by S M Briscoe
He turned and glanced back up at the cargo tram that was now gliding off along an invisible skyrail and let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. There was no use fighting it. In the last two days, something had changed in him, or more accurately, he’d simply been shown a side of himself he had worked extremely hard to bury and ignore. He could no longer look the other way. Not this time.
His mind made up, Jarred glanced around himself, thinking quickly, and spotted just what he would need.
* * *
The attendant working the refueling station situated in front of the Silver Hawk tavern, withdrew the charge nozzle from his customer’s XR5 Stinger hover bike and stood there a moment, admiring the sleek, single passenger transport, a skyway version of the famed circuit racer.
What he wouldn’t do for a vehicle like this, if only he had the credits. It’s owner was obviously some high roller from the upper echelons on Trycon’s elite. He blew out a whistle and turned to replace the refueling nozzle back into its charging mount.
The hover bike started so quietly, he barely heard it, turning instead as he felt a cool gust of wind blow across his back. Where the Stinger had just been, he saw nothing but air, looking forward to see it fading away into the distant traffic ahead. His face contorted in a look somewhere between confusion and disbelief as his customer exited the station’s vendor kiosk, looking off in the same direction with an expression that mirrored his own.
* * *
Transport boosting wasn’t normally Jarred’s style, though he seemed to be doing a lot of it lately, but if he was going to catch up to Elora and Ethan and attempt some kind of rescue, he couldn’t afford to hail a taxi. He found himself doing a lot of things he normally wouldn’t as of late, and for reasons he couldn’t explain. Not that it really mattered at this point. He would have lots of time to contemplate the reasons for his own actions later, if he made it out of this mess in one piece.
Jarred punched the Stinger’s throttle to maximum and accelerated up into and through the busy levels of skyway traffic coming from all different directions. He dodged from side to side, missing speeding transports by mere inches as he pushed the agile craft to its limit. He had to admit, the little crotch rocket had some kick. As he pondered the possibility of fitting the hover bike into the hold of the, soon to be renamed, Fancy Girl, he caught a glimpse of his target, dead ahead and one skylane up.
The cargo tram was being escorted by two small, Sect patrol craft, as was one of the half dozen Sect troop transports behind it, the one which he assumed Orna would be aboard. At his current speed, he was gaining on them all rapidly, so rapidly in fact that he would risk being noticed by the patrol escorts if he didn’t ease off a bit.
Dropping the Stinger back to a reasonable speed that still left him gaining on his quarry, he remained in the lane below theirs. This position would allow him to move in on the party from a blind angle, taking them by surprise, or at least that was what he was hoping for, but to do what exactly, he wasn’t quite sure of yet. He was hoping a plan would form itself when it came time to put it into motion.
As the Sect party wove its way through the city sky scrapers the cargo tram began to ascend along with the shuttles flying escort, the skyrail diverging on a different path from the free moving transport lane. Jarred was about to hit the accelerators again, preparing to pull out of his lane and follow the tram, when he heard the sound of a whaling siren coming up from behind him. Glancing at his Stinger’s rear display, he saw the police patrol cruiser that was tailing him and let out a curse.
Now the police decided to show up.
The cruiser accelerated and maneuvered into a position next to him so that Jarred had a clear view of the Ancheewon officer through the open side door. With two of his arms on the flight controls, the officer reached over and pulled a comm from its mount. As he spoke, the cruiser’s amplification system began to burp and gargle in a language Jarred couldn’t comprehend.
With his fourth arm the officer reached over and adjusted the amp’s translator, but as he spoke again, a new, even less intelligible barking sounded out. The officer became noticeably irritated by the malfunction and began punching the translator console in a frenzied manner while continuing to yell into the comm. The result was an interchanging variety of strange alien babbling, growing more unintelligible by the second. If he were in another less critical situation, Jarred may have actually found the whole thing humorous.
Finally, the officer got the setting right and began to speak again, though the translation still sounded irritated.
“Human motorist,” the officer began. “Kindly pull your illegally acquired vehicle over to the side of the skylane in a prompt and conscientious fashion, where upon you will be taken into police custody.”
Jarred shook his head at the absurdity of the situation. “Sorry!” he apologized to the officer, shouting loud enough to be heard. “I can’t right now! I’ve got to catch a train!”
“Negative, human motorist,” the officer argued. “It is essential that you pull your vehicle over immediately, so that you may be properly detained and prosecuted in accordance with Trycon City by-law 117-B of the unlawful vehicular acquisition act.”
Jarred was about to respond again when suddenly the police cruiser erupted into flames and exploded, laser blasts spraying it from the front. He reflexively veered away, narrowly avoiding the remainder of the laser volley, and looked up in time to see the two attacking patrol craft shoot by. Looking back, he saw them turning around for another run and punched his throttle up, rocketing forward through the traffic ahead.
The cargo tram was getting farther and farther away above him, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it until he lost his attackers, which was going to be a challenge considering his newly acquired Stinger didn’t carry any armaments. He would have to get creative.
