Fire Rage

by Chris Ward

  ‘Hungry!’ someone shouted.

  Karr-Urd moved a little closer

  ‘I can almost reach it,’ someone else said.

  ‘What are you playing at? Get down from there right now!’

  A couple of prisoners had managed to hook fingers, claws, or tendrils over the metal casing around the view-screen. Karr-Urd heard murmurs about a food supply, but all he could see was an image of the fueling station as they came in to dock.

  ‘Guard!’

  At the sound of the voice, Karr-Urd spun. A tall officer strode toward him, flanked by two others. All three wore the same uniform as he did, but the central figure—a human woman, no less—wore an extra stripe on her uniform, the sign of a general.

  The woman stepped forward. ‘What are you doing in here? You think three men are enough if the prisoners turn on you? The bridge asked me to find out what’s going on down here. Come on, let’s go.’

  An intercom on Karr-Urd’s shoulder buzzed. ‘What are you doing?’ came Rone-Ar’s voice.

  ‘Switch that off,’ the woman snapped. ‘Don’t you know how to present yourself to a superior officer?’ She shook her head. ‘What do they teach you in the academies these days?’

  ‘I, um—’

  ‘Quickly, back to the gate. The scum can take care of themselves. It’s no loss if we lose a few, is it?’

  Karr-Urd gathered his two fellow guards and together with the party from the bridge they headed for the airlock gate. He noticed the prisoners had given up their hunt for invisible food and were climbing down, milling around with puzzled looks on their faces as though unsure what they’d been doing. He shook his head. Half of them were crazy as well as scum.

  The first airlock door had engaged. Fown-Id activated the control for the second, and they waited for it to engage.

  In the silence, the intercom he had turned down to show respect to the general buzzed by his ear. A tiny voice he wouldn’t have heard in the noise of the prisoner hold squeaked, ‘Where are you taking those prisoners?’

  ‘What prisoners?’

  Movement came behind him, reflected in the shiny airlock walls. He spun, but something was barreling into him, one arm pulling his blaster free. He had set it to stun, and a moment later he learned what it felt like as his whole body went numb, his arms gripped by a terrible itch he had no way to scratch. Shaking from side to side, he strained to get up, succeeding only in opening his bowels and soiling himself.

  Nearby, Ray-Ir and Fown-Id were similarly incapacitated. The airlock door slid open and three people in plain clothes—a strikingly attractive woman, a tall man, and a bearded Farsi missing his left arm—ran out into the corridor.

  As the numbness in one arm eased enough to reach his belt, he found they’d taken not only his blaster, but his security passkey.

  Kone-Ar’s voice continued to squeak into his ear: ‘What are you doing? Get up right now! The prisoners are getting away!’

  5

  Harlan5

  His programming told him it was best to wait. The captain and Caladan were long overdue to return, and while the dome covering this section of Rock Haven’s spaceport had shown the firestorm in all its splendid glory, inside the city they were perfectly safe.

  Their port jaunts had a habit of veering off course, with the captain’s propensity to get into trouble, and Caladan’s to find his way into some gambling pit, where he had once lost an arm. Usually with trouble on their tail they always came back, but it had been a full week now.

  They were rarely gone so long.

  Harlan let out a sigh that his sensors had adapted to sound realistically human and turned to look at the readings on his computer terminal. All normal. The Matilda, patched up once again with all of her eight weapons arms intact, was fully fueled, armed, and ready to fly.

  Harlan looked around the flight cabin, taking in the small space he’d called home for more than ten Earth-years. Automatic view-screens that looked like glass windows but were complex computer displays powered by space radiation showed a view of a quiet spaceport hangar. Three other ships stood at dock, while a fourth came in to land, connecting with metal docking gear.

  In front of the screens, two seats an arm’s length apart sat surrounded by computer terminals. The pilot’s chair and the co-pilot’s, usually referred to by Caladan as the gunner’s chair. The captain, despite being an exceptional pilot, wasn’t as good as Caladan, so took the gunner’s chair. During a long-ago port stop, she’d upgraded the old seat to one of genetically engineered elephant leather, in a pedantic stunt to have the better of the two seats, something Caladan—having tried both—failed to agree with. Harlan, secured with a wall brace with his technicians’ computer screens surrounded him, felt envious of both when he was feeling human enough to care.

