by O. J. Lowe
Out of the jail, he heard voices ahead and ducked into a room, his face lighting up as he realised he’d happened across a uniform storage closet. He stripped out of his prisoner’s rags, the clothes left faded of their natural colour and stained with his blood, slid on garments that should at least let him pass a cursory glance. In the mirror, he caught sight of his face, he didn’t look good. He almost didn’t recognise himself, he looked older than his years, the months caught up with him.
No matter. When he got out of here, he was due some serious R and R. No two ways about that. He’d seen security guards wearing the blue jumpsuits, his skin might make him stand out. Try as he might, there was no way he was passing for Vazaran. This damn ship couldn’t be populated solely by them, could it? He’d be in for a world of trouble if it was, be picked out in a minute.
Deep breath, deep breath, keep calm. He bent over, rested his hands on the bench, determined not to let the hammering of his heart break his concentration. Too long since he’d been free, too long since he’d faced pressures like this, he needed to get his head back in the game. It’d have to do. If anyone called him, he’d have to bluff his best. Just like playing Ruin. He could do that. This would be his last chance to escape. If he didn’t, the consequences would be dire.
Failure was not an option. He’d already made the choice that if it came down to discovery, he’d try to force them into killing him. Better to die free than live a prisoner. Nobody would ever know what happened to him, at least not yet. It’d come out one day and Unisco would avenge him.
So far, so good. Nobody had looked at him twice, well not in a suspicious way, his worries that his skin colour would betray him unfounded. Just the occasional Vazaran who gave him a dirty look, typical chip-on-their-shoulder darkie with an inflated sense of their own superiority. Every time they did, he met their gaze with a challenging one of his own. Never show weakness. That would be fatal. It’d show that he had something to hide.
In a situation like this, what basically amounted to an undercover experience, it was important to look like you belonged. People sensed more than they realised, if even one minor detail was out of place, they’d pick up on it on a subconscious level and react, however delayed it might be. With that in mind, he’d made his way as quickly and as inconspicuously through the ship as he could, even taking one detour through what looked like some sort of giant laboratory. In this sterile room, his professionalism had taken a knock and he’d found himself looking around like a wide-eyed child, determined to take in every little detail. He’d never seen a lab like it before, it looked like the textbook definition of cutting edge, he couldn’t even begin to work out what they were doing here. In a moment of ingenuity, he picked up a pile of discs and, confident he was alone in the room, slid them into his jumpsuit. Hopefully there was something on them they could use.
Not a moment too soon either, for he heard the door open at the far end of the room and a pair of white-coated scientists’ stride in like they owned the place. Perhaps they did, this was their domain after all. Neither of them was Vazaran, he moved to go past them. One blocked his way, fixed him with a cold glare. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. Serranian by the accent, he’d have guessed. “This area is off-limits.”
“Disturbance,” he grunted. The less information he proffered the better. “Had to check it out.”
“I wasn’t notified.” The man had whitening hair and an expression that suggested he didn’t take kindly to his workplace being violated by the presence of a stranger. “This is most irregular!”
“It’ll be on the way,” he said. “Bureaucracy, right? “
If he hoped for some sort of conspiratorial acknowledgement of the problems they all had to deal with, he was to be sorely disappointed. “What’s your name? Who’s your supervisor?”
Crap!
If nothing else, Unisco training encouraged them to think on their feet. “Hang on! I’m doing my job here. I know you don’t want me in here, but I think you’d appreciate your property being damaged or stolen even less. Something showed up on the videocams that looked suspicious. I came down here to check it out.”
“What sort of suspicious thing?”
He decided to throw caution to the wind. “A prisoner got out. They don’t want to advertise it. Don’t want panic. Dangerous man. I came down because they didn’t want you getting attacked in your lab. You’re one of their most valuable assets after all.”
He could see the white-haired man swell with pride. You prodded someone’s ego enough, they’d forget their anger. Everyone liked to believe that they were important, being told it was one of the best ways to assuage their pride. Pride trumped anger every time.
