remember?”

  Now she could feel the heat of his glare through the slits in his mask.

  “I am Aron Lazarus of the Crimson Shield, Protector of the Outworlds, knight of the most holy and sacred order. This humiliating pantomime is beneath me. I am not some old hag, cowering under her smallclothes–”

  “Today, you are,” Talia said, standing her ground. “If you’re going to have your precious vengeance against this Murtas guy, you’re just going to have to suck it up. You’re not going to reach him any other way.”

  She glanced at Morgan and jerked her head to the side, indicating for him to proceed. The brawler heaved at the wheelchair and got the seething Redman moving once again.

  “Pull your finger out, Morgan,” Holger called. “We don’t have all year.”

  “Hey, man,” Morgan protested, “this guy is heavy. Plus, you’re making me haul this goddamn hardware. Gimme a break.”

  “Cry harder,” Holger said. He indicated to the others in the group. “We’re all lugging stuff, and you don’t hear us complaining.”

  Talia glanced under the wheelchair, where a case had been snugly inserted under the seat.

  “Are we sure these weapons are going to make it through undetected?” Talia said. She reached down and repositioned the case as it began to slip. “What if they set off an alert at the Stormgates?”

  “The Stormgates only scan people,” Silvestri said. “There are equipment scanners on the railcar itself, but we’re going to bypass those once we’ve taken control of the roof. Right, Aksel?”

  “Sure,” Aksel said, bobbing his head.

  “Let’s get moving,” Silvestri said, and he and Holger gathered up their things and began to lead the way toward the elevators. Talia reached down and lifted the case she’d been assigned to carry – a long and slender hard case with a Samsonite finish – and began to follow. The case was heavier than she would have guessed, but she wasn’t about to complain. They would need every single one of these weapons if they were to overcome the Redmen who were waiting for them on the roof.

  They followed a series of corridors through the interior of Gaslight, and although Talia hadn’t been in the Reach long, she could tell that things weren’t right. Aside from the hint of smoke that still hung in the air, there was a preternatural stillness about the place that was almost spooky. Far off she could hear noises – the muted snap of firearms and the odd sound of shouts drifting through the hallways – but these seemed exceptions to the rule.

  It was almost as if Gaslight had already been deserted.

  She knew that wasn’t the case, of course. People were simply laying low, staying out of the thoroughfares where possible to avoid being caught in the crossfire of Enforcers, looters, Redmen, or whoever else might be hunting around out there. Still, she couldn’t help but feel uneasy. The place had turned from a bustling hive of activity to a warzone in a matter of days, and that was an unsettling thought.

  Then, out of nowhere, they encountered people.

  They found them at the first juncture point, one of the open areas where adjoining corridors crossed paths. Three men and a woman stood, guns drawn, bailing up a small group of citizens who were cowering against the wall. As Talia and the others appeared, one of the aggressors broke away and came running toward them, handgun held aloft.

  “Here we go!” he exclaimed. “More hogs for the slaughter!” He was a gaunt man with a bald head, and there were swirling tattoos along the back of his neck that extended onto his cheekbones like curved talons. As he neared, Talia could see a crazed look in his eye that she’d seen many times before on the street.

  Bastard’s juiced up on something, that’s for sure, she thought.

  “Watch it,” she muttered to Silvestri, but in return he made a surreptitious motion with his hand to indicate he had the situation under control.

  “Nice day for a walk,” Silvestri said pleasantly. “Wouldn’t you say, friend?”

  “I ain’t your friend, dumb shit,” the man said, giving the gun a little shake as he pointed it at Silvestri’s head. “I’m the butcher, and you’re the meat. That’s how this works.”

  “Whatever you say,” Silvestri sa
id. “You’re in control.”

  “Damn right.”

  Holger began to move forward as well, but the man swung the gun sharply toward him and sneered.

  “Don’t think so, fatso. Stop right there.”

  Holger raised his hands casually. “Okay, boss. You got me.”

  The bald man ran his eyes over Talia and the others, as if assessing the likelihood that they were carrying valuables. His attention was drawn to the Samsonite case she was carrying, and then he smiled.

