Come on, you wiry-haired freaks. Make your move already, and let’s do this.
The KzSha huddle broke, at which time each alien driver moved to the rear of its respective truck. A series of clacks and slams ensued as the vehicles’ tailgates fell, then a voice sounded, which was clearly synthesized.
“Everyone out of the trucks,” one of the KzSha said. “Follow the guide. If you speak, you will be shot. If you get out of line, you will be shot. If you do anything whatsoever to upset this operation, you will be shot. Do as you’re told, and you will not die today. Is that understood?”
Silence followed, ostensibly while someone acknowledged.
“Excellent,” the KzSha said. “Move.”
Ten beings from a variety of races climbed down from each truck, with each group daisy-chained together by a set of manacles…or pawacles…for whatever type of limbs they had. There were several elSha, four Caroons, a few Sumatozou, three Humans, and ones and twos of various other races.
Taylor watched from his sling under truck one as the final batch of captives dismounted from the vehicle beside his. One of them—a Goka with speckled skin and a rugged exoskeleton marred by laser marks—flopped to the terracrete floor sporting a chain that someone had attached to a hole drilled through his carapace. Visibly annoyed with his circumstances, the roach-like alien struggled to its feet and sneered at its masters, only to be snatched back down to the pavement by one of the KzSha.
The Goka’s eyes locked on Taylor.
Oh, shit. Taylor put a finger over his lips, not because it was some universal sign for silence, but because he honestly couldn’t think of anything else to do in the moment.
It must have worked, because the Goka bobbed its head, then surreptitiously pointed to Taylor then back to himself. The gesture’s meaning was clear. Rescue me, or I’ll tell them you’re here.
Taylor nodded, and the Goka returned to its feet in time to be snatched back into line with the other prisoners as the group started out. A loud door slammed some 30 seconds later, and silence returned to the warehouse.
“About time,” Frank murmured after another half minute.
“Amen to that,” Taylor agreed.
The duo dropped their slings and quietly got to their feet, while the others did the same—first House, then Jack and Stan.
“Where the hell’s your partner?” Taylor asked House.
“You mean the bumblin’ buffoon who botched his assignment?” The corporal snorted. “Genovese missed his rig hookup outside the dome. I tried to help him, but by the time I got turned around in my sling, it was too late. He got left behind in the snow.”
“Dumbass ijit,” Jack muttered.
“It’s fine,” Taylor said. “Genovese can circle back to the hilltop and regroup with Reigns and the others. We’ll just have to move on without him.”
The conversation paused while the group took stock of their surroundings.
Although the walls enclosed a lot of square footage, the roof overhead was lower than what they’d seen on Piquaw at a mere 15 feet high. A walkway ran around the wall, and a gantry crossed from side to side in several places. Except for the four carrier trucks, the space was empty.
“I’ll tell ya, gents,” Frank said with a sigh, “for a second there, I thought we were toast outside the gate.”
“How do you mean?” House asked.
“Our driver got out and spoke to his pals from the other trucks, only nobody was talkin’,” Frank said. “It was like they were using telepathy or something.”
“Not exactly,” Stan said. “Jack and me caught a glimpse of the KzSha as they filed out with the prisoners. Each one of ‘em has a set of long antennae with lights on them. Those lights seemed to flash in patterns, which I’m guessin’ is how they communicate.”
“So no verbal communications, then,” Taylor said.
Stan shook his head.
“What else did you see about them?” House asked.
“I saw enough to know I won’t sleep for a month after we get back from this mission.” Stan grunted. “These bastards are every bit as big as we are, and a lot nastier.”
Jack rubbed his whiskers. “If the bugs don’t speak out loud, that’ll make it difficult to sneak up on them, should it come to that.”
“Agreed,” Taylor said. “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. For now, let’s spread out and see what we can learn about this place. Meet back here in two minutes.”
Taylor jogged to the wall and raced up the steps to the walkway. Although widespread, there were a few windows that looked out of the warehouse, thus presenting a bird’s eye view of the complex outside.