He dropped the Stinger down into the reverse flow lane and accelerated into the oncoming traffic, dodging and weaving his way through the chaos of transports, his reflexes strained to the maximum. Risking a quick glance in the rear display he saw that the patrol craft had followed suit as he hoped they would.
Accelerating even faster, Jarred bore into the oncoming traffic, moving against the reverse flow of the lane as it began to curve into a corner, emerging from between two long rows of towering skyscrapers. As he cleared the first of the towers, he waited until the two patrol craft followed, then veered off sharply, breaking free of the traffic lane and shooting down between the narrow divide of the two buildings, barely missing a landing platform that connected them.
Again, the patrol craft stayed with him and he sent his Stinger into a series of twists and turns, winding around and between more buildings, in a seemingly chaotic pattern. At least that was the impression he was trying to give his pursuers. As they gained on him, they began firing off poorly aimed shots, none of them coming close to hitting their target, as he was constantly adjusting his course, staying just out of their cross hairs, and hopefully making them angry and impatient.
Jarred threw the Stinger down and hard right, slowing his speed enough to allow the patrol craft to gain some ground on him. They would have to be in close if this maneuver was to work. He closely followed the curve of another tower around to the right, his pursuers doing the same, matching his movements exactly as they bore in on him.
Coming around the building, he found himself returning to the point where he had exited the skylane originally. Veering left, he began to closely round the massive tower, nearly skimming its surface as he had the building before. A glance at his rear display showed the patrol craft practically on top of him, matching his position perfectly as they moved around the edge of the tower, angling for kill shots that he knew would come as soon as they cleared the massive structure.
Changing course suddenly, Jarred punched the throttle hard, angling the Stinger up into a steep climb that allowed him to miss the wide docking platform from earlier that appeared directly in his pa
th. Behind him, the first patrol craft in close pursuit wasn’t as quick, as he saw it slam head on into the flat landing structure, exploding into flaming debris. The second pursuer’s reflexes were unfortunately sharper, as the craft managed to pull up in time, passing over the burning wreckage of its wing mate to stay with him.
Jarred remained on a steady incline, ascending through the multiple layers of skylanes, allowing his pursuer to get in behind him, for what would appear to be an easy shot. Practically vertical, Jarred removed a plasma grenade from his belt and clicked its timer for a ten count. He waited five seconds before finally dropping it, watching in his rear display as his pursuer came up directly behind him. As he’d hoped, the grenade was sucked into the patrol craft’s forward intake vent and a moment later it, and the patrol craft, exploded brilliantly below him. He allowed himself a satisfied grin before leveling out and readjusting his course.
Shooting down through the traffic lanes, Jarred worked his way back towards the mag tram route. He hadn’t gone very far when he caught sight of the Sect troop transports moving in the opposite direction, including the one which he believed Orna to be aboard, a number of lanes below. Sierra and Kern were probably with her. It had been his intention to go after Elora and Ethan, but he was here now and without an escort, the vessel would be easy to get close to, though he was sure reinforcements wouldn’t be too far off.
Amazed with himself, that he was actually going after the being he had tried so hard to get rid of, he fired his thrusters and angled in towards the transport.
* * *
Sierra wasn’t sure what was happening, but their patrol craft escort had veered off to eliminate someone giving them chase, from what she had heard over the transport’s comm, at least before their guards switched to private feeds. Whatever it was, the escorts hadn’t returned and their guards were starting to look nervous. Nervous and distracted.
She glanced over at Kern and he gave her a knowing look, showing that he was thinking the same thing she was. If they were to attempt to make an escape, this would be the time. Unfortunately, they were outnumbered two to one, plus one pilot up front, and even if they somehow overwhelmed their guards and took control of the transport, with their ship captured, they would have no way of getting off world.
She pushed those worries aside and returned her focus to tripping the maglock on her hand restraints. She could worry about getting off Solta later. First things first, they had to take control of this situation. Finally feeling the click of her magnetic bindings releasing from one another, she glanced around the transport hold, keeping her hands locked together behind her back. Her gaze fell on Orna for a moment, who was sitting patiently at the back of the hold, also cuffed. The being’s knowing eyes seemed to penetrate her, as if she was acutely aware of exactly what she was up to. Sierra shook the strange feeling and returned her attention to their guards, who were still distracted by whatever was taking place over their comms. She prepared herself to move, giving Kern another glance with a quick nod.
Suddenly, the transport shuddered as something made contact with the outside of its hull, making a metallic thud. Sierra followed the guards’ gazes as they scanned the inside of the hold, trying to determine where the sound had come from and she gave Kern another look, silently ordering him to stay put. The sound was easily recognizable as that of something magnetically bonding itself to their hull. The question was what . . . and who?
It looked as if she was about to get her answer as one of their guards depressed the transport’s hatch controls and the door slid open. The soldier held onto the hatch for support and stuck his head outside, looking towards the back and then the top of the hull. Sierra moved in her seat to get a better angle and one the guards close by motioned her back with his rifle.
After a few moments the soldier at the hatch leaned back inside. “Nothing,” he reported to the others, looking a bit confused.