“Don’t tell them I told you though. We’re supposed to keep it quiet. You’re good anyway, he’s not here.” He gave them both a grin. “I’ll get out of your hair right now. My deepest apologies, gentlemen. Good luck with all of…” He waved a hand towards the lab equipment. “… This, I guess. Whatever you’re doing.”
Not looking back, he made his way to the door they’d come through, breathing a sigh of relief. He’d gotten lucky there, he couldn’t rely on that trick working again. Best to maintain minimal contact for the time being, do it only where he needed to. At least they hadn’t asked for ID, he’d seen the badges they wore on their chest. Outrage had prevented them from asking immediately, mollifying them had done the rest. The next person might not be so amenable in their complicity.
He heard the roar of engines outside long before he got there, sticking his head out through the bay doors to see the fighters warming up. Typical Vazaran Sun assortment for their squadron, anything and everything that was airworthy and packing ordnance. Dark Wind fighters mixed in with a few ships that looked reminiscent of a striking eagle. Not the most elegant of design he’d ever seen but it left all hells of an effect on the retinas. Far out in the distance, he could see the coast of Serran. Ten miles. That had been his estimate before. He saw no reason to change it now.
In addition to the aerofighters, he could see jet troopers warming up, he considered them an interesting option. He couldn’t fly a fighter worth a damn, by the time he’d worked it out, he’d have long since been shot down. He’d never had an aptitude for it, but a jetpack… He could manage one of those, surely? How hard could it be? The troops wore heavy black uniforms, gloves and goggles that must have stifled horribly in the heat. Their packs were heavy and clunky, armed with rotary laser cannons. They weren’t the sort of things that would win a battle on their own, but their presence might well turn the tide in the favour of their side. He’d seen them used before, not often admittedly, fast, agile and heavy firepower. The downside? Those suits might be good for protecting against the elements in the sky, they wouldn’t do a damn lot to stop blaster fire. He couldn’t see too many better options though. Fuel might be a problem. They only carried limited reserves, nowhere near enough to hit the mainland of Serran. Ten miles was too much of a task for them. If he got halfway there on one of their tanks, it’d be fortunate.
It was a problem, he knew that. One he didn’t have an immediate answer to, and yet he didn’t have the time to peruse one. Behind him, the alarms were starting to jangle, it didn’t sound good. Clearly, they’d discovered he’d escaped, and he’d just run out of his anonymity. They’d be on alert now and he couldn’t afford to be stopped again.
He made his choice, once more threw caution to the wind and made a break towards the pilot’s area. He’d seen the troops filing in and out of it, not a way in the hells he was trying it without protection. He didn’t have that much of a death wish. Nobody stopped him, hells nobody was paying him attention as he shoved his way through the door, found the room to be about the same as the one he’d pilfered the security uniform from. His heart was pounding now, must have been the air. It stank, sulphur and oil, not even close to being pure but it was the first of its kind he’d had for months and that meant something. It was a sign freedom was close and yet so far
away. He could touch it, but it could still be snatched away from him if he wasn’t careful.
The room was empty but for two other jet troops, both of whom gave him bemused looks as he entered. Bemusement turned into scorn. Typical darkies, looking down on someone they thought beneath them. They didn’t rate ship security by the looks of it, neither were they the smallest. Being a jet trooper required a certain amount of physical strength, he’d heard, to control the jetpack. They didn’t take weaklings, only the best got given the training, the sort of experience where failure usually meant death.
“What do you want?” one of them asked, words he could barely understand above the accent. The alarm couldn’t be heard here, thank the Divines. It might give him a chance. Might.
“Just checking,” he said. “A prisoner got out…” It was the same excuse he’d used before, he was skating on thin ice, but he had no other option. Both were looking at him closer than he’d like, it might give him an opening but nothing more. He was a man in his forties, looked at least a decade older, they were both half that age, looked tough and fit. They surely couldn’t view him as much of a threat. “Just checking he’s not here.”
