by M. R. Forbes
“Shit,” Olus cursed, his latest effort to recall the lift failing spectacularly, a shower of sparks reaching out and burning the fingers of his softsuit. Trying to override the override hadn’t worked, and so he had made an effort to alter the wiring, opting for a manual hack instead.
“It was a good try, Captain,” Bastion said. “As much as I hate you, I have to admit.”
“Better to die on the road to freedom than to die quietly,” Benhil said. “Although I suppose I can go back to my cell to wait this out.” He laughed again. “Nice meeting you all. Enjoy your executions.”
He took a few steps toward the cell block before Pik blocked his path.
“I don’t think so,” the Trover said.
Benhil put up his hands. “Fine. Have it your way. We can all die here together.”
“We aren’t going to die,” Olus said. “I’ll get it working.”
“You said that five minutes ago,” Bastion said. “Freak-monkey, you know how to take the bracelets off but not how to hotwire a lift?”
“It’s Gant,” Gant said. “Call me freak-monkey again, and I’ll kill you.”
Bastion looked at the floor, backing up a few steps. “Uh. Yeah. Right. Well?”
“I’ve never studied the wiring diagrams of a Republic military penal colony,” Gant said. “I had two weeks to study the bracelet. I can try?”
Olus checked the wires. They were dark brown at the ends. Burned. He pulled on them, trying to get enough slack to splice again. “Standby,” he said.
How had the Warden managed to bypass his patch? His hack should have been beyond the aptitude of any non-HSOC.
He tugged on one of the wires, another spark firing as a result and forcing him to back away.
“Damn it.”
A light hum followed. The lift started to descend.
“You did it,” Benhil said.
“I didn’t do anything,” Olus replied, surprised at the result.
“Hello?” a female voice said, generated from the wall to his left. “Is anyone there?”
“Abbey?” Gant said. “Is that you, Queenie?”
“Gant?” Abbey replied. “Gant, what the frag is going on?”
“What do you think? We’re rescuing you.”
“You’re doing a bang-up job.”
“Lieutenant Cage,” Olus said. “My name is Captain Olus Mann, Republic Office of Strategic Intelligence.”
“OSI?” Abbey said. “Are you here about the assholes who are running this place?”
“Not exactly,” Olus replied. “Where are you?”
“Barricaded in the Warden’s office. I’ve got a patch on the door, but they’re going to burn through it sooner or later. I’ve got the lift coming down to you. You can finish rescuing me.”
“It’s good to hear your voice, Queenie,” Gant said. “I was worried about you.”
“That’s sweet,” Abbey said. “Get the hell up here.”
“We need to make a stop on Level Fifteen,” Olus said.
“Are you serious?” Abbey asked.
“It’s important. If you can help disable security there, it would speed things up.”
“You are serious. I’ll see what I can do. Make it quick.”
The lift reached them, and they piled in. It ascended three floors to Fifteen before coming to a stop.
“They’ve got the burners on the door,” Abbey said, her voice coming from the wall near the lift. “I give it five minutes, six if they’re cautious. They seem to want me alive.”
“Who does?” Olus said.
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
“Three minutes, then get the lift moving.” Olus turned to the others. “Wait here. I’ll get Razor and then we’re gone. Lieutenant, if you can open the door to cell 1515 and disable the occupant’s bracelet, it would go a long way.”
“Aye, Captain,” Abbey said. “Is there anything you want me to tell them?”
Olus smiled. “Just tell her the bracelet is inactive, and it’s time to go.”
“Affirmative.”
Olus started running, heading down the corridor at full speed. He wasn’t worried about opposition. Not now. The only thing he was racing was the clock.
He reached the cell block inside of a minute, his rifle up as he cleared the blast doors, aiming toward the top of the guard spike. He didn’t see any guards. He also didn’t hear anything.
“Razor?” he said, turning slowly, his helmet assisting him in scanning the area. He kept the rifle ready. His heart was thumping, and he could feel the sweat running down his chest.
Something pressed against his neck, finding the space between the helmet and the softsuit.
“I’m here,” Razor said.
Olus glanced down. Where had she gotten a knife?
“Razor,” he said. “Is this necessary?”
“I don’t know, Captain,” she replied. “Is it?”
“I told you I would get you out of here.”
“I’m out, sir. That makes you expendable.”
“We had a deal.”
She laughed. “I had a deal with my commander of the Singularity, too, Captain. That didn’t keep me out of Hell.”
“I know,” Olus said. “I can’t help you fix that if I’m dead.”
“Fix it? You can’t fix it, sir. You can’t fix me.”
“I can give you a chance at a new life. One that isn’t spent down here.”
“Like I said, I’m out already, sir.”
“There’s another soldier I’m trying to get out. Lieutenant Abigail Cage.”
“I’ve never heard of her.”
“She’s the one who let you out. She’s in trouble. The same kind of trouble you were in when nobody helped you. When you were blamed instead. Help me help her.”
“How do I know you aren’t bullshitting me?”
“Come and see, Airi.”
The blade remained for a few more seconds. Then she pulled it away. “Very well.”
