“What happened?” Michelle muttered.
“You’re all right. I got you,” Jennings said as he put his head under her shoulder and helped lift her to her feet. “Let’s get you back on the Tryst and then I got to go back for…”
A blast from the other end of the hallway struck Jennings in the gut, punching through his body armor. He fell to his knees, Michelle slipping from his grasp and hitting the floor as well. Anastasia Petrova strode forward, a small plasma pistol in her hand, her eyes looking cold and murderous.
“Was that really necessary?” General Dominic Ounimbango demanded as he strode around the corner of the hallway at the end of the corridor. A dozen TGF soldiers accompanied him. “He did not offer any threat.”
Petrova laughed darkly. “I’m done underestimating when Mr. Jennings does or does not offer a threat,” she said.
Ounimbango shrugged as she stepped forward and removed all of Jennings’ weapons, tossing them back in the direction of the general. Ounimbango gestured to two of the soldiers with him to pick up the weapons. Petrova strode away from the still groaning and writhing Jennings and walked into the lift. She studied the bodies on the floor for a moment before offering her hand to Vosler, who took it and was pulled to his feet.
“This man needs medical attention,” Petrova said to Ounimbango.
“And we shall provide it,” a new voice said. Overseer Pahhal swept in from behind the TGF forces, his robes flowing. His dark eyes bore into Petrova. “We would do the same for all our prisoners.”
“What?” Petrova and Ounimbango demanded simultaneously.
“Take Madame Petrova and her associate into custody,” Pahhal ordered one of the TGF soldiers. “And Ms. Williams as well, of course.”
“On vhat charge are you arresting me?” Petrova demanded hotly.
“I must protest,” Ounimbango began.
“If you must, then you may join her in a cell,” Pahhal said darkly as he glared at the general.
Ounimbango immediately began sweating and he turned back to his men. “Take those three into custody,” he ordered.
Reluctantly, Petrova dropped her weapon and placed her hands behind her back as did Vosler. Binders were placed on both their hands, and they were marched away by a trio of soldiers. Michelle was still woozy, so although her hands were bound, she was half-carried by her captors out of the hallway.
“Make sure you arrest the remainder of Petrova’s crew,” Pahhal ordered to Ounimbango, who was already turning to leave. “We’ll take her ship as well. I don’t want any evidence of this operation left behind.”
“It won’t fit in the bays of our runabout,” Ounimbango said uncertainly. This change in attitude from Pahhal had him very nervous as did this talk of eliminating evidence.
“Then tow it,” Pahhal snapped.
Ounimbango nodded, turned on his heel and then left. Pahhal allowed himself a small smile and took long, deliberate strides toward where Matthew Jennings still lay on the floor, his blood pooling under him. Jennings’ hands were both clutching his stomach and his face was white. His eyes stared straight at Pahhal and they displayed pure loathing for the Gael.
“I wish I could say I was sorry it had to end this way,” Pahhal said. “But that is the price of betraying me.”
Jennings spat at him.
Pahhal laughed. “Such an indomitable spirit,” he said. “It’s what I have always admired about some of your species. That ability to fight against impossible odds, to look death in the face and laugh. Under different circumstances, I would have liked the Gael to be allies to the humans.”
“Then, why…” Jennings rasped.
“That’s a long story,” Pahhal said. “And unfortunately, you don’t have the time. But I am willing to forgive your little betrayal, because I can’t help but like you, Mr. Jennings.”
“Captain Jennings,” he retorted weakly.
Pahhal laughed. “Yes, this is exactly what I mean,” he said, clapping his long-fingered hands together. “As I like you so much, I will not shoot you in the head right now. I have ordered General Ounimbango’s men to destroy the life support system of this little mine here. I would say you have a few hours of breathable air left. Why not try to live that long at least? Can you do that? Can you stop yourself from bleeding to death so you can suffocate? Can you laugh in the face of death now?”
Jennings smiled weakly. “Be seein’ you,” he said.