He took a step towards them as he said it, wondered how much force he’d need to knock them out, hells to knock them both out before one called for help or punched him unconscious. Probably more than he could muster right now. Getting into a fist fight wasn’t a smart idea. He hadn’t been in one for years, not since his promotion to section chief. It didn’t afford a lot of opportunities for violence.
“Hey, we see someone who shouldn’t be here, we kick his arse, aye?” the other guy said. He was marginally easier to understand, the Unisco agent was grateful for that, even if he didn’t fully appreciate the words. “You fuck with the Sun-Coppinger Alliance, you get what you deserve.”
That is a terrible title, he thought. He didn’t know what it meant, didn’t want to know. No doubt when he got back to civilisation it’d be explained to him. “Thought that’d be the case,” he said. “Thanks gentlemen. You see anything or anyone suspicious, don’t forget to holler.”
“Where’s your ID?” the first guy asked, the one with the barely understandable accent, it did little to hide the menace in his voice. “Who are you?”
He grinned at the speaker. “Damn, you’re the first to notice it. Lost it, waiting a new one. You know what they’re like for issuing new ID, right?” He twisted a finger around his head, didn’t like the way they were staring at him. “Lax, right?”
“You ever had any problem getting new ID, Demetrious?”
“Not at all, Cassius. I think this man’s in the wrong place at the…”
He didn’t let him finish, hit him hard before he could complete the sentence, felt the pain shoot up his arm, jar into his shoulder as he caught the big negrus in the throat, saw his eyes widen as he went down in pain, hands around his crushed windpipe. Already he was choking, he’d be dead in minutes unless his friend got him help. Judging by the look on his fucking ape face, that wasn’t in his thoughts. He wanted to crush the attacker, came at him like a wounded bull, a fist the size of a Winterheight ham swinging at his face. He ducked, didn’t even try to block it. That fist was the size of both his arms put together, greater maybe. He wouldn’t fare well in a punching match, he’d gotten lucky with one of them. His gaze danced across the floor, the walls, the shelves, anything he could use as a weapon.
Nothing. He ducked again, weaved out the way of a second giant punch and nearly tripped over the bench behind him.
The bench!
He rolled backwards, flung himself over it, felt the air move as giant hands closed over the space where he’d been stood a moment earlier. He hit the ground, kicked the bench out towards the giant negrus who stepped into it and tripped, stumbled to one knee. The Unisco agent was on his feet in an instant, drove a foot into his nose. Pain shot up his leg, he gritted his teeth, never the best idea in anything less than steel toed boots and these were shamefully inadequate. Still he heard the crunch and the bellow of pain, the negrus was trying to rise and he leaped onto his back, wrapped his arms around that fat neck and locked them hard, trying to cut off his air. He struggled, that much he expected, he couldn’t allow himself to be thrown free. If he hit the ground, it’d be over. This big black freak would stamp him into a fine paste and that’d be the end of his story. That knowledge drove him on, forced him to clutch on tighter. He imagined there was guys who wrangled cows in Premesoir who’d never experienced this, he felt hands beating at his locked arms to break his bones, powerfully at first and pain screamed through his nerves, though he felt them weaken with time.
It took five minutes for him to stop struggling, five minutes he wouldn’t have thought he could spare but he didn’t have a choice. If he let go and the flow of air returned, the negrus would rise and kill him. By the time the attempts at breathing ceased and the giant had keeled over, his pulse ceasing to move, he let go and rose to his feet. His muscles were sore, tender from the efforts. It didn’t matter. He’d done it and a little discomfort was worth that. He glanced about the room again, saw one of the uniforms and started to slide into it, pleased to discover that they had a built-in airloop. That might make things easier. The plan was starting to slide into place now. Maybe, just maybe, he could glide the last five miles if he used the fuel supply in his jetpack to go as high as possible. Upward thrust meant he went both forward and high, if he continued in the same direction on his descent then he might be able to pull a few more miles out of it than he would otherwise.
