Vanguard Rising: A Space Opera Adventure

by A. C. Hadfield

  Although Harlan was no hardware buff, during a previous case he had come across one of Atlas Station’s most respected aeronautical designers and had picked up some knowledge that went into making these amazing machines.

  The ship was clearly capable of flying a lot faster, but given the unpredictable weather, it wasn’t worth it, and they had to conserve fuel. The timer told Harlan they were actually a few minutes ahead of schedule, so Harlan was confident in Bella’s piloting skills.

  After a few minutes, Bella had stopped banking and maneuvering the ship now that they were out of the worst of the turbulence and flying closer to the planet’s surface. The ship was speeding along toward the Birch Loop station.

  Harlan saw it on the feed: one of a dozen world-spanning tracks. Barely two meters wide, the track enabled advanced maglev travel. He remembered reading how, with the help of the first abbots, humanity had constructed the loops over a twenty-year period. It was one of the biggest projects the planet had ever seen—until human and abbotkind had moved into space and started building stations and mining facilities.

  As the ship flew just a few hundred meters above the maglev ribbon, Bella eased the throttle and reduced their speed. They approached the station slowly, using the gunship’s various multidirectional thrusters to maneuver onto one of the loop sleds. With an abrupt thud, the ship landed on the sled, and the magnet locks restrained the Wickham in place.

  Bella spoke over the comm channel. “We’re on the loop, guys. The system’s status is online, and we’re confirmed to disembark shortly. ETA to the castle in about thirty minutes. I suggest we use this time to arm up and get ready for a hostile reception.”

  Harlan removed the chest straps and opened the comm channel on his terminal. “Bella’s right. We should expect resistance. This ship has a full complement of gear, courtesy of Captain Saffile and friends. I suggest we use it. But given the ruined nature of the castle, don’t weigh yourselves down too much. We’ll also split into two teams: a home and away team.”

  Bashir and Greta both gave their affirmatives.

  Wilbur asked, “Who are in the respective teams?”

  “I’ll let you know that when we get there, Wilbur. I’m still thinking about that.”

  Irena looked to Harlan with a concerned expression. Just to her, Harlan said, “I’d like you to stay with the ship. I don’t know what’s in the castle, but I do know I need your analytical skills. You’ll be safer here, too.”

  “No need to wrap me up in cotton wool. You know I can handle myself.”

  “Which is why I need you to help guard the ship. I also need your expert eyes and ears. If you get hurt inside the castle… I need your analytical skills where they matter.”

  “I get it. I’ll do my best. And don’t worry so much. We’ve got this.”

  Although he appreciated her positive words, she didn’t know Luca like he did. She didn’t know what he was capable of. If they all got out alive, Harlan would consider it a success, but he knew it was highly unlikely. Before the day was out, there would be blood spilled and lives lost; that much he knew was a statistical certainty.

  “We better get ready,” he said. “Come on, I’ll help you get suited and armed.”

  “Lead the way.”

  Harlan and Irena left their bunk and made their way down the narrow corridor of the gunship until they reached the armory. They stepped inside and inventoried the available weapons. “One thing’s for sure,” Harlan said as he opened a case of handguns, “we’ve got some serious firepower here to give Luca a bad day.”

  He just hoped it would be enough.

  35

  The front most spire at the main palace of the Neuschwanstein Castle hove into view. The heavy rain obscured the rest of the structure in thick gray sheets. Dark clouds hid the horizon and ominously held a warning of what was to come.

  Harlan didn’t care; he didn’t plan on being outside for very long. He knew that somewhere inside, Luca was using Fizon to hack the QCA. Harlan planned on stopping his former brother one way or another.

  Bella piloted the craft skillfully, even with the gale blowing about them.

  More of the castle became visible as they drew ever closer. A series of three landing pads were attached to the pitched roof of the rearmost section. Each pad was braced against the central, and tallest, tower. The castle featured a mix of styles, converging the gothic with the kitsch and simple geometric shapes.

  According to Harlan’s terminal readout, the castle was built in honor of Richard Wagner, the style apparently designed to evoke a fairytale ideal. It certainly did that, with its spires, grand courtyards, and elevated position.

  Yet it hadn’t escaped modernity.

