by S M Briscoe
Security would be tight, but not heavy enough to make entry impossible. It was an industrial facility, not military, its defenses geared more towards hindering acts of corporate espionage. Getting in would be the easy part. Finding Ethan and making it back out with him was going to be more challenging.
“Bring us in over the northern hemisphere,” he instructed Kern, while analyzing the three dimensional mapping grid on the display in front of him. Laying the last known homing beacon coordinates over the grid’s cross section allowed him to pin point the near exact area the signal had originated from, which would at least give him a starting point to begin his search. “Heading eight-three-one. And watch for traffic. A mid air collision will cut this rescue mission short in a hurry.”
Freighters and other commercial vessels cluttered the rain filled skies, as they descended into the lower atmosphere, coming and going from the numerous facilities on the surface and in orbit around the moon. Ryza was a very busy place, which would be of aid to them in completing their objective. Even without the cloaking field, he doubted they would have had any trouble on their approach, or even landing at any one of the many ports. But then, they did not intend on making port at any of them, and so they remained in stealth, which presented a higher degree of danger when navigating busy air space.
“Don’t worry about me,” Kern responded from the flight seat, his tone sounding only slightly annoyed. “You just focus on your part. Let me handle the-”
The ship jerked hard to port and Jarred had to grab hold of the computer console to keep himself from being thrown from his seat, the sound of a rumbling set of, all too close, ion engines reverberating through the hull as something large and bulky passed by. Righting himself, he turned to glare up at the pilot.
“Flying,” Kern finished, apologetically, while righting their course.
Ryza’s surface area was almost entirely covered in structural facilities. Buildings, factories, warehouses. There seemed to be little to no surface area not covered by an artificial structure of some kind. Without the homing beacon as, at least a general aid, this rescue attempt would have been an act in futility. It still might be.
As they approached the area which the beacon had indicated, Jarred became sure they were at the right place. Or as sure as he could be under the circumstances. The buildings and factories began to thin out, as did the transport traffic. He had expected to find as much from an area where slaves were being housed and utilized.
Looking from his monitor to the area directly below them through his viewport, he pointed down at the structure they were nearing. “This is the place. He was down there, at least at some point.”
“It looks like some kind of waste disposal facility,” Sierra commented.
“Which helps to explain its isolation out here,” he added, in agreement. A series of large pipes spread out from the facility in multiple directions, each bundle connecting to the heavily structured areas around it. They would be syphoning the waste that was produced at those sites. There would be numerous disposal facilities like this one all around the moon to deal with the high quantities of waste an operation of this magnitude would produce. “Low profile place to employ a slave workforce.”
Syntax Corporation was probably the most publicly visible entity in the system, and though anyone with any sense would know that they were as corrupted as any criminal faction, a scandal the likes of slavery would be devastating to their public image.
“They would want to keep this place low key,” he continued. “Which is why I’m not expecting heavy security. At least, not any live security.”
“Why is that?” Kern asked.
“Because live personnel have consciences,” Jarred explained. “And even if they don’t, they have friends that might. Regardless of how well they’re paid or how heartless or devoted they may be, word would eventually get leaked. Syntax can’t afford that. They would take measures to prevent it.”
“Mechs,” Sierra concluded.
“Mechs,” Jarred confirmed. “Mechanical security. No conscience. No gossip. And a minimal force at that.”
“Why do you say that?” This was Kern again.
“Because mechs cost money. They require upkeep, parts, maintenance. If the cost of keeping slaves outweighs the benefits of having them, what’s the point?”
“Good point,” Kern agreed, apparently satisfied. “So, what now then?”
Jarred searched the facility roof top for potential points of entry, but inevitably, he knew what his best chance of undetected access would be. “Bring us in low over that section of piping. I’ll go in there.”
“We’ll go in there,” Elora corrected from over his shoulder.
Jarred turned to face her. He had expected this. “I know how you’re feeling, but if you want to help Ethan, you need to stay here.”
“No,” she argued, firmly. “You don’t know how I’m feeling, and if Ethan’s down there, he’s going to need me. I’m going with you, so you might as well stop arguing with me. You’re just wasting your time.” With that she turned and exited through the flight deck hatchway, Jarred watching, a bit dumbfounded.
“I guess she told you,” Kern commented, dryly.
“Just find a place to lie low and keep the engines warmed. When we come out, it will probably be in a hurry.”
“And if you don’t come out?” Sierra asked.
That was a question Jarred had already asked of himself. What if any of the multitude of things that could go wrong did? He had always learned to plan for the unexpected. To foresee as many of the potential outcomes as possible and prepare for all of them. To have a fallback plan or plans. This time was no different.
* * *
When Jarred finally entered the main hold, Elora was ready, bracing herself for the battle of wills to come. One that she did not intend to lose. It never came. Instead of confronting and attempting to dissuade her, he simply continued on past her to one of the hold’s storage lockers. After a stunned moment, she followed.
“What?” she asked. “You’re not going to try and convince me to not go with you?”