The area under the dome was a massive mining facility.
Glancing down one of the roads across from his warehouse perch, Taylor saw where the pathway went down into the earth before reaching the side of the dome. A line of large trucks—empty—were going below the planet’s surface, while others returned full. It was the same for the rail cars moving into and out of the passage to Taylor’s right. All told, if the amount of traffic on both was any indication, the mine was operating full bore.
That certainly explains why the KzSha would take a bunch of Caroons captive, Taylor thought. Why they’d want a Sumatozou to work an underground dig site, though, is anybody’s guess. He watched the traffic for a few more moments—including a large ore-carrying train that emerged from underground—then decided it was time to loop the rest of his company in. “Tomahawk to Osyrys.”
No one from the ship answered his hail.
“Tomahawk to Ryley Osyrys. Do you read?”
Again, no response.
What the hell? It occurred to Taylor that the dome could be causing issues with his attempts to reach a ship in orbit, so he shifted channels to his troops who were already on the surface. “Tomahawk to War Eagle. You got your ears on?”
Sergeant Reigns didn’t answer, either.
“Tomahawk to War Eagle. I need a copy, and I need it now.”
Nothing.
Taylor swallowed and tuned his pinplant comms to one of his own team members just a few feet away. “Jack, can you hear me?”
The cowboy didn’t even flinch.
We’re being jammed. Now beyond worried, Taylor trotted back to the group as Stan was starting to speak.
“Looks like a minin’ town,” the Mississippian said. “I took a quick gander through the far side window across from the chief and saw a bunch of trucks filled with ore headed to what looks like a processin’ plant. It looks like they’ve got a decent-sized manufactory out there, too, so there’s no tellin’ what they’re doing with the stuff they’re diggin’ up out of the ground.”
“Whatever it is, they’re extracting it in spades.” Taylor aimed a thumb over his shoulder. “I spotted the entrance to the mine over on this side of the dome. The KzSha have haulers and a freight train comin’ in and out of it like a damn assembly line.”
“That would explain the need for slaves,” Frank said.
“Yep,” Jack said. “Speakin’ of, I think I know where the KzSha took this latest batch of prisoners after they left the trucks.” He pointed to the sliding metal door on the wall opposite of the one they’d entered through. “There’s a big hatch in the ground on the other side of that exit. My guess is we’ll find the bees’ labor force somewhere on the other side.”
Taylor chewed his lip. “Havin’ the slave pens underground is gonna be inconvenient, especially since we’ve got no comms down here.” He explained his attempts to reach the others.
“Well, that’s a problem,” House said.
“It really is,” Taylor agreed. “What are the odds we can shimmy down that hatch without givin’ away our presence?”
Jack considered. “Hard to say. On one hand, we could flip the thing open and find nothin’ but an empty hole on the other side. At the same time, flippin’ that hatch could be like kickin’ a board off a termite nest.”
“Breach their sanctuary, and they all come
scurryin’ out,” House said.
Jack pointed a bingo gesture at the corporal.
“Well, then. I reckon that only leaves us with one option.” Taylor pulled the rifle from his back by the sling and started for the exit.
“Hold up,” Jack said. “It might not be a bad idea to get one of these trucks runnin’ and aimed in the right direction. That way if things go south and we end up tossin’ a bunch of grenades down that hole, we’ve got a ride ready to take us the hell outta here.”
“Ayew. Makes sense.” Taylor turned to Frank.
“Really?” the Buma exclaimed. “First you drag me through the frozen tundra from hell to get down here, then you toss me aside like a ragdoll, while you and the Farts run headlong into the fire against a horde of man-sized, slave-trafficking bugs?” He shook his head. “That ain’t right with Jesus, man. It just ain’t.”
Taylor put a hand on the Buma’s shoulder. “You’re the best wheelman in the outfit, Frank. Take it as a compliment.”
The Buma wasn’t convinced.
“Remember, boys, we don’t have comms down here to talk via pinplants, so hand signs only from here on in,” Taylor said. “Let’s move out.”