A fine theory, although he had only a rudimentary knowledge of physics and it remained just that, a theory until proven otherwise. Only one way to test it and he wasn’t looking forward to it.
A jetpack awaited him as he stepped out of the changing room, clad in the uniform, the stiff gloves and the bulbous goggles that made him look like a human fly act. Two of them, to be precise. The mounts of the two black fucks he’d murdered in there, he’d wager. Shame he couldn’t take them both, combine their fuel. It wasn’t going to happen, unfortunately. Now, people were looking at him. If he’d been inconspicuous before, the opposite was true now, in his ill-fitting battle suit. He tried not to meet anyone’s gaze, hustled towards the closest jetpack, made a show of examining them. The rotary cannon wasn’t out, collapsed into the rear of the compartment. It gave him a thought though, maybe a distraction. Security guards had stepped out onto the deck, he could see them and there was nothing fake about them. They had everything he’d lacked in impersonating one, from the identification to the blaster rifles in their hands.
The Unisco agent picked the one with the most fuel, pulled it over his shoulders, clipped it across his front. The guards were heading for him, they’d already given an order for all activity to cease. One aerofighter ignored them, already taxiing to leave, rotating into a departure position. Another idea slipped into his head, he knew he was crazy for considering it, but the aerofighters were heading in the very direction he needed to go. Couldn’t fly one, but that wasn’t his plan. All other activity had ground to a halt, silence was pervading, he could hear them shouting for him to cease moving and he threw out a hand, hit the rotary cannon activation switch on the spare jetpack, threw himself to the ground as it erupted into life, spat laser fire in the direction of the two security guards. Their weapons rose, made no difference as their bodies were chewed up by the acid green fire, torn beyond recognition. That was the point all manner of hells tore loose as jet troopers turned to see the source of the shooting, the motion sensor in the cannon picking up on them, the deck a flurry of activity and one solitary rotary blaster trying to pick a target one after another. He’d read something once, that the sensors recognised other jet troops through the detectors in their packs, chose not to fire on them. He hoped and prayed to any Divine listening that was true, or this’d be the most epic failure of an escape attempt ever.
He didn’t have a choice. The Unisco agent hit his thrusters, what he hoped wer
e the thrusters anyway, accelerated across the hot tarmac of the deck, kicked himself into flight, saw the aerofighter rising the same moment he hit it, his hands closing around the edge of one of the wings, his ribs complaining in agony as he banged them into razor-sharp fins. If it weren’t for the gloves, he might have lost fingers, especially as the acceleration kicked in and he had to close his eyes behind the goggles. Below him, the shooting continued, a dozen or more streams of blaster fire moving to mow down the rogue cannon. One shot hit the fuel inside, he saw the explosion out the corner of his eye, couldn’t afford the distraction. The fighter had hit top speed now, all he could do to hold on. Any hint of weakness and he’d fall, be lucky if he wasn’t sucked into its engines. He could see the pilot looking out the cockpit at him, shock on the face beneath the helmet. The Unisco agent tried not to acknowledge him, not until the fighter went into a sharp dip, a series of hairpin loops that left him gripping for dear life. He was lucky he hadn’t fallen, he had an idea that had been the pilot’s intent. He didn’t like the idea of having an impromptu passenger.
Bastard.
He didn’t let up, the pilot had more tolerance for this than the agent did, was all he could do to avoid vomiting, sharp twists and dives testing his muscles to their limit. He felt something give in his shoulder and his grip slipped, the pain like fire in his upper body. With one arm out of commission, he knew it was futile. He couldn’t lift it back onto the wing, he could activate his own rotary cannon though and he felt it spring to life, laser fire ravaging the aerofighter at close range, tearing giant holes into the fuselage, gaping black gashes staring accusingly at him, spray-firing into the cockpit, he saw the pilot slump over his smoking controls and the fighter started to fall.
