by Jeff Taylor
“We’re not going down that easy,” she said to herself. She rose from the pilot’s chair and pushed it away. A cylinder of light encircled her, displaying a full three hundred-sixty-degree view of outside the ship. Rotating her index finger clockwise on the small, red nodule on her wrist, she increased the magnetic pull of her suit, rooting herself firmly to the floor.
“Hang on,” she instructed Nelsonn.
She then raised both arms out in front of her to shoulder level until a green light appeared in the corner of the viewport. The ship was now synced to her movements. “Sam. Auto-lock on drone targets and fire at will,” she commanded, flying the ship with her hands parallel to the glowing pad under her feet.
The ship’s automated operating system, nicknamed “Sam,” stubbornly resisted. “My protocols do not allow me to fire on Apollo Prison security drones. I am unable to comply,” the sing-song voice answered.
“Override them then!” Eve bellowed as she sent the Hermes into a barrel roll, narrowly avoiding the firestorm of bullets streaking around the ship. She hated machines.
“I am sorry, Ms. Banalsky. You are not authorized to change my protocol parameters,” Sam informed her benignly. “Only manual operation will function in such an instance. Perhaps if you landed and tried to rationally discuss the situation with Warden …”
“Oh, shut up,” Eve yelled. Her hands twisted and turned, forcing a pair of drones into the sides of the hangar where they crashed into pieces. She knew she couldn’t rely on that tactic long. With each one she smashed, outran, or outmaneuvered, two more would emerge from their nest beneath the hangar floor. If they didn’t get out soon the hangar would be swarming with drones. She had to get the ship out of there, fast.
“I guess we do this the hard way then.”
Her left hand maneuvered the ship while her right index finger pointed toward the viewport. A drone was bearing straight toward them unleashing a parallel stream of bullets at the Hermes, but the magnetic repulsors on the ship’s exterior diverted the bullets away. She knew though that would only work so long as the drones didn’t close to within eight meters.
Eve quickly tilted her left hand to the right, sending the ship into a roll, adding an upward flicking motion to her right index finger like the recoil of a pistol in her hand. The approaching drone immediately shattered into a cloud of metal shards that scattered in every direction. Eve continued to battle, lighting the hangar with a continuous stream of plasma bursts. But the drones continued to swarm, their numbers augmented each second. She continued to rain their broken counterparts on the ever-increasing hordes of bulb drones streaming up from their secure dock directly below.
Beads of sweat formed on her face. Concentrating on piloting the ship with one hand and defending it with the other, strained her mental and physical abilities. This wasn’t something she could keep up for very long. She chanced a look down at the open drone hangar and formulated a plan for their escape. The idea was dangerous, risky, and completely stupid, but it was the only option she saw available to them.
“Sam! Release firing controls to co-pilot station on my mark,” she ordered.
Nelsonn strapped into the co-pilot’s seat and looked up at her. “What do I do?”
A large panel in the slanted dashboard immediately opened near his knees. A long, white rod with a large red button at the head extended toward him. Sam’s ambivalent voice then sounded from the console. “Transfer of firing controls ready on pilot’s mark.”
Another three drones evaporated under Eve’s onslaught. “You see that red button?” she bellowed over the chaos to her husband. “Hold it down and don’t let go! Keep the guns pointed straight ahead no matter what happens or where we go.”
“And where are we going?” he asked nervously, taking hold of the firing controls. In any other situation, her husband’s worried reaction would have been comical, but not so much then.
Eve didn’t reply. “Sam, Mark!”
Immediately, Eve brought her right hand forward even with her left just as before, syncing her hand movements in perfect unison. Nelsonn awkwardly let loose a ferocious barrage of plasma.
“Hang on,” she warned. Her hands balled into tight fists. She bent her arms and pulled them back so that her white-knuckled fists were just over her hips. With a swift push, her fists launched forward as if she were punching a brick wall. The ship responded by lurching downward with sickening speed, directly into the gaping maw of the drone hangar.
For a moment, Nelsonn released his control of the cannon trigger to stare at where she was taking them. “You’ve got to be kidding?” he groaned.
“Keep firing!” Eve shouted then drove the Hermes directly into the heart of the drone nest.
Nelsonn clumsily gripped the firing stick in his clamming hands. His thumbs pressed down on the bright red button atop the stick and remained affixed to it while blasting continuously ahead at whatever barred their way. At one point, he discovered the torpedo controls on the stick’s sides and made good use of their destructive power.
Eve didn’t have time to revel in his success. Her focus was on navigating the cramped space of the drone hangar and flying debris exploding around the ship. Soon, the drones’ surmised her strategy and pivoted out of her way, circling back to her rear and raining down fire on the Hermes’ stern.
Under normal circumstances the drone hangar would be big enough to pilot a small transport ship like the Hermes through. But hundreds of drones were not normally in operation while doing it, as was the case now. Luckily, their maneuverability was as limited as hers. It also helped that their volleys did as much damage to their own kind as they did to her ship. But the lattice-work of fiery hail created in Eve’s path was still nearly impossible to navigate.