Pahhal laughed again and turned away with a sweep of his robes, walking down the corridor, following the path that Ounimbango and his prisoners had taken. More importantly, it was the same way that the one hundred and eleventh soul have been taken. The one hundred eleventh soul at last, he thought to himself. They were all going home.
Chapter 23
1
Fix did not often consider himself lucky, but he supposed that it was maybe time to start changing his opinion. Petrova’s skimmer had sent at least a dozen shots into his position hiding behind the bar they had repurposed as a barricade. The shots had splintered and ripped through where he had been positioned and somehow the only things that happened to him were a ton of cuts from flying debris and a large knot forming on the back of his head where he smacked the ground as he landed. How he did not actually get shot he had no idea, but he was willing to chalk it up as some sort of divine intervention.
Just as Jennings went speeding off down the tunnel in pursuit of the girl, Fix managed to get to his feet and staggered over to his pack of supplies that were buried under a fine layer of dust and rock. Opening the pack, he pulled out his large black medical kit and opened the zipper. He snapped open a small pill bottle labeled omniox, removed a small purple pill and swallowed it. Omniox was a drug that had been developed for professional sports teams and the military to deal with head injuries. Almost immediately, he felt his head clearing and he carried the pack over to where Squawk and Lafayette lay.
“Any damage?” he asked the Pasquatil.
“Hurts,” Squawk answered. “But systems are operating.”
“Right,” Fix said, handing him an orange pill. “Safe for Pasquatil.”
As Squawk devoured the pill, Fix evaluated the wound to Lafayette’s shoulder. The plasma had burned through the flesh of Lafayette’s left upper arm and had exited, leaving two holes in the Cajun’s arm. Removing an aerosol can from his kit, he sprayed a pink foam onto both wounds.
“How bad is it?” Lafayette asked.
“Platelet foam will help close the wound,” he said. “Once we get back to the Tryst, I might need to get you a transfusion.” He handed him a pill of his own. “Perimescaline. For the pain.”
Lafayette swallowed the pill and allowed Fix to help to his feet. “Get our supplies,” he said to Fix. “I’ll check out the other skimmer. C’mon Squawk.”
Already feeling some movement abilities coming back to his arm, Lafayette pulled himself into the pilot seat of the skimmer Petrova’s men had left behind as Squawk hopped into the back and started typing furiously into his display. The skimmer’s shields were completely gone, but the engines and the repulsors were functioning perfectly.
“Squawk, can you do anything about the shields?” Lafayette asked as Fix arrived and jumped into the seat next to Squawk, carrying two packs that contained their supplies.
“No tools. No time. No time. No tools,” the Pasquatil answered quickly. Apparently whatever Fix had given him had him feeling good enough to start talking a mile a minute again.
“All right, we’ll just have to hope le capitaine cleared the road for us,” Lafayette said.
A press of a few buttons later, Lafayette had the skimmer’s repulsors engaged and its engines rumbling. He throttled up and the skimmer took off down the corridor, not at the breakneck speed that Minerva had been able to do for Jennings, but still as fast as he dared. They had taken out a few of Petrova’s men, and he would have bet that Jennings had killed a good many more, but the captain had still gone after the girl by himself. He was going to need the
ir help; Lafayette was certain of it.
About ten minutes later, they arrived in the entrance to the mine and Lafayette took a moment to observe the destruction. A fire was still burning in the center of the room, the burned out hulk of a skimmer lying on its side amidst a pile of debris that looked like it had been a bunch of mine carts.
“Looks like the capitaine’s work,” Lafayette observed.
“Aye,” Fix agreed as he swung out of his seat and grabbed the supplies. “But where the bloody hell is he?”
“Must be top-side,” Lafayette said as he jumped out of the skimmer’s pilot seat and headed over toward the lift.
Squawk bounded past him, hopped over some debris, and then jumped up and pressed the button to call for the lift. They waited for several minutes, seemingly an interminable length of time, but Lafayette and Fix both busied themselves with readying weapons, just in case Petrova had left them any surprises in the lift. The elevator at last arrived, its chime warbled as if it had been damaged in some way. The doors swung open and the lift was empty of living beings. Four dead bodies lay inside, riddled about the head and face with plasma burns. More of Jennings’ handiwork, Lafayette thought to himself as they piled inside and Squawk hit the button to send them to the ore processing center.