  Across from him stood three passenger seats which were rarely used. On the occasions they took passengers their guests either stayed in one of the relaxation rooms farther down the first level corridor or went into a stasis tank for the journey’s duration. And if a passenger was actually a prisoner, they were kept in one of the smaller cargo holds.

  Between his terminal and the passenger seats, a door led through into a winding corridor, the first of four levels of awkward, twisting corridors, ladders, and a central elevator which only went down as far as level three. The Matilda had three distinct modes—attack mode, where her eight legs revolved around the central core, deep-space flight mode, where the legs elongated against the ship’s hull, giving the nine thrusters of forward power, and interplanetary mode. While the ship’s central column was essentially a tube, it had multiple areas filled with hydraulics, fusion generators, fuel tanks, and ammunition stores. Meaning the Matilda’s insides, from the entrance hatch up past the escape pods and the cargo holds, into the corridors leading eventually up to the flight cabin in a domed cap which revolved depending on the ship’s orientation, were like a tangled ball of string.

  Designed for war, not for comfort.

  Harlan5 checked the screens again. Nothing unusual. The docking ship had come to rest, and its systems were being checked over before the crew could disembark. Four Oufolani Spaceport Security Guards shuffled toward the ship’s lowering hatch.

  Harlan’s programming told him had he been human, he would be feeling a little uncomfortable right now. To a human’s eyes, the Oufolani appeared like giant caterpillars, shuffling along on six sets of stumpy legs. His memory database held a summary of their background. They were highly intelligent, particularly in the fields of science and mathematics, meaning they had adapted well as an off-worlder race to a variety of living environments. And while their appearance seemed permanent, they had the ability to transform into massive flying insects. Something that required the specific atmospheric conditions of their distant homeworld of Oufolan in the remote O-27 System and was performed as a departing ritual: a transformed Oufolan would die within a few hours.

  For Harlan5, there was something about them that his programming told him a droid should find uncomfortable. They were ultimate omnivores, meaning they could eat anything, including droids.

  He watched the scene outside. The hatch was fully lowered, and the landing party waited patiently for the crew to disembark.

  In an explosion of brown-gray gunk, the two nearest Oufolani guards blew apart. The others dropped onto their front feet to make the smallest possible target then returned fire into the hatchway with back-mounted canons.

  The first got off two blasts, the second a solitary one. Then they too exploded under a hail of blaster fire from inside.

  As the remains of the guards seeped into ventilation grills in the floor, nine people rushed down the hatchway, blasters held at their shoulders. Five were human, the others a mixture of off-worlder bipedal races. One in the middle spun around, taking stock of their surroundings then pointed at the other ships in dock. Three ran off toward a Phevian light freighter, three others toward a maintenance vessel out of Event System.

  The other three
turned toward the Matilda.

  Harlan5 pulled up an information tab on his computer terminal which assessed the ship’s security status. Good: all doors were locked. The ship was safe—

  An alarm sounded. His screen cleared, replaced by a warning signal informing him the secure hatch had been breached. Someone had input an override code.

  As further alarms alerted him to the presence of unidentified persons onboard, he consulted his programming on the best possible emergency procedures. He had two shoulder-mounted cannons, but his internal batteries were old and would lose charge quickly in the event of a firefight.

  It would be far better to stay quiet and observe.

  The bridge door burst open.

  ‘Lie him down there, on those seats,’ a girl’s voice said from beneath a scarred soldier’s helmet Harlan5 identified as belonging to the Land Defense Force Cadets on Rail in Areola System. ‘Paul, get this junk heap in the air before they turn their guns on us.’

  The one called Paul hurdled over the back of the pilot’s chair with the agility of an enthusiastic deer.

  ‘From Vantar’s Hells, this thing’s old,’ he cursed. ‘There were other ships, Beth. Couldn’t we have picked one of those?’