  “What you got there, sexy?” he said, offering her a toothy grin. Talia said nothing, staring back at him impassively. “Hey, skinny slut,” the man said, raising his voice. “I’m talking to you.”

  “What you got there, Fibby?” one of the man’s companions called out.

  “Something good, I reckon,” Fibby said. He stepped closer and pointed the gun threateningly at Talia. “Step out here, bitch. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Talia arched an eyebrow and sighed, already knowing how this would play out, and before she could move, Silvestri shot forward with the same lightning speed Talia had witnessed previously. He gripped Fibby’s wrist and twisted, causing the bald man to cry out and drop the gun. At the same moment, Holger closed the gap between them and swung his fist, slamming the man in his exposed ribs. There was a sharp cracking sound, and Fibby screamed as he was lifted off his feet. His head bounced against the wall behind him, and then he crumpled to the floor and lay there motionless.

  Fibby’s accomplices reacted quickly, peeling away from those they had cornered and turning their attention to the newcomers. Talia dropped to one knee and produced her .22, firing and hitting one of the men in the shoulder. Holger drew a shotgun from beneath his trench coat and put a round into the female hoodlum’s chest as she tried to squeeze off a shot. She fell to the floor and did not get up.

  “That’s enough!” Silvestri bellowed. He held up a hand toward Holger and Talia. “Hold your fire.”

  As the echo from the shots died down, the remaining hoodlum raised his hands above his head.

  “Okay, I give up,” he said, a tremulous note in his voice. “I’m real sorry–”

  “Take your friend and get out of here,” Silvestri said, gesturing to the man who had been shot in the shoulder. “And stay the fuck out of our way.”

  “Yeah, bro,” the man said, edging over toward his companion, who was gasping as he struggled to get to his feet. “Sure thing.”

  “Spoilsport,” Holger said under his breath to Silvestri.

  “Save it,” Silvestri said. “You’ll have plenty of killing to do before the day is out.”

  The hoodlums began to move off, the injured man grunting in pain, and then they disappeared into a nearby corridor.

  Silvestri wasted no time getting moving again.

  “Get out of here,” he said, waving his arms at the group of people still huddled against the wall. “Find somewhere safe. You shouldn’t be out here if you can’t handle yourselves.”

  Slowly the people began to rouse themselves, whispering amongst themselves and glancing fearfully at Silvestri and the others. Talia could see that, despite being saved, the people were still untrusting of the newcomers. Perhaps they were expecting their saviours to turn on them – thieves who had scared away other thieves so that they could take the loot for themselves.

  “Go!” Talia shouted, waving her arm at them as if they were a herd of recalcitrant sheep. “Get off the streets!”

  She didn’t wait to see if they complied. Team Alpha was moving on, setting a brisk pace as they crossed through the eerily quiet confines of Gaslight.

  Talia caught up to Morgan and put her weight behind the wheelchair, sending Lazarus rolling onward as quickly as they could manage.

  They still had a way to go to reach the elevators.

  26

  Duran and Zoe sat within the abandoned rail terminal, watching the corridor outside through gaps in the hoarding that had been placed around the perimeter of the facility. The two of them had been hunched there for hours, and thus far there had been little cause for excitement. Traffic outside had been minimal. They’d seen their fair share of looters, as well as a smattering of citizens cautiously moving about, but these were inconsequential. They were not the targets that Duran sought.

  Now he was beginning to think that this was just one big waste of time.

  He glanced behind himself into the gloom. The terminal itself was dilapidated and musty, having been shut away from the outside world many years before. Ticket dispenser machines and turnstiles were dimly lit, covered in dust. Beyond, a large round hole marked the entrance to the tunnel that had once provided passage for shuttles that had moved throughout Gaslight as they carried freight and passengers between levels. The system had been decommissioned years ago, the shuttles disassembled and their parts cannibalised, the tunnels and waypoints now bereft of shuffling feet and the whine of machines along the tracks. Even so, there was something creepy about the place. As he stared behind him, Duran couldn’t shake the feeling that, any minute now, some relic would come creaking out of the blackness like a long forgotten ghost.

  Don’t worry about ghosts, he admonished himself. Worry about looters. They might be creeping around in the tunnels right now.