“Minerva, are you there?” Lafayette asked after activating the link to ship’s NAI on his handheld.
“Of course,” came the voice, and Lafayette would have sworn that Minerva sounded worried.
“Is there something… wrong?” he asked her.
“Captain Jennings…” she began. “I think he might be dying.”
“Where is he?” Lafayette demanded.
“In the corridor outside of the elevator,” she responded.
Lafayette and Fix both brought their weapons up. “Is he alone?” he asked.
“Affirmative,” she answered. “The others have left the ore processing center. Both ships have left the moon.”
“Both?” Lafayette demanded.
“A TGF runabout-class vessel landed approximately twenty-two minutes ago,” she reported. “It took off one minute ago with the Grey Vistula in tow.”
Lafayette kicked at the doors of the elevator. “Plus vite!” he demanded of the machine.
At long last, the lift reached the ore processing station and the doors opened. Captain Jennings lay in an otherwise empty hallway, a pool of blood underneath him. All three of his crew raced forward and fell to their knees around him, Fix immediately taking out his medical kit.
“Fucking Russian bitch shot me,” Jennings whispered, his voice sounding hoarse. “Again,” he added.
“Hang on, Cap’n,” Fix said as he studied the wound for a moment.
The shot must have been some sort of armor-piercing round as it had burned a hole though the armor and punched a hole in Jennings’ left side. There was no exit wound, but shots to the torso were not shots to the arm or leg. Where the shot went in, Jennings would almost certainly have massive trauma to his left kidney. That was not the sort of thing that could be repaired without surgery, he knew. First things first, he knew that he had to keep the captain from bleeding to death. Pulling out the same aerosol can that he had used to treat Lafayette’s wound, Fix sprayed the wound full of a bio-engineered substance that was designed to facilitate the rebuilding of human tissue while binding it together, specifically the body’s capillaries, veins and arteries. It was effective at covering up holes in organs, but not at repairing them.
“They took Michelle,” Jennings managed as Fix pulled out a large syringe and a vial and started filling it. “Ounimbango was here and so was the Gael.”
“Minerva told us,” Lafayette said. “I’m sorry we couldn’t stop them.”
Jennings waived away his apology. “We’ve got to hurry,” he said. “The Gael ordered the TGF to destroy the life support system.”
“Minerva?” Lafayette asked.
“Confirmed,” the ship’s computer said. “My link to the mining station’s computer advised that the life support system was destroyed eleven minutes ago. Three hours and forty-eight minutes until oxygen levels drop below requirement for minimum human living.”
“Got to get the captain back to the ship,” Fix said as he injected the needle into Jennings’ arm. “Pure adrenaline,” he added. “Should help you walk.”
“Mon Dieux, he can’t walk,” Lafayette protested. “We’ll carry him.”
“No,” Jennings said sternly. “Fix is right. You and Squawk need to get the repairs completed on the Tryst. If she’s not ready to go in the next three and a half hours, all of us will be dead.”
Gingerly, Jennings allowed Fix and Lafayette to pull him to his feet. The effects of the adrenaline were almost immediate and even though he knew it was somewhat illusory, Jennings felt better. He allowed Fix to put his head under his arm, and the two started walking slowly down the hallway.
“C’mon, Squawk,” Lafayette said. “We need to get dat power plant installed.”
2
The Cajun and the diminutive Pasquatil had raced back through the ore processing center as fast as they could, given the extent of their injuries. Lafayette was glad to find the auxiliary power plant in one piece, afraid that the Gael might have thought to destroy it as well. Perhaps, they assumed that the Melody Tryst was damaged beyond repair or that they did not have an engineer with an instinctive ability to turn duct tape and matchsticks into a working power system.
