The airlock crackled as repeated batteries from energy weapons heated it beyond its tolerance. The smell of scorched metal filled the room.
“Move, people!” Haid waved them out of the control room, one by one. Neva and Roche once again helped Veden onto the back of the combat suit and slid his arms through the straps. With every heavy step, the Eckandi’s breath hissed softly in Roche’s ear; his arms hung limp around her throat.
The corridor led to another maze of offices.
“Which way?” Emmerik called.
Roche relayed directions given by the Box until they reached a narrow flight of metal stairs leading to a service hatch in the ceiling. Neva went first, nudging the hatch aside with the barrel of her rifle, then slipping through. Emmerik went next, then Jytte, Roche and Veden, Maii and the others. Haid, the last through, dogged the hatch behind him and stood up to survey the view.
They stood in a glass-windowed observation platform, half open to the evening air. Wind snatched at Roche’s face, carrying with it the sharp sting of dust. The sound of the two flyers circling the building was loud in her ears, rising and falling as the craft came closer, then drifted away. From the base of the building, voices floated up to them, shouting orders, calling for reinforcements. Plumes of smoke still rose from the foyer, as well as from the burning truck by the main gates.
The city of Port Parvati lay under a deep shroud of black, deepening by the moment as the sun slipped below the horizon. Only the seemingly solid band of the Soul remained to illuminate the battlefield. Far away and to the northeast, a storm hovered over the mountains like an enormous, shadowy beast, waiting to spring.
“Are you okay, Veden?” Roche asked over her shoulder.
“I’m still here,” breathed the elderly Eckandi.
“Hang in there.”
“If we keep low,” called Emmerik from the far side of the platform, “the troops in the flyers might not see us.”
“Agreed,” said Haid, edging away from the hatch.
A thump from below made them all tense; the two troopers had found the stairwell.
Haid nodded. He remained where he was, though, a half dozen paces from the hatch with his rifle trained on the place the trooper’s head would appear.
Roche jumped as a flash of white split the sunset. The hatch exploded into the air and clattered to one side—blown upward by fire from below. Maii hissed between her teeth as she fought to regain control of the Dato trooper. One armored hand reached out of the hole in the roof, clutching for purchase. With servos whining, the sleek, shining suit clambered into the night air, its high-powered rifle slung over one shoulder—
And stood there, immobile, frozen by the reave’s will.
Cane ducked closer to retrieve the rifle at the same time the nearest flyer snarled angrily overhead.
“They’ve seen us!” Haid shouted over the noise, crouching automatically as fire strafed the observation platform.
Cane fired at the belly of the flyer as it sped away from them. The powerful Dato weapon discharged fierce bolts of blue-white energy that sparked viciously when they hit. Cane kept firing as the flyer curved upward into the sky to avoid the attack. Only when the craft dipped lower and vanished behind the bulk of the building did Cane let go of the trigger. The previously constant whine of its engines had changed slightly, become more irregular, halting.
Damaged at least, thought Roche, if not out of the game entirely.
The second flyer swooped to attack, this time more cautiously. Its underbelly turrets rotated smoothly, seeking the upright figure of Cane. He ducked and rolled for cover behind the frozen Dato trooper. The flyer’s shots landed wide of the mark, destroying what remained of the platform’s low roof and sending glass shards flying.
When the second flyer had passed, Roche let go the breath she had been holding. Too close, she thought. Much too close. It was only a matter of time before the flyer returned—and this time, they might not be so lucky.
A concussion from below heralded the arrival of a new form of attack: mortar bombs. The whistle of the shell grew rapidly louder, with no clear way to tell where it would hit. Then the corner of the observation platform where Jytte was standing suddenly exploded. The shock wave knocked everyone off their feet except for Roche, who watched helplessly as the woman was flung through the air amid a burning hail of rubble.
Roche staggered, hurriedly clearing grit from her eyes. The whistle of another mortar coincided with the growing whine of the undamaged flyer. She sought cover on the exposed platform—but there was nowhere to hide.
“We’re too exposed up here!” she shouted over the noise.
“I know,” Haid shouted back. “But we don’t have any—”
The second mortar exploded, cutting him off. Roche once again held her ground. She hadn’t had time to recover, however, before a solid kick knocked the rifle from her hands.
She stumbled back a step, blinking furiously, distracted by dust and the fog caused by the Box. Another blow spun her sideways before her suit could correct her balance. Raising an arm desperately, she managed to block the third blow. The solid ring of armor on armor coincided with her realization of who was attacking her.
The Dato trooper—released from his stupor by Maii’s distraction—stepped back to aim a kick at her stomach. She dodged aside, attempting to twist him about his center of gravity while he was off balance. But his suit was too fast, or hers too old, and he pivoted easily out of her grasp. Cursing, she aimed a solid blow to his helmet that hurt her fist, even through the armored glove.