  The girl looked up. Harlan5 estimated she was seventeen or eighteen Earth-years old at best. But despite her gray, adult eyes, she was—according to Harlan’s programming—of a visual appearance most humans would describe as “pretty”. A bob of orange hair framed a pale face not yet scarred by battle.

  ‘We couldn’t have got Davar onboard in time,’ Beth said. ‘Look. They’re swarming out there.’

  Dozens of guards had appeared outside, guns pointed at the newly arrived ship and the three others its former crew had hidden inside. Other automatic cannons in the hangar walls were turning to train on them.

  A light flickered in the ceiling, and an automatic intercom switched itself on, relaying messages from the spaceport. ‘All unauthorized personnel are required to turn themselves over to spaceport authorities. You have one minute to comply.’

  Paul laughed. ‘They’re angry.’

  ‘Have you figured it out yet?’ Beth snapped.

  ‘Nearly. It’s so old, none of my codes work. Ah, here. Well, look at that. It’s still operational. Whoever pilots this thing hadn’t even locked it.’

  From somewhere deeper in the ship, the launch thrusters roared.

  ‘We’re off,’ Paul said. ‘Wow! They’re shooting at us!’

  ‘That was a quick minute,’ Beth said. ‘Davar … hang on.’

  Laid across the row of passenger seats, Davar—a tall, spindly Kalistini—groaned. One skeletal hand lifted to rub a brow that was more bone than skin.

  ‘We’ll find you a recoup chamber as soon as we’re safely away,’ Beth said. ‘Stay strong.’

  ‘Hurts…’ Davar muttered.

  Beth spun around, finding a medical supply cupboard beside the door. Frowning at its sparseness—Caladan’s fault, Harlan5 noted—she pulled out a gauze pad and some sealant cream, then got to work on Davar’s injury. A blaster shot had ripped a hole in his side. Harlan—whose database contained a complete physiology of all known off-worlder species—estimated Davar had barely a ten percent chance of survival, unless they quit their posturing and got him into a recuperation tank.

  The Matilda shuddered under cannon fire as it broke free from its docking brace and spiraled up into the air. Harlan5’s programming told him the boy had failed to activate the Matilda’s defensive magnetic field. It would take no more than a dozen hits to disable them. Aware they had still failed to notice him standing quietly in his launch brace, he reached out and activated the control from his own terminal.

  ‘Wow, look at that! It has automatic shields!’ Paul shouted. ‘We’re styling now, Beth.’

  Harlan5 raised a chrome eyebrow. His programming told him there was much to like about the infectious energy of these clueless kids.

  Outside, one of the other hijacked ships had taken off, but the third had collapsed on its landing gear, and the original ship was a smoking ruin.

  ‘Damn!’ Paul shouted.

  ‘Come on, Davar, stay with me.’ Beth patted one of the Kalistini’s cheeks. Her stricken friend groaned, opened his eyes briefly then closed them again.

  ‘The gates are opening,’ shouted Paul, who, Harlan thought, seemed to shout a lot. ‘Come on! Come on!’

  The Matilda, still with its landing gear down, soared out through an opening in the spaceport’s massive glass dome, up into a glittering orange-red sky.

  Harlan5 frowned. Clouds were rolling in, indicating an impending firestorm. The Matilda was heavily armored, but such intense heat would fry her systems. He reached out again, first retracting the landing gear, then switching the Matilda over to deep-space flight mode, increasing their speed to ensure they made it out of Ergogate’s lower atmosphere before the firestorm struck.

  ‘Man, this thing’s great,’ Paul exclaimed. ‘I mean, it looks like an old box of spare parts, but it’s totally modern.’ He turned in his seat. ‘How’s Davar?’

  Beth shook her head. ‘Don’t ask.’

  Harlan switched one of the visual screens over to rear-view. An image of Rock Haven from above appeared, a giant glass tube embedded into a sandstone gully amid an arid desert dotted with glass-domed trioxyglobin mining operations. Behind them, the second hijacked ship followed, but a smoke trail showed it had sustained damage during its escape.