Jarred pressed a button on the elongated locker’s control panel and its door slid open, revealing, what Elora took to be, an impressive weapons cache. Guns, rifles, explosives, body armor. It was a veritable armory, as Kern had said earlier.
“Wow,” Jarred said, simply, as he took a moment to take in the locker’s contents. Finally noticing that she was still staring at him, awaiting a response, he let out breath. “What would be the point?” He pulled a multi-pocketed vest from the locker and slipped it over his shoulders, continuing to speak while filling it with an assortment of grenades and knives. “I would just be wasting my time, right?”
She shrugged. “I guess I still expected you to try.”
Jarred paused for a moment. “I do understand what you’re feeling. And you have every right to want to be there to help your brother. But you need to be prepared for what we might find down there.”
This was a conversation Elora didn’t want to have. “He has to be down there. He has to be alright. I don’t know what I’ll do if he’s not. If you’re trying to prepare me for the worst . . . please don’t.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to do,” he assured her. “You just need to remember what we’re walking into. This isn’t some pleasure resort. It’s a slave compound. It may not be pretty.”
“I know that.”
He kept his eyes locked with hers. “And there’s going to be a lot of people suffering . . . and you’ll want to help them.”
Elora finally understood where he was going with this. It was something she hadn’t considered, but he obviously had. There would be hundreds, if not thousands of other slaves down there. People desperate for help. And they wouldn’t be able to give them that help. Not if they planned on rescuing her brother.
“If Ethan is down there,” he continued, “we’ll find him and we’ll get him out of here. But I need you to be clear that t
hat is our objective . . . and only that.”
She had already managed to sway his judgement, through her pleas or otherwise, on more than one occasion since meeting him. He was making it clear that would not be happening this time. It couldn’t happen. Or they would fail.
“I understand.”
“Good.” To her surprise, Jarred then slapped the side of her shoulder with some kind sharp device, the unexpected action making her jump more than the slight twinge of pain.
“Ouch,” she complained, rubbing her arm. “What was that?”
“Tracking node,” he answered. “Like the one I used on Mac. Just in case we’re separated.”
She frowned. “You could have warned me.”
“Na,” Jarred returned, displaying the playful grin that, as infrequently as she had seen it, was beginning to grow on her. “I find this way more effective . . . and fun.” He retrieved a rifle from the locker and handed it to her. “You already seem to have picked up on how to handle one of these.”
Elora took the weapon in her grip, recalling the single encounter she’d had with it during their escape from the Trycon docking facility.
“The stun setting won’t work on mechs,” he continued. “I’m expecting that’s what we’ll be running into down there, but if I’m wrong, you need to be ready to use this on live targets.”
Elora just nodded. He was saying she might have to kill someone. She assumed that if it came to that, it would mean that they were also trying to kill her. That didn’t do much to put her mind at ease. She had a moment of self doubt. Could she handle this? If it came down to it, would she be able to do what was necessary? In the end, what choice did she have? She had to do this. For Ethan.
Jarred did up his vest and then slung his sword, still wrapped in it’s simple cloth sheath, which he had carried into the hold and had yet to set down, as far as Elora had seen, since returning from his trek in the mountains with it, over his shoulder. “I guess I can’t convince you to stay behind, can I?” The question was directed to Tarik.
Of course, the Toguai didn’t respond verbally, nor was there any change in his stone like expression, but Elora definitely got the impression that the point was not up for discussion with him either.
Jarred seemed to as well as he let his gaze shift to where Orna was watching them from her usual spot in the hold’s living area. “You’re not going to demand to come too, are you?”
“No,” Orna answered, simply. “I would ask one thing of you, though.”
“Why am I not surprised?” he replied, sarcastically. “It’s not like I’ve been turning down many requests lately. Why would I start now? Please tell me, what else can I do for you?”
Orna’s usually blank expression softened slightly, a change Elora probably wouldn’t have noticed if she had not spent so much time with the being. “I ask that you leave the Hybrid sword behind.”
Jarred’s jaw nearly dropped. “I’m sorry, did I hear you right? You want me to leave the sword behind now? After you sent me into that deathtrap to get it?”
“Yes,” she answered him, evenly. “Until you are ready to follow where it leads you. You have chosen to stray from the path you must travel with it, though for a noble cause, as I had suspected you might. Nonetheless, you are not ready to wield its power. Because of that, it will be of little aid to you on this quest. More importantly, if the sword was to be lost, much more would follow. The risk is too great. But, you are the bearer and the choice is yours. Tarik will accompany and serve you regardless.”
After a long moment, Jarred tore his gaze from Orna and glanced away, at seemingly not. When he finally looked back at her he let out a resigned breath, pulling the slung sword from his shoulder. He stepped over to place it on the table before Orna, appearing to hesitate briefly, as though it was difficult to part with the weapon, before turning away.
“Probably wouldn’t have had much use for it anyway,” he said, returning to Elora. The sentiment wasn’t a convincing one and she found herself wondering again just what significance the weapon had and why Jarred was so attached to it.