Olus turned to look at the petite woman. Her face and hellsuit were both glistening with blood. None of it was hers. He bowed to her, locking his eyes on hers.
She stared at him for a moment, surprised he knew the custom. She bowed in return.
They ran back to the lift together.
31
Abbey watched Airi Soto’s newly-disarmed bracelet move through the corridors of Level Fifteen, headed back toward the lift where she assumed the others were waiting. Captain Mann had promised three minutes, and with her help, he had delivered, retrieving the RIA soldier from her perdition and bringing her along.
For what purpose? Why was he collecting prisoners? Why was he helping them escape? And why had they been coming to save her?
Captain Mann knew about the Warden, and about the prison. It was clear the Republic’s command over it was tenuous at best. At least, the part of the Republic she was still loyal to, and still willing to fight for. The other thing that had become apparent was that at least part of the nation was compromised, infiltrated by individuals like Lurin who went by alternate titles and bowed to alternate masters.
She glanced up at the bright flame that was piercing through the blast door. They were burning it instead of blowing it, still not wanting to risk hurting her. What the frag did they want with her, that they were willing to take the trouble? Why hadn’t they killed her after she had killed two of theirs?
The job was almost complete, the flame three-quarters of the way through the door, a neat line of slagged metal showing the new outline of their efforts. Abbey looked back to the terminal. The lift was on the move, coming up. She checked one of the feeds near it on Level Two. Lurin had sent two full squads to defend it, knowing she had conquered his terminal and seized control of the facility.
She let herself smile at the thought. The Warden probably didn’t know everything that she could do from here.
She navigated deeper into the systems, finding gravity control. Hell was dense and had some gravity of its own, but it
was only about one-fifth standard, which was enough that they could live with it if they had to, but not enough to be comfortable for most. Nobody wanted to be banging their heads every time they moved.
“Captain Mann,” she said, contacting his communicator. She had found the address in the Warden’s records. The two had spoken multiple times over the last day. She wondered what about.
“Lieutenant Cage?” he replied.
“I’m going to turn off the gravitational equalizers,” she said. “If you’re ready for it and the guards aren’t, it will give you an edge.”
“Roger. Good thinking. We’ll be ready.”
“I’m also going to cut the ventilation. It’s going to get hot in here in a hurry, but the inmates can handle it. Can you?”
“Do it, Lieutenant.”
Abbey did, taking it one step further and reversing the airflow, pulling the hot air in faster while shutting down the cooling units. She was sure Lurin’s lackey was watching it all, but she had already locked out his access and deleted permissions to every terminal that wasn’t the Warden’s. All he could do was watch.
That would teach them to screw with a Breaker.
The flame continued to burn through the door for a few more seconds. Then, surprisingly, it stopped, too early for them to break it down, even with a battlesuit.
Abbey checked the lift. It was nearly up. She cut the gravity equalizers.
She was close enough that she heard the gunfire when it started, and the shouting as guards found themselves overexerting, trying to move and winding up going too high or too far, having to recalculate to keep themselves from hitting the ceiling or bouncing off the walls. It wasn’t that Captain Mann and the others wouldn’t be affected, but since they knew it was going to happen, they were already prepared. Plus, she had a feeling the Captain was more than a little bit seasoned with alternate warfare and uncommon theaters. She had no doubt he was HSOC or had been at some point. Cadets who had gone through the training could always pick out like-trained individuals.
She started to lean back in the Warden’s seat. It was only a matter of time before the inmates and the Captain broke through. The volume of gunfire was slowing already. She just had to be patient for another minutes or two and-
She barely threw herself out of the way as the blast door was ripped from the small bit of metal still holding it together, the larger piece of alloy tumbling toward the desk. It hit it with the force of a missile, causing it to explode so fiercely it was turned into little more than dust, the door itself cracking into the stone wall and becoming embedded in it.
Abbey looked up from her hands and knees, at the figure who had caused the damage. A man in a black lightsuit, holding a nerve baton in each hand, standing between her and freedom.
He wasn’t wearing a helmet, and she recognized him immediately.
“Illiard?” she said. “What the frag?”
He didn’t speak. He charged toward her, leading with the batons.
She pushed herself to her feet, barely jumping out of the way as the batons came in, using the reduced gravity to spring further than would have otherwise been possible. He adjusted quickly, lashing out and nearly hitting her in the temple. She could hear the whistle of the first baton past her ear, and she felt the numbing shock of the second as she blocked it with her forearm.
“You’re working for them?” she said. “After you tried to warn me about this?”
He didn’t answer, coming at her again. Her arm was already regaining feeling, which would have surprised her again if she had any time to think about it. Instead, she ducked low, moving in past his guard and hitting him in the gut with an elbow. The force was enough to lift him and push him back, and he threw himself over, hitting the ceiling with his feet and pushing back down, coming at her like a bullet.
She rolled aside, onto the body of the guard she had killed earlier, the one whose gun she hadn’t taken. She reached for it now, pulling at it in desperation. Illiard was back on his feet, stalking toward her again in silence.
“What, did they turn you into some kind of fragging zombie?” she asked, struggling to pull the gun loose.