  At some point in its recent history, it had been converted and upgraded with great steel stanchions, landing pads, and docking rings, giving the structure a weird contrast of the historical and the contemporary. The grandiose nature of its original design was right up Luca’s street, Harlan thought. He was never one to appreciate the simple; he always wanted more glamour, all the better to bolster his fragile, power-hungry ego.

  But if Harlan had his way, that was about to end—for good.

  Having finished arming himself and getting suited up, Harlan returned to his bunk with Irena and strapped in, mostly out of habit. It felt as if he’d been strapped into the crash couch for an eternity already. But then, two days under thrust would do that, the drugs coursing through his body to combat against sickness also having the effect of twisting one’s perception of time and place.

  The latter was no problem, though. Harlan was well aware of his position and place.

  “You look as though you have the weight of the universe on your shoulders,” Irena said from her position next to him.

  “It feels like I do.” He glanced at his terminal: they had less than forty minutes before the QCA fell into Vanguard’s hands. “But it’s fine. It’s good. It means I’m focused. In light of the situation, that’s not such a bad—”

  An explosion outside the ship rocked him violently to the side, the straps biting into his shoulders.

  Irena slammed into him, and they struggled to stay upright in a tangle of arms and legs as the ship shuddered.

  The sound of rending mental and whirring engines was deafening in the small confines of the bunk. The ship lurched to the side, the nose dipped, and they were spiraling out of control.

  “What the hell’s happening?” Harlan shouted over the comm channel.

  Wilbur was the first to respond. “We’ve been hit. There’s a goddamned abbot on the roof with a railgun. We’ve lost primary engines, scanners, processing units… half the damn ship is gone.”

  “We’re going in for a crash landing,” Bella added, her voice strained as she fought the g-force of the out-of-control ship. “Everyone, assume the worst and hold the hell on.”

  Irena gripped Harlan’s arm as they fell headlong toward one of the landing pads.

  Bella brought the ship into a controlled descent, stopping its spinning motion and leveling it out for the final drop. A sharp jolt ran up Harlan’s spine and into his shoulders as the couch’s smart gel attempted to compensate, but the material wasn’t designed for such an event.

  Irena screamed when the ship smashed into the steel of the landing pad. Metal-on-metal screeching drowned all commotion on the comm channel. It felt like they would slide right off the side and down into the valley below. But with a secondary jolt, the ship came to a violent stop, throwing Harlan and Irena forward before the smart gel hardened around their bodies and the strapping pulled them back in.

  Harlan then became aware of all the alarms sounding.

  The terminal in the bunk flashed with a red and black alert. The rear of the ship was on fire. The automatic systems were activated, filling the area with nano-foam. Some of it came into Harlan’s bunk.

  Then he heard crying, a wild, primal wail. Greta. “He’s hurt bad! Bashir’s… I think he’s dead. Cut to frigging pieces in the wrec
kage. That bastard out there… it’ll pay for this.”

  A stunned silence stretched out for a few seconds. Irena’s eyes grew wide.

  “Status report,” Harlan said, trying to hide the shake from his voice. Now was not the time for everyone to lose their cool. “Someone please confirm Greta’s findings. Bella, anyone else hurt? Wilbur, what’s the state of the ship?”

  Greta was the first to speak, her voice ragged and raging. “No… wait, he’s still breathing. I’m dragging him to the med-bay, then I’m going out there and killing that fucking robot.”

  “Greta, wait,” Bella said. “Harlan and I will go with you. And no, no one else is badly hurt. Wilbur and I suffered a few cuts and bruises, but nothing major.”

  “The ship’s screwed,” Wilbur added, his voice warbling, too, no doubt due to the shock of the crash and the terrible news. “We’ve no scanners, no primary power, and no engines. And we’ve lost most of our armaments. That damned railgun split us in half.”

  “We’re going out,” Harlan said. “Greta, get Bashir stabilized and wait for Bella and me.”

  Irena put a hand on his arm. “Are you sure you want to go out there?”

  “It’s not about what I want. It’s what we have to do. You stay here and help Wilbur get the ship’s scanners back up and running. We’re going to need them. And stay safe.”

  With that, Harlan quickly unstrapped himself, and proceeded to leave the bunk, making his way through the charred wreckage of the ship until he met Greta and Bella at the ugly rent in the ship’s hull.