“We’re in position,” Kern’s voice came over the hold’s comm.
Jarred moved to the comm unit mounted on the hull and depressed its button. “Ready to go here. See you soon.”
There was a moment’s pause. “Good luck.”
Jarred didn’t respond, instead activating the boarding ramp’s controls situated next to the comm. A gust of cool air flooded the hold as the ramp lowered open, Elora steadying herself next to Jarred where she could see the ground only a few meters below them.
“You ready?” Jarred asked, loudly, over the howling wind outside.
She nodded. As ready as she could be.
Chapter 29
Jarred dropped the five meters from the ship's boarding ramp with Elora in his arms, landing lightly on the ground, Tarik dropping in right behind them. Quickly, they moved to cover behind the long row of piping he intended on entering the facility through, surveying the area. A glance back up in the ship’s direction, an odd site with the cloaking field activated, showed a small view of the main hold’s interior drifting away from them and then disappearing completely as the boarding ramp closed shut. The sound of the engines was almost completely drowned out by the howling wind and rain.
Not wasting any time, Jarred immediately got to work, climbing up onto one of the drainage pipes and activating the laser cutter he’d equipped to his vest. It didn’t take long to cut out a man sized hole in the pipe, which he was sure to work at a slight inward angle to allow the piece to be replaced once they had entered through it. Once done, he lifted the slab up and slid it aside. The stench that spewed through the opening was enough to make him gag, but he resisted the urge. He’d prepared for this as well.
“Put your breather on,” he called down to Elora. “It won’t help with the smell, but it will keep you from passing out from the fumes.” She complied, pulling the face mask from where it was affixed to her own vest, Jarred taking a moment to do the same before stretching a hand down to her. Lifting her up onto the pipe, he spared a glance at his Toguai bodyguard, who had already climbed up next to him, and pulled a second breather from his vest, holding it out for Tarik’s inspection.
“What about you?” he asked, his voice a bit muffled by his mask.
Tarik eyed the piece of equipment for a brief moment and then turned away, seemingly uninterested in it, his focus going to the makeshift doorway Jarred had cut out of the pipe.
Jarred shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He sat down on the pipe, hanging his legs into the opening and then dropped inside, landing with a splash in the waste high muck flowing slowly through it. The pipe’s diameter allowed him to stand fully upright. He brought his rifle to bare and activated the flashlight over its targeting reticle, giving a quick look both ways up and down the tunnel.
Tarik dropped into the tunnel next to him, immediately wading to one side where the sludge was more shallow and he could grip onto the pipe’s surface with his claws. Relatively short in stature, the flowing waste was high enough in the pipe’s center to almost submerge the Toguai completely.
Jarred looked back up through the opening to where Elora waited and reached up to help her inside. Once in, her face, half covered by the breather, wrinkled up with an obvious look of disgust.
“Try not to think about it,” he suggested, a feat that would be far more easily said than done. He then reached back up through the opening, and giving a final look around the outside area, slid the slab of pipe he had cut away back into place, effectively closing them in, while hiding their point of entry from any possible onlookers. With any luck, they would find and free Ethan, undetected, and reemerge from this same spot in short time.
* * *
In a small control bunker, nestled deep inside Waste Station 5-B, unit 661-R stared, unmoving, at the displays before it, tirelessly monitoring everything from the facility’s environmentals and power output to waste product drainage level
s and pressure readings throughout the piping network that syphoned waste from all of the surrounding facilities.
Its attention was drawn to an alert indicator along the southern line of that network. A pressure loss in drainage pipe 32-C. As per standard protocols, 661-R began to run a diagnostic to determine the source of the malfunction or possible breach, in which case, a repair unit would need to be dispatched.
Before any substantial information could be retrieved, the pressure levels in the pipe returned to within normal operating parameters. Allowing sufficient time to ensure that the new readings remained stable, 661-R returned its attention to monitoring all stations, ensuring that an incident notation was created and dispatched to the system administrator before doing so, in the event of any further recurrences. As per standard protocols.
Another handy feature of Arden’s ship’s advanced system databanks was its highly detailed and very up to date blue print layouts for just about any known facility in the system that one might want to gain access to. Jarred could think of numerous reasons as to why the crime lord would want to have such information at his disposal, none of which really mattered at the moment, suffice to say, that it was a good thing that he did.
Checking the portable positioning device he had downloaded the content to, Jarred concluded that, after one half hour of sloshing through this putrid muck, it was time to make their exit. Not that they had much choice. Their drainage tunnel was coming to an end a dozen meters ahead of them, the pipe connecting to what must have been some sort of syphoning basin where the waste was pooled.
The positioner currently had them directly below the facility’s air circulation system, one of the few places the facility blue prints showed the piping to be above floor level, therefore, one of the few places inside the facility that they would be able to cut their way out and not find themselves embedded in meters of solid foundation. Just a few moments with his laser cutter and he had carved another doorway out of the tunnel. Removing it carefully, he stuck his head up through the opening and made a three hundred and sixty degree survey of the area. All clear.