She cursed, digging her arms under the corpse and lifting, using the lightness to throw the body at Illiard. He ducked under it, catching two bullets in his forehead as he emerged.
“Shit, that was close,” Abbey said, lowering the guard’s gun.
She had almost lost her grip on the handle as the momentum helped her pull it free. Now she stood up again, looking down on Illiard. His eyes were a solid gray, like they were filled with metal. It was unnerving.
“What the hell happened to you?” she said.
His hand flinched. She felt something grab her ankle, and then she was down again, being pulled across the floor toward what should have been his dead body.
“Frag!” she shouted, firing the gun into Illiard.
He was still alive. Each movement of his body was jerky and out of sorts, but he was moving. There was no blood where she had shot him, only a small trickle of silver that plugged up the wound. The new holes she was putting in him didn’t seem to have an effect.
He rose up, looming over her, bringing one of the nerve batons down at her chest. It hit her hard, sending jolts of pain through her body and leaving her momentarily paralyzed. The gun fell from her hand again, and he brought the other baton down on her thigh. She grunted in pain, unable to move while he raised the first baton and hit her in the chest again, and again, and again. She was numb to it by the fifth time, unable to move at all.
He stood up, reaching down and sliding his hands under her, lifting her easily as though she were a child. Her arms and legs were limp, her body out of commission. After that many hits from the batons, she shouldn’t have even been alive.
He took a step forward. Then another. He was moving as though he were unsure of how to do it. He was trying to take her away.
A woman stepped into the doorway, blocking his path out. Abbey could barely see her in her peripheral vision, but she recognized the shape of the face. The woman charged in, leading with a blade of some kind. If Illiard tried to react, it wasn’t obvious. The blade sank into his neck, and the woman shouted as she forced it to continue through.
Then Abbey was on the floor, the decapitated Illiard stumbling forward and depositing her there. She couldn’t move her body. She could barely move her eyes.
“Queenie,” she heard someone say. Then Gant was there, leaning over her. “Relax. It’s going to be okay. We’re getting out of here.”
No!
She wanted to say it but couldn’t. They had to find Lurin. They had to catch up to him and find out what he knew about everything that was happening here, and everything that had happened to her. There were questions, so many questions, and they needed him to answer them.
A new person entered the room. A huge Trover. She recognized Pik from the mess. He bent over her, lifting her gently into his massive arms.
“You have her?” Captain Mann said. She couldn’t see him, but she recognized his voice.
“She was hit with a baton,” Gant said.
“Then she’ll live,” Mann replied. “It’s time to go. The Driver’s picked up a disterium plume. Somebody’s coming, and I don’t think they’re on our side.”
“We’re right behind you,” Gant said.
Abbey tried to scream. She tried to wriggle. She tried to get free. She could sense some of the feeling coming back. She could wiggle the ends of her fingers. She needed to stop them. Five minutes. Lurin was hiding in here somewhere. He was nearly defenseless. She had to know why they had taken her. She had to know who they were, and what they wanted. She had to know how much trouble they were in.
It was no use. They carried her back to the lift, past a mix of dead guards and other soldiers in lightsuits. The lift didn’t have far to go to reach the hangar, where one of the disterium transports was already online and waiting.
“Sir,” someone’s voice said through Mann’
s communicator. “We’ve just made contact. Republic vessels, sir. Two battleships. They’re scrambling fighters to the surface and hailing us.”
“Remember what I told you, Commander,” Mann said.
“Aye, sir. Initiating zero contact protocol. Good luck, sir.”
The connection closed.
“Zero contact protocol?” Gant said.
“It means we’re on our own,” Mann replied, leading them up the ramp into the transport. “Worm,” he shouted. “Get us out of here. Now.”
“Aye, Captain,” Bastion replied, the ramp closing while the transport lifted and headed away from the hangar. “Anybody else here ever humped to FTL inside atmosphere before?”
Airi groaned, suggesting that she had. So had Abbey. She was paralyzed, and she still couldn’t think of anything more unpleasant than accelerating faster than light so close to a planet’s surface. She closed her eyes, the sudden pressure of the act threatening to squeeze her to death. The others cried out around her, all of them reacting with pained shouts which ended abruptly as the fiery agony cut them short. That intense pain lasted for nearly a minute, long after the transport had gone into FTL.
Long after they had left Hell behind.
32
By the time the disterium transport came out of FTL twenty minutes later, Abbey had regained most of the use of her arms and was beginning to get feeling back into her legs. Her mouth was functional, and she had used it to thank Airi for cutting off Private Illiard’s head and saving her.
Otherwise, she helped maintain the uncomfortable silence on the ship, relaxing against the side of the cargo hold next to one of four full disterium canisters, each containing enough of the refined crystalline powder to allow a battleship to spend nearly an entire month in FTL. Each one was worth more than she would ever see in her lifetime. Not that she cared all that much. She had other things on her mind. Things she wasn’t going to discuss until she had more answers from Captain Mann, the foremost of which was who the frag he was, and why the frag had he just helped six cons from Hell break out of the penal colony.
And that was probably the easiest question.