The power-assists of his joints growled as he assumed a combat stance—arms outstretched, legs planted firmly to either side—and waited for Roche’s next move. She feinted to the right, jabbed at his shoulder with her left fist. The blow glanced aside, and he elbowed her in the chest. His other hand swept up to strike her in the exposed face, but she ducked in time. She felt the clenched ceramic glove pass by bare millimeters from her ear, then ducked under his arm to strike him in the stomach.
He staggered backward. Roche, back-heavy because of Veden and winded by the blow to her chest, didn’t press her advantage as she would have liked to. The second flyer screamed by overhead, strobing the dusk on all sides, distracting her. The trooper ducked low and charged, using his helmet as a battering ram. Roche lunged to one side in time to avoid the crude attack, but not quickly enough to dodge the outswept arm that almost knocked her off her feet.
She cursed breathlessly, hating to admit that she was no match for the trooper in hand-to-hand combat—outclassed by superior technology, confused by external impulses invading her own head, and forced to take her elderly passenger into account. But she had no choice, and her companions were too busy trying to survive to assist her. Distantly, she noted the steady blast of the Dato rifle in Cane’s hands as it once again sought the undamaged flyer.
While the armored figure turned to charge again, she searched for the rifle on the blackened roof, and found it nearby. Unfortunately, the trooper noted the shifting of her gaze and also saw the weapon.
They lunged simultaneously at the same moment another mortar exploded nearby. Roche arrived an instant sooner, sweeping the rifle into one hand. The trooper’s gloved hands closed over hers as she tried to turn the weapon on him. Slowly but inexorably he forced the barrel back toward her face. She grunted, trying to fight the superior strength of the Dato suit until the blood sang in her ears.
She looked away from the mirrored visor of her opponent and down into the black eye of the rifle. The hand clutching the trigger guard tightened, prepared to snap the metal bracket simply to make the gun fire. Once would be enough. Once, and Roche would never have to worry about her mission—or the Box—again.
Then something reached past her, over her shoulder and the weight on her back shifted. A
naked hand battered at the Dato trooper’s visor, distracting him momentarily. The barrel shifted aside a bare instant before the weapon discharged, dazzling Roche and singeing the side of her head.
She pushed herself away from the trooper, screaming, and the weight slipped from her shoulders. Veden! she screamed—Veden! Then realized that the voice issued from inside her head and not from herself. It was simultaneously coming from all around her and from the depths of her very being.
Veden!
Flames clutched at her scalp, digging in with claws of fire, and she fell backward. Her hip absorbed most of the impact, sending waves of pain through her weak ribs and shoulder. Still screaming through the stench of burning skin and hair, she batted at the fire with her gloved palms until it was out.
Only then did she open her eyes.
The Dato trooper was standing over her—dead, but still standing, as the Surin’s scream ripped his mind apart. Eventually, with a quiver, the suit toppled backward and lay still.
Roche rolled over and, through the one eye that had recovered from the energy bolt, stared at the body of the Eckandi lying next to her. The top of his skull had been blown away.
Veden!
The scream cut short with a wrench of emotion that would have overwhelmed all of them on the observation platform had it not been quashed instantly by its source. It was replaced by a high-pitched, keening wail of grief. Roche clambered to her knees and sought the Surin through the smoke and darkness. The girl was nowhere to be seen, so she sent her mind instead—to comfort, to support, to succor. But the wail—the only audible sound that she had ever heard from the Surin—continued unchecked.
Then Emmerik’s voice sliced through the noise and the rising buzz of the undamaged flyer as it turned to strafe the building yet again:
“They’re here! Ameidio, they’re here!”
Roche climbed unsteadily to her feet and hauled herself to the edge of the platform, following the direction indicated by Emmerik’s outflung hand. Below, in the gloom, she could see heads turning as Enforcement faced a new enemy. Not the flyer the Box had arranged to meet them, but a ground force of some kind—at least two hundred armed people swarming on foot through the open gates of the landing field.
“Box—” She stopped, cleared her throat of dust. Through the buzz of data and the ringing in her ears, her voice sounded inhumanly hoarse. “Box, give me a clearer picture. Use the security cameras and enhance the image.”
The view through her left eye split in two. In one portion she saw as normal; in the other, she zoomed closer to the attacking squad. She glimpsed figures dressed in what looked like crude robes, carrying identical weapons. Her ears caught the sound of an unfamiliar discharge: not harsh, like energy rifles, but almost musical—a split-second chime at a very low frequency.
She struggled to identify the sound until the view pulled back to encompass the Enforcers below. One by one, as the strange weapons fired, energy rifles failed. Armored suits locked, immobile, and toppled to the earth. The second flyer swooped low to investigate this new challenge, and its engine changed pitch as sections of its drive malfunctioned instantly.
HFM weapons, she realized. Of an ancient design, too. But where—?
She whirled around to face Haid and Emmerik. “You told me they were radioactive!”
“They were,” said the Mbatan.
“They marked a graveyard!”
“And will again when they are returned.” Emmerik limped closer, smiling sadly. “They are the one and only asset belonging to the descendants of the original settlers. What better use could they be put to than to revenge the deaths of the people they once killed?”