  ‘Oh, Paul, look.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The firestorm. See that.’

  To the south, the sky had lit up in a rolling cloud of oranges, yellows, and reds, rushing toward them. One moment the second ship was following, the next it was gone, lost in a blanket of fire so bright both Paul and Beth gasped and covered their eyes. Even Harlan had to raise the tinting level on his visuals in order to watch.

  The other ship almost made it. Its nose appeared briefly then it was gone, sucked back down into the maelstrom.

  As the Matilda broke through the atmosphere, a purple field of stars appeared on the screens while the firestorm faded in the rear-view.

  Beth punched the back of the gunner’s chair. ‘Paul, what are we doing? This is futile.’

  Perhaps assuming the Matilda was now on autopilot—Harlan5 reached out and ensured it was, setting an undefined course to take them up into Ergogate’s orbit—Paul climbed out of the pilot’s chair and hugged Beth to him.

  The girl cried, sobbing like a child against his chest. ‘Paul … it’s all such a waste. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.’

  ‘There, there. You’re stronger than this. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. And that’s why …’ He trailed off, but Harlan5 saw him mouth the words ‘I love you’, like the hero in one of the old-Earth-movies Caladan watched while they were moving through deep-space.

  Harlan5 felt it was time to make his presence known. These kids had hijacked his ship. Moving slowly to avoid alerting them, he opened a hatch on his right shoulder and activated one of his defensive cannons.

  ‘What do we do with Davar?’ Beth said. ‘He’s going to die unless we can get him back to the war fleet in time.’

  Harlan5 decided to hold over the burning question—‘What war?’—for another time. Instead, he turned up the volume on his cannon’s targeting zoom loud enough for a dramatic entrance. Then, as Paul and Beth spun toward him, he said, ‘There’s a recuperation tank in the medical bay. However, it’s not usually reserved for hijackers.’

  6

  Caladan

  ‘We’re not going to make it.’ Caladan ducked out of sight as another volley of blaster fire lit up the corridor, burning holes in the corner he had been peering around only a moment before. A group of remote droid guards had pinned them down. ‘Prison ships tend to be pretty loaded with defenders. The passengers don’t inspire a lot of confidence…at a rough guess.’

  Lia leaned out in front of him, firing the guard’s blaster. Up
ahead, a crackle of electricity came, then a humanoid robot collapsed into the middle of the corridor.

  ‘How did you do that? You couldn’t even see him.’

  She held up the blaster and pointed to a dial on the side. ‘These are pretty primitive,’ she said. ‘Adjust the intensity setting like this to a lower level, then the blasts reflect off the walls rather than detonating on them.’ Lia leaned out again, fired at an angle of the wall. A flicker of yellow light bounced out of sight around the curve of the corridor. Two more robots fell into view, crashing down on top of each other.

  They waited a few seconds, but no more fire came.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  Behind Caladan, Jake O’Flagon let out a chortling laugh. ‘Oh my, what a heroine,’ he said. ‘As good as the stories. I’ll drink Stillwater to that, and I’ll write fables to be told across Cask System for millennia.’ He held up his flask. ‘Who’ll drink Stillwater with me?’

  Caladan grinned. ‘I like to keep a clear head in battle.’ Lia looked about to accept Jake’s offer, but Caladan whispered, ‘It’s just still water.’

  Jake took a swig and wiped his mouth like an actor warming up for a performance. ‘Ah, Stillwater.’

  ‘Come on,’ Lia said. ‘Looks like we’re clear.’

  Caladan followed her lead, with Jake coming behind. Around the corner they found an elevator. Lia swiped it with a passkey taken from one of the guards, and it slid upward without a sound. Caladan watched the rising numbers as they flickered over the door. ‘What next?’

  ‘Jake will work his magic.’ Lia patted Jake on the arm.

  As Jake grinned, Caladan felt a flicker of jealousy. ‘On second thoughts, pass me that Stillwater.’

  Jake laughed and handed him the flask. Caladan took a dramatic swig then passed it back. ‘Ah, still water,’ he said, forcing a smile.