Tapering down through the structural center of the prison, the hangar accommodated over a thousand drones which clung to the thick, steel-plated walls by magnetic footings on their undercarriages. When needed, the buzzing interceptors released from their embedded perches in the walls and exited either upward through the main hangar or through one of the four cavernous tunnels to the surface which corresponded to the headings of the compass. Each tunnel was sealed by a large partition that was capped by a transparent control center. Directly below the command center was a wide, magnetically-sealed door that when opened exposed the tunnel leading to the surface. This tunnel was Eve’s destination, but reaching it in one piece wasn’t looking good.
A steady stream of fire from Nelsonn’s cannon kept the pathway clear, but his efforts had unintended consequences. The plasma bursts belching from the ship’s guns ripped through the lifeless drones, sending them slamming into the shaft wall panels which then released a storm of shrapnel into the tunnel. Rock and mechanical debris pelted the Hermes, making Eve’s movements less and less sure. The magnetic shield around the transport deflected the broken drone parts, but the chunks of basalt and smashed rock against the hull like meteors. Eve tried desperately to evade the obstacles hurtling toward her, with little success, willing the ship forward
Nelsonn kept up his punishing fire while Eve twisted and turned the ship in every direction, avoiding the deadly crossfire unleashed by their relentless pursuers. The ship was beginning to take a beating, which the automated Sam constantly reminded her, but Eve had no choice but to press forward, especially with Sam’s next warning.
“Structural integrity of the tunnel is rapidly declining,” Sam informed them. “Collapse imminent.”
“Perfect,” Eve shouted, avoiding a torpedo headed for the Hermes’ nose. “Rear view on display.”
An image of the ship’s stern blipped onto a corner of her viewport. Not only was the tunnel beginning to collapse, but an enormous fireball was forming from all the detonated rockets and exploding drones. It suddenly crossed her mind that the tunnel ran directly under the central support system. If the tunnel’s cave-in was big enough, the whole prison could be coming down on top of them.
Rapidly approaching them was a l
arge white wall, half of which consisted of a pair of transparent rectangles, rounded at the corners, separated in the center by a ten-meter section. Nearly fifty people in the clear rectangular cube stood gawking at the approaching vehicles. Eve immediately recognized the upper section as the drone control center. As she steered the ship nearer to the wall Eve saw the men and women inside pointing and scurrying frantically to get out of the booth. Most got out of the way, but some would not.
“Hit it!” Eve shouted, indicating the booth with a nod in its direction.
Nelsonn responded by letting loose a pair of torpedoes. The rockets curved in and then outward, cutting through the glass partition then ripping apart the walls on either side, demolishing the computer servers feeding commands to the pursuing drones. With their control site destroyed, the interceptors whirled erratically in every direction, smashing into walls and other drones. Ordnance and fuel erupted in the vertical hangar, shaking the foundation walls of the prison. Those craft in the air pursuing Eve and Nelsonn spun out of control, bumping into one another, knocking each other off course yet many still accelerated toward the escaping ship.
Directly ahead lay the way out.
Eve quickly recalled what lay at the top of this tunnel. They would emerge just behind the gun turret stationed to the main entrance. She would later boast that she’d chosen that route because it gave them the best chance to come out in the turret’s blind spot. In truth, Eve steered the Hermes that direction because it was the nearest exit. What happened afterward was pure luck.
The ship raced out the narrow tunnel like a bullet from barrel, its accelerator engaged at full. Sweat saturated Eve’s brow as she held her body perfectly rigid, afraid the slightest movement would send the craft she controlled with her hands spiraling into the walls of the constricting steel shaft. Navigating the large ship through the tunnel was difficult enough but the challenge was magnified even more by the untethered drones floating haphazardly in her path.
Despite the chaos literally raining down around her Eve was calm and in control. Her confidence only grew when the tunnel finally curved upward and the welcoming field of brilliant stars greeted her eyes. They were almost through. A few more meters and she and Nelsonn would be home free. Once she got the ship into open space it would be smooth sailing from there all the way to Mars.
She chanced a look at the rearview monitor. Their pursuers had ceased their reckless attack, careening unpowered into one another, but the crumbling walls had indeed started a chain reaction. The prison was collapsing around them. Her mind suddenly recalled the fact that the power plant on for the prison was nuclear.
“Oh, it’s time to go!”
Eve suddenly dropped down into a squatting position, tucking her elbows against her body as if she were skiing down a steep hill. The engines responded by throttling into overdrive, immediately doubling the Hermes’ speed. She normally wouldn’t use the overdrive engines in such tight spaces. The range of motion would be too restricted. But the sudden burst of speed was now their only hope.
Eve braced low against the floor, anticipating the sudden acceleration she knew was coming as the shockwave focused down the tapered shaft exit. The ship suddenly lurched forward, nearly breaking Eve’s ankles as she fell backward onto her backside. Like an acorn fired from a howitzer, the Hermes violently shot out of the tunnel in a cloud of dust and debris, pitching uncontrollably out into the depths of space. The careening transport ship hurtled away while the lunar surface below hiccupped, rising like an upside-down bowl then sinking back in on itself leaving a massive crater where the Apollo Prison once nested.