The group fell in line toward the warehouse exit while Frank manned the driver’s seat of the nearest carrier truck. Once at the door, the group slid the barrier just far enough open to get through, then proceeded to the hatch Jack had spotted from inside the warehouse. At roughly six feet wide and twelve feet tall, the opening was barricaded by a set of double doors, which weren’t locked.
“Jack’s on point, with Stan in the two spot,” Taylor signed. “I’m in three, with House bringing up the rear. Ayew?”
The others nodded.
Taylor and House stepped back and trained their rifles on the hatch, while Jack and Stan opened the doors. Nothing happened.
“Let’s go,” Taylor signed.
Jack and Stan cleared the opening, then stepped down onto the first of what turned out to be several steps leading underground. The tunnel inside was pitch dark—so much so that Taylor thought of popping a light from his helmet once the doors were closed again but opted against it for fear of betraying their position. With one hand on his rifle and the other on the wall to track their trajectory, Taylor moved along with the others until a distant light pierced the blackness ahead.
“Scout,” Taylor whispered.
Jack nodded, then scurried ahead on his own and vanished from sight at the tunnel’s end. He returned a few seconds later. “You’re gonna wanna see this.”
Taylor, Stan, and House followed the cowboy toward the light, then out into the open, where the group took cover behind a decent-sized boulder patch just outside the tunnel’s mouth.
The cavern below was unlike anything Taylor had ever seen. Measuring roughly 60 feet tall from dirt floor to stalactite-covered ceiling, the capacitor-lit cave covered a couple of acres, easy, and was filled with prisoner cages.
“Check it out.” Jack pointed to cluster of passages in the nearside rock wall. One of them was larger than the others and featured what looked like train tracks, which connected to a terminus in the main prison yard.
“I’d wager there’s a whole network of tunnels throughout this entire complex,” Jack said.
“It’s like a damn hive,” House noted.
Taylor reached into his tac vest and retrieved his goggles for a better look at the scene below. The entire holding facility had been organized into a sort of loose grid consisting of four quadrants. Each quadrant held 10 to 12 cages, with every cage housing six to eight occupants, including bed pallets and bathroom pots. There were also several standalone pens lining the cavern’s perimeter, but most of those were unoccupied.
Those must belong to the current shift. Taylor shifted his goggles toward a third tunnel on the cave’s backside. This one sported tire tracks in the dirt instead of rails. Interesting.
The clanking sounds of metal grinding against metal echoed from somewhere down rail tunnel one. The entrance to one of the small structures beside the terminus swung open, yielding a single form.
“You are one ugly mother…” House trailed off.
Coming in at almost six feet tall with matted yellow and black fur, the KzSha guard was exactly as Stan had described—a giant insectoid the size of a human and the gnarly, bug-eyed features of the world’s nastiest wasp. The alien’s body consisted of four sections: the head, which was oblong-shaped; the thorax; the abdomen; and the stinger tail Taylor had seen up close and personal outside the dome. He also counted four wings, which were laid back flat across the aliens’ spine while at rest, and two bladed middle arms that looked tough enough to cut steel.
Three more KzSha exited the guard post and began speaking with their comrade via the antenna light flashes Stan had described in the warehouse.
The rumbling sound inside the tunnel grew closer. A few moments later, a small engine car pulling two open-air passenger cars halted at the terminus, operated by a Caroon.
“Please!” a voice wailed from one of the cages. “Please, just leave us alone!”
A trio of Pendals huddled at the back their cell, eyes wide in visible terror.
The KzSha guards marched to the cage, while the Caroon stayed put with the train. The wasps flung open the cage and grabbed the captives, shoving the aliens out into the open.
“Don’t do it!” someone else shouted.
One of the Pendal broke from the group and sprinted for tunnel three with all the speed his legs could muster. It wasn’t enough. Once the KzSha released their wings, they were on him in seconds.