Roche shook her head, understanding but feeling betrayed anyway. With such an arsenal, the capture of the landing field could have been accomplished much more peacefully, with much less bloodshed. But it wasn’t her place to criticize; she was alive, and the chances of escape seemed markedly less remote than they had just moments ago.
Cane joined her at the edge of the platform, watching the battle take place below. The peace guns cut a swath through Dato troops and Enforcers alike. No mortars had been fired since the arrival of the ghosts of Houghton’s
Cross. She supposed that she should start feeling safe sometime soon. Yet she doubted she would ever feel safe again—at least, not until she was off the planet and back at Intelligence HQ.
The flat negative surprised her.
“Transport’s arrived!” called Haid from the far side of the building. Cane’s nudge in the back of her suit forced Roche to concentrate on more immediate matters. Her scalp stung where fire had eaten into it, and the Surin’s wail continued to gnaw at her thoughts. Whatever the Box was playing at, she could deal with it later—when the flyer had taken them somewhere safe, somewhere she could think clearly.
Engines snarled as something large loomed out of the night sky and swooped over their heads. Relief turned to anxiety, however, as she realized that the craft wasn’t the standard COE design used on the prison planet. This was a military design, snub-nosed and powerful.
“But,” she began, “that’s a Dato—”
“I know.” The familiar voice came from behind her.
She turned and found herself face to face with Cane. His habitual half-smile was gone. She tensed by instinct, and would have stepped away, but the armor had become rigid. She couldn’t move.
“What’s happening—?” She looked down in annoyance, wrenching her limbs impotently within the suit. No matter what she did, however, the suit remained completely lifeless. “I’m trapped!”
She looked up again in time to see Cane draw back his fist. Her eyes widened in horror as she flinched and tried to turn away—but the motion was futile. Unable to move her body, there was no way she could avoid the blow.
It connected solidly on her burned temple. Light exploded behind her eyes, blinding her; then three distinct sounds chased her into darkness:
—the snarl of the shuttle as it swooped level with the roof—
—the solid thump of her armored body striking the platform beneath her—
—and the voice of Cane, barely audible over the noise of the shuttle, muttering a single, sickening word. “Exactly.”
PART FOUR:
ANA VEREINE
17
DBMP Ana Vereine
‘954.10.34 EN
1805
Despite the calm appearance of his image, Captain Uri Kajic was a worried man.
Six hours had passed since the last communication with the Port Parvati landing party, in which Major Gyori had indicated that he was preparing to ambush Roche and the rebels as they attacked the landing field. Since then, nothing had been heard from anyone. All surface communications had been jammed from the landing field’s MiCom installation. Kajic, watching closely from geosynchronous orbit, had waited in the grip of an intense anxiety for an update, his thoughts constantly nagged by reminders of his priorities. As fighting had erupted on the surface of Sciacca’s World, smoke from numerous fires burning in and around the city had effectively masked infrared surveillance, and a poorly timed dust storm had compounded the problem by smothering visual light and radar. Whatever was going on in the landing field’s MiCom installation, he could not guess. For all he knew, the battle might have ended hours ago.
Stranded in his skybound eyrie, he could do little but wait, consumed by doubts, recriminations, and half-spoken fears.
priority gold-one
“Second Lieutenant Nisov reports that her squad is ready to launch.” Makaev had abandoned the pretense that Kajic’s hologram was a real person. She remained in her position, next to the command dais, speaking to him solely via the nearest microphone.
Kajic’s image nodded in acknowledgment. The plan to send another landing party
into the maelstrom had not been his, but he was forced to admit that it made sense. Even a low reconnaissance flight would do more good than ill. “Have her stand by, awaiting my command.”
“Sir; a delay at this point—”
“Will make little difference,” Kajic interrupted irritably. “I wish to give Major Gyori one more chance to report.”
capture Commander Roche and AI JW111101000
“This seems unlikely, sir, as the interference from the planet has not lessened since—”
Kajic shrugged this aside. “While we are being jammed, we know that the battle is continuing. I see no reason to send reinforcements just yet.”
Makaev’s scowl deepened. “Then perhaps we should reconsider disabling the DAOC transmitter station.”
“Why? Has there been another coded hyperspace transmission?”
“No, but—”
“Then your reasons for wishing it disabled are unclear.”
at all costs
“It’s a threat, sir. If the Armada has not already been informed of our presence here—”
“Even if they have, they will arrive too late. Destroying the satellite will have repercussions further-reaching than our present situation. We have already left too much evidence that might implicate us.”
with as much stealth and speed as possible
“Sir, I wish you would reconsider—”
priority gold-one
“Enough!” Kajic shouted at the voices tormenting him. “I am in command of this vessel, and if I say we should wait, then that’s exactly what we will do!”
Makaev’s face darkened, anger boiling beneath its surface. “Yes... sir.”
Kajic noted the woman’s insolent tone, the contemptuous hesitation before the honorific was finally granted, but he refrained from commenting. Traitor or loyal servant? If he pushed much harder, he might soon find out which.
priority gold-one
The Prodigal Sun Page 30