CHAPTER 14
RESIGNATION
The heavy glass and metal doors of the precinct opened with their familiar grating groan as Strinnger pushed them apart. For years the horrid sound they made had annoyed Strinnger beyond words. Today, however, he didn’t mind so much. This was the last time he would pass through them as an officer of the law.
A sea of emotions ebbed in his heart with each heavy step he took on the laminate flooring. Every little sight, sound, or smell, no matter how small, seemed significant. The acrid aroma of Detective Rone’s rancid coffee, the stench of Ron Bilson’s festering feet as he propped them on his desk, even the cursing of Don Dreyson as he again knocked over a stack of paper files which he refused to throw away, all tugged at some past memory.
The old station house with its fields of cubicles, interrogation rooms, and detention cells had been a part of his life for over a decade. He was still thought of as a young detective but the fact he started on the force at the age of eighteen meant he had more experience than most everyone else in the homicide division.
Mable, the pudgy, hard as steel receptionist, was on the phone chewing out the person on the other end for wasting her time. Strinnger had never gotten used to the woman’s sharp tone and piercing eyes but he knew he would miss her too. Seeing her hunched over her desk everyday had been part of his routine, but then again, so had avoiding her.
Every day, he would come into the office, make himself something warm to drink then check his messages before settling in to review his case files, the most recent ones first. Afternoons were spent either on the phones or in the field following up on, or hunting for leads. He had learned very quickly that the job wasn’t as glamorous as he had expected. In fact, he rarely saw a live crime scene until it had been scrubbed and the evidence logged. He was an analyst, not a janitor, he would tell himself. He used his brain to piece together a crime, not his feet. The fact he had been the one to oversee the Schulaz murder had been blind luck. He drew the short straw and was on duty that night. But once he started a case he very seldom let it go before resolving it. There was a drive within him that refused to let him quit, in any part of his life. Which was why what he was about to do was going to be so painful.
The office for the head of investigations was on the second floor of the old building. Strinnger stubbornly took the narrow stairs upward in spite of the pain still throbbing in his legs. The metallic limbs grafted into his hip joints still had not completely healed making most movements extremely difficult. He ignored the doctor’s plea to sit and rest. He had rested enough in the last few days and needed to be out, otherwise he may as well have died in the explosion. Drenched in sweat and leaning hard on the oak cane borrowed from his grandfather, he climbed the last step. Conquering the stairs, he reached his destination.
Across the corridor from him loomed the cherry double doors leading to his unit. He took a moment to catch his breath refusing to let any of his crew see him so weak. Eventually, he puffed out his chest and stepped forward. He was about to push the door open when he heard a familiar voice call from behind him.
“Sherlock,” echoed a cheerful voice from down the hall. The young man’s eyes shone with glee at the sight of his old friend. Strinnger was glad to see Drake but he had hoped to avoid him this time. Seeing his friend only seemed to make the shame stick to him like a cotton shirt on a humid day. “It’s so good to see you back on your feet,” Drake said.
“Yeah, I guess technically I am,” Strinnger replied dryly. “Still not a hundred percent though,” he said holding up his cane.
Drake threw his head back and guffawed. “You got me there!”
His overreaction made Strinnger more uncomfortable. Drake didn’t know how to respond to this either. His eagerness to appear positive only came across as forced and disingenuous. Sadly, Strinnger had expected it. That’s what Drake did. He liked trying to cheer people up. When they’d been partners Drake had often tried to lighten up the mood whenever Strinnger was having a bad day. Sometimes it worked, but mostly it only succeeded in agitating Strinnger further.
“What’s that?” Drake asked pointing to the small cylinder Strinnger held in his free hand.
“Oh, this,” the detective answered, looking at the metal canister that held a series of small data disks. “It’s, um, everything I had on the Schulaz case. I thought I would turn it over to the chief
so it doesn’t go cold.” He wanted to add “since I won’t be around to finish it,” but couldn’t bring himself to say it.
Drake’s expression softened. “So, you’re quitting then,” he said matter-of-factly.
The detective slowly nodded his head, exerting his strength not to look his former partner in the eyes. “How did you know?”
Drake frowned, “Loura. She called me last night. Said she was worried about you. She wants me to make sure you’re really okay with this.” He raised his thick eyebrows and lowered his head to engage Strinnger’s eyes. “Are you okay with this?”
Inside, Strinnger was torn apart. Of course, I am not okay. This is all I have wanted to do since I was a kid. He had made his decision for Loura and he was going to live with it. She meant everything to him and his pride was not going to get in the way of that. He raised himself up as erect as possible, lifting his chin and looking Drake straight in the eyes. The confidence in his choice reflected in the firmest voice he could muster.
“I am.”
His friend nodded his understanding and resumed his cheerful grin. “Okay, then,” he said, smacking Strinnger on back of the shoulder. “So, what are you going to do instead?”
Strinnger sighed. This was the part he considered harder to say than quitting. “Oddly enough, that guy whose house we searched, Nathaniel Kratin, he offered me a job on his security team,” Strinnger answered.