Sierra was confused herself until an instant later a hand gripped the soldier’s leg from the bottom of the hatch, pulling him out of the hold. His surprised scream faded quickly as he fell away from the transport. The rest of the guards stood frozen for a moment, dumbfounded by what had just happened, though it didn’t take them long to compose themselves. By that time Sierra was already moving, shoving the guard closest to her out of the hold to join his companion.
Next to her, Kern, who’s hands were still bound behind his back, charged head first into the guard next to him, driving his shoulder into the large Gnolith, knocking him into a side bulkhead. The fourth soldier turned from the hatch his two comrades had just fallen from to strike Kern with the back of his hand, sending him sprawling to the deck. He had his rifle raised and trained on him an instant later for a shot that never reached its mark.
Sierra was astonished to see Jarred Archer, apparently back from the dead, kick the rifle away, the shot hitting the stunned Gnolith soldier, who Kern had knocked to the floor, instead. The soldier holding the rifle barely had time to shout an angry curse before Jarred knocked him backwards out of the transport to fall, screaming to his demise.
Jarred stepped further inside the transport and turned to look towards Orna, who, to Sierra’s surprise, was still sitting calmly where she always had been. Orna nodded her head towards him and they shared a strange moment Sierra wasn’t quite sure how to read. As he turned back to face her, she could only stare at him in disbelief, Kern, who was just starting to collect himself on the deck, doing much the same.
“I thought you were dead,” she commented, glancing down at the hole burned in his vest.
“Lucky for you, you were mistaken,” he answered back.
Sierra was about to respond when a Gnolith voice came over the transport’s open comm.
“What’s going on back there?” the voice asked.
Sierra glanced from Jarred to Kern. “The pilot,” she stated, turning to look towards the flight deck hatch.
Jarred picked up one of the soldier’s plasma rifles and tossed it to Sierra, moving up next to her to one side of the flight deck hatch. She took up the rifle and stood to the opposite side of the hatch, depressing the door’s control panel.
Inside the flight deck, the pilot craned his head around, his expression going cold at seeing Jarred and herself instead of the soldiers he was expecting. The confused expression didn’t last long as a few moments later Jarred was pulling him out of the his seat and back into the hold. Sierra quickly jumped behind the controls, maintaining their course and staying with the other transports, who it seemed, remained unaware of the insurrection that had taken place. The longer they could maintain that illusion the better. She heard the startled cry of the Gnolith pilot behind her and assumed he had joined his comrades in their fate.
A few moments later, Jarred returned with Kern, his hands free of his restraints. Kern moved into the seat beside Sierra’s and she turned the controls over to him. She then turned to face Jarred.
“How did you survive that shot?” she asked.
“Yeah, I thought you were finished back there,” Kern added.
“What does it matter,” Jarred answered them both, peering through the front viewport.
“I guess it doesn’t,” Sierra admitted, a bit skeptically. She didn’t know why he would dodge the question, but it wasn’t really all that important. Getting clear of this place was. “Why did you come after us?”
Jarred took a deep breath before responding, as if trying to determine the answer for himself. “I promised to get Orna to you safely. Now I’ve done that.”
“Alright,” she accepted. “What do you plan to do now?”
“I’m going after Elora and Ethan,” he stated evenly, starting back out of the flight deck.
“How are you planning on doing that?” she asked, getting up from her seat to follow him into the hold.
Jarred stepped up to the open hatch, waiting a moment before finally answering her. “I’m not sure yet. Don’t worry, I’m not asking for your help.”
�
�I’m not offering,” she shot back at him, bluntly.
He stared at her a moment, as if recognizing something in her suddenly, and his expression softened, almost sadly. She wasn’t sure what he had seen, but the look on his face stung her for some reason.
Stepping out of the hatch, Jarred glanced back at her for a short moment. “Good luck to you.”
Sierra watched as he then climbed down under the transport’s hull to straddle the hover bike that was secured to its underside. Powering it up, he released its magnetic docking clamp and fell free of the transport, turning over and accelerating off in the opposite direction. As he vanished from view, she turned around to find both Orna, and Kern in the flight deck, looking back at her. Kern quickly turned back around in his seat, working the ship’s controls.
What were they looking at? If they expected her to volunteer to go off on some rescue mission, on top of the one she was already attempting, they were crazy. She had her assignment, and completing it was all that mattered. Even if Jarred had risked his life to help them, it didn’t mean she could afford to do the same. Orna was her priority. Everything else placed a far second.
Though Sierra believed her view on the matter to be the right one, it somehow didn’t dull the sensation of guilt that was welling up inside her. She cast the feeling aside and turned away from the hatch, sealing it behind her.
Chapter 12
It was no secret that the source of the Dominions’s governing power, and continued reign over the numerous worlds of this system, was its military. Comprised of multiple branches of armed and special forces, intelligence networks and a vast, awe inspiring naval fleet, it maintained order and stability with an iron fist.
At the helm of the great war machine, the Supreme High Commander held its devastating power in the palm of his hand, wielding it in the name of the Sect and for the glory of the Gods. Commanding the greatest military force ever conceived, Durak had earned the undying allegiance of his troops and the fearful respect of every other being in the system, including the worthless, sniveling bureaucrats that drew comfort from the order his army sustained.