  “What is it?” Zoe said sharply, sensing his unease.

  “Nothing,” Duran said, embarrassed. He flushed, hoping like hell that he hadn’t just looked like a kid afraid of the dark. “Just making sure no one is coming up behind us.”

  Zoe sighed and shifted her weight uncomfortably. “Do you think he’s actually coming?”

  “Oberend? I hope so.”

  “I just feel like we’re wasting our time here.”

  Duran didn’t mention he’d been considering the same thing a few moments before.

  “Robson traced his movements, remember?” Duran said. “He found that Oberend has been through this terminal three times in the last week. He’s been using the tunnels to get around.”

  “So if that trend continues, we only have to wait how long? Two more days?”

  Duran glanced across at her. Even in the dim light he could see the dissatisfaction on her face. He had to remind himself that, unlike him, she did not have a vested interest in Oberend, no personal vendetta. To her, Knile was just another thug. It was understandable that she would lack motivation, especially being forced to sit around in empty terminals for hours on end.

  “Robson said this was our best shot of finding him,” Duran said patiently. “He couldn’t pin down Oberend’s base of operations, but he said it must be close. That’s why he’s been through here so often.”

  “I just feel kinda… useless, y’know?”

  “I understand where you’re coming from, but what’s our alternative? We can’t just walk around aimlessly out there hoping to bump into him. Not with those looters out there. There’s only two of us, and they’re moving in much larger packs. It’s too risky.”

  Zoe was quiet for some time, and when she spoke again her voice was soft.

  “Maybe de Villiers was right.”

  “Huh?”

  She turned to him. “I said maybe de Villiers was right. Maybe we should just cut our losses and get out of here.”

  “You don’t believe that.”

  “Don’t I?”

  Duran heard voices outside, and as he turned back to the window he saw a group of about half a dozen people appear in the corridor. They were carrying an assortment of weapons: guns, machetes and clubs, and a couple of them had blood on their faces. They looked like the sort who were out looking for opportunities, or trouble, or whichever came first.

  Disappointingly, Oberend was not among them.

  One of the mob, a tall man with a gash on his forehead, tried a door across the corridor. Finding it locked, he headed toward the terminal where Duran and Zoe were hiding. As he reached it he yanked noisily at the door, causing the frame to rattle, and in response, both Duran and Zoe shrank back into the darkne
ss. A woman pressed her face up against the gap in the hoarding, trying to peer through the grimy windows to ascertain what lay inside, but after a moment she backed away and shook her head. She said something to the others and gestured up the corridor, and the group moved on.

  “Where the fuck did all of these lowlifes come from?” Zoe muttered.

  “They were always here,” Duran said. “Just under the surface, biding their time. Waiting for their moment. And now it’s arrived.”

  Zoe seemed as though she might say something else, but then she just slumped back against the wall, rubbing her fingers at her temples.

  “You okay?” Duran said.

  “My head hurts.” She reached back and pulled out her hairband, allowing her hair to spill around her shoulders, and dug her fingers into her scalp. She began to massage herself with short, sharp motions of her fingertips, a scowl on her face.

  Duran realised that he hadn’t seen her with the ponytail undone before, and now she looked entirely different with her dark locks spilling about her face. There was a bluntness about her features, a hardness about her nose and the cut of her jaw that some might consider unrefined, but to Duran it was the epitome of beauty. She would never pass for one of those fine-featured storybook princesses, that was for sure, but as Duran regarded her, he couldn’t recall a woman he had found more attractive in all of his years.

  “Why did you join the Enforcers?” he said suddenly.

  “What?” she said, opening her eyes as she continued to dig at her scalp.

  “You used to work for the Enforcers, back before you joined Scimitar. Why?”

  Zoe ceased her manipulations and let her hands drop away, her amber-brown eyes taking on a faraway look behind the tangle of her hair.

  “Damn. I haven’t thought about that in a long time.” She smiled wistfully and looked at Duran. “My father. He convinced me to do it. He said there was prestige in being an Enforcer, that I’d be safe. He also seemed to think it was the only chance I had of getting off-world.”