  “How’s Bashir?”

  Greta’s face and hands were covered in blood. “The poor bastard’s lost a leg and half of his right arm. I’ve had to seal him in a med-pod. He’s in a coma. Given the metrics, he might not make it.”

  “Then let’s not make his sacrifice worthless,” Harlan said

  He checked the readout on the Marine-issue combat rifle. Ninety-nine rounds. He pulled the visor down from his suit’s helmet, gritted his teeth, and led the others out. Greta had tears in her eyes, but she followed behind with sure steps, rifle up and ready to cover Harlan.

  Bella, beside him, was Greta’s mirror image. Face hardened, body coiled and ready to fight. The three of them stepped from the wreckage onto the landing pad.

  The wind and rain whipped about them. Their visors’ AR system helped focus their attention. Harlan saw the abbot farther up on the roof. It had left its station behind the railgun and was now dashing toward them, a rifle in its hands.

  Harlan took a knee, aimed carefully, and drew in a long breath.

  Greta and Bella flanked him, creating a focused arc of fire.

  “As soon as that thing’s in range, unload, controlled burst,” Harlan said through the helmet’s internal network.

  The abbot showed no signs of slowing down.

  Suicide mission, Harlan thought. No surprise Luca had programmed these things to be disposable. That was him all over. Everything short-term, temporary.

  A second later the abbot opened fire. Its rounds flew by, striking the ship’s hull, embedding into the strengthened steel. Harlan’s heart rate spiked, but he remained focused. As soon as his visor’s AR focusing aid turned green, he shouted, “Fire.”

  All three shot a volley of rounds.

  Greta screamed and went full auto while walking toward the abbot.

  The bullets struck true, first splintering the outer armor, then smashing its limbs into pulpy strands. The arms first, then the legs, yet the damned thing continued to crawl toward them, even as its gun fell down the pitched roof into the darkness below.

  “It’s down,” Harlan yelled. “Halt your fire, Greta.”

  Bella was standing next to Harlan. She had stopped firing and was scanning the area.

  “I want to see it look at me,” Greta said, “when I put its lights out for good.”

  The abbot’s torso slumped onto the steel surface that connected to the castle’s structure. Greta dashed toward it and stood over the robotic remains. Its head swiveled to look up at her. She raised her rifle, aimed at the thing’s head, and, without a word, fired a three-round burst. Sparks flew. The head ripped apart.

  But smoke billowed from the chest.

  Before Harlan could warn Greta, the abbot exploded in a bright flash of white light. Greta’s body was thrown backward twenty or so feet. She landed with a hard crunch, her head bouncing terribly off the steel surface.

  “Greta,” Bella screamed. She ran over to the ex-Marine. Harlan followed.

  Half of Greta’s armor was scorched and torn on the front of her chest, hips, and thighs. Her visor was covered in blood. She opened her lips, but no words came out.

  “Take her arms,” Harlan said. “We need to get her back to the ship before any more of those things come out. Hold on, Greta, we’re getting you to the med-bay.”

  Harlan and Bella dragged her back toward the ship as she screamed in garbled patches.

  Irena came running out and helped them. “We saw what happened.” There was nothing else to say. Harlan was still in a state of shock, and he knew he was running on instinct right now. All he cared about was getting Greta stable if at all possible.

  With Irena and Bella’s help, they got Greta into the med-bay. It featured three main stasis pods, two AI-assistant surgery gimbals, and racks of skin patches, nanodrugs, and other paraphernalia. Bashir’s blooded self was in one of the pods, the semi-translucent gel surrounding him so it appeared as if he were free-floating. His eyelids flickered, but the readouts on the machine showed that he was completely under, in a medical coma. The rich particle-filled fluid that surrounded him would work to heal the wounds, but if he survived, his damaged limbs would require extensive cybernetic replacements, which fell outside the ship’s facilities.

  They shifted to one of the free pods and placed Greta onto its open and awaiting surface.

  Greta screamed and thrashed when they lifted her.

  “Irena, I need you to stabilize her. I know you don’t have all the facilities available to you, but do your best.”

  “Will do.”

  Harlan and Bella stepped to one side to allow Irena to use her medical skills. With a calm proficiency that surprised Harlan, Irena moved about Greta