The Pendal let out a scream that could’ve peeled paint when the first stinger slammed into his back. After that, he was struck in the leg, the right shoulder, and the groin before the final stinger tagged him straight in the neck. The Pendal collapsed, muscles twitching spastically out of control, and face-planted in the dirt as the final puff of breath escaped him.
“Oh my Lord in Heaven,” Jack murmured.
The KzSha dragged the motionless alien back to his cage and flung him inside, while the others were loaded onto the train. From there the prisoners were whisked away through the rail tunnel, while two of the KzSha returned to their guard post, and the others patrolled the cage grid.
“We need to find Colonel Torrio and his people, then get the hell out of here,” House said. “Yesterday.”
“On that, my large friend, we are in full agreement,” Stan said. “The good news is, it appears we ain’t gonna have to go far to do that. Have a look.”
Taylor followed the old man’s pointing finger toward one of the perimeter cages on the cavern’s near side. Torrio.
Sure enough, the River Hawks’ commander was there, along with what appeared to be ten or so of his troopers. The entire group looked haggard as hell with their tattered clothes and grimy, unkempt features. Paulie looked especially bad. In addition to his rumpled appearance and grizzly complexion, the Hawks’ CO now sported a rough scar over his right eye that hadn’t been there before, plus a litany of cuts and bruises that speckled his face and arms like squares on a checkerboard.
At least he’s alive. Taylor shifted his crouch. “Can we reach them without tippin’ off security?”
Jack peered across the yard with his goggles. “I only count the two guards on patrol, and based on their current rotation, I’d say we’ve got a good eight minutes before they round back into view of that location. Factor in some natural terrain cover between Paulie’s cage and the guard post, and yeah, I’d say a rescue is possible if we time it right.”
“The guard post ain’t our biggest problem.” Stan motioned to the other cages nearby. “I’m guessin’ Paulie and his crew aren’t the only guests in this establishment who’ll want to join our jailbreak. That could cause problems.”
A rumble of metal on metal echoed from rail tunnel one as another train approached. This time when the car reached the terminus, none of the prisoners protested. They simply loaded up under the
watchful eye of their wasp masters and were gone, leaving most of the space around the River Hawks’ cage empty.
“If we’re gonna do this, we need to do it now,” Taylor said once the post guards had gone.
“Ayew,” Jack said. “This way.”
The group fell in line behind the cowboy and eased their way down a small rock path the latter had scouted during his initial survey of the cavern. The trail was incredibly steep, so much so that at one point, Taylor feared he might lose his footing and topple head over tea kettle down the hill. Luckily he recovered in time to catch himself without rustling too much debris, then he continued onward until the group reached the cavern floor below.
“Hold.” Jack froze their advance with a closed fist.
Taylor peered out from behind a rock pile and spotted the two KzSha guards on the far side of the cavern, still on their rounds. Meanwhile, there was no activity around the guard post.
“Move,” Jack said.
The group hurried into the open, mindful to leverage every last shadow possible, and rushed toward the River Hawks’ cage.
“Van Zant?” Paul Torrio blurted, green eyes widening. “What the hell are you doin’ here?”
“Ain’t it obvious?” Taylor lowered his voice. “We’re here to bail you out. Now get back.”
Jack went to work on the cage lock, while the others kept lookout for guards.
“How did you find us?” Torrio asked.
“Your XO, Michael Genovese,” Taylor said. “He and about 200 others made it back to Earth after your run-in with the KzSha on Emza. He told us what happened, and we tracked your trail from there.”
“Mikey’s alive?” Torrio brightened. “Where is he?”
“He missed his ride into the dome,” Taylor said. “I’m guessin’ he’s back with the rest of my team outside, which is exactly where we mean to take you. Can you move?”
“Is the Pope Catholic?” Torrio shot back.
“Good,” Taylor said. “Round up your people and get ready to run. We’re bustin’ out of this shithole.”
The River Hawks’ CO needed no further incentive. He spun on his heels and went to work rousting up his crew.
The Street Survivors (The Guild Wars Book 12) Page 12