It was a lot harder to get the bulky piece of machinery onto the anti-grav sled with Squawk’s limited help as opposed to Fix, but after about five minutes of wrestling it, Lafayette got it into place. Activating the controls on the sled, he sent the power plant on a slow wend through the ore processing center in the direction of the hangar.
“You’re certain you can get this thing installed in time?” Lafayette asked.
Squawk chattered animatedly to himself in his own language for a moment before he said, “As long as no complications complicate things, yes. Yes.”
Five minutes later they had the sled making its way up the ramp and they stepped back into the ship. “Fix, we’re back on board,” Lafayette called up the gangplank.
“Aye,” was the only response he received from the upper level.
“Vite, vite, let’s get this to the engineering section,” he said to Squawk, who immediately bounded in the direction of engineering.
In the short time that it took Lafayette to power the anti-grav sled from the cargo hold to engineering, Squawk had put on his engineering coveralls again, wrapped a large tool belt on his waste, and thrown two bandoliers of various parts, pieces, and components over his shoulders.
The engineering section was small and cramped with the rear of the compartment completely dominated by the solid steel bulkhead with a door set in it that separated the room from the actual engine. The engines had been off for hours, so it would have been safe to go into their control room on the other side, but that would be fatal to anyone if the engines had been operating recently.
“You’re sure the engines are all right?” he asked.
Squawk looked at him. “The overload caused an electronic pulse to be sent to the power plant, which caused a critical and inevitable destruction in the plant,” he explained rapidly. “The engines themselves were not harmed. Probably.”
“There’s a lot riding on probably,” he pointed out.
“No power. No engines. That is certain,” Squawk retorted in a staccato fashion.
“Mon Dieux, nous aidez-vous s’il vous plait,” Lafayette muttered. “Where do you want the power plant?”
“Here,” Squawk pointed at a spot on the floor. “No time to install it as the primary. Will need to run it through the old system. Yes. Yes. Yes,” he muttered to himself.
Lafayette wrestled the power plant into the position that Squawk had requested and the tiny engineer immediately used a bolt gun to lock it into position. He then turned to dismantling both the Melody Tryst’s failed power plant
and the new one and began ripping the guts out in what looked like a haphazard way to Lafayette. Were it anyone else, he would have assumed that the Pasquatil did not know what he was doing, but he knew better.
“What do you need me to do?” he asked as the Pasquatil began cutting the protective sheath off various wires and tying their ends into each other.
“Wiring,” Squawk replied. “The wings. System shot for controlling weapons. Communication system won’t communicate.”
“You said we don’t have the components,” he pointed out.
“Look. Look. Look,” he replied.
“Fine,” Lafayette said. “I’ll check on the capitaine and then see what I can find.”
Leaving engineering to the happy sounds of the Pasquatil whistling contentedly as he banged a sledge hammer on something, Lafayette hustled up the gangplank and made his way to the medbay. The captain was lying on the one surgical table, a unit of saline and one of blood being run into him via intravenous lines. Fix was studying a three-dimensional picture on the holo-imager and was shaking his head.
“What is it?” Lafayette demanded.
“Cap’n’s a lucky son of a bitch,” he muttered.
“I don’t know if I’d call losing a kidney in the war necessarily lucky,” a stronger sounding Jennings said.
“You’d probably be dead if you had one now,” Fix responded. “Russian bitch shot you right where your kidney should have been.”
“So, what does that mean?” Lafayette demanded.
“Apart from the blood loss, Cap’n’s in good shape,” Fix responded. “Gave him some antibiotics to prevent infection, but otherwise…” He shrugged. “Once the blood transfusion is done, he should be fine. The cell sealant I injected in him has repaired the damage to the capillaries, and he is no longer bleeding internally. A few more hours and he’ll be fine.”
“How’s the ship?” Jennings asked.
Lafayette made a non-committal noise. “Squawk’s installing the power plant, but we still have no weapons and no comms. I’m going to look around the hanger and see if I can find some wiring we might use to replace ours that shorted out, but I don’t know if I’ll find anything.”
111 Souls (Infinite Universe) Page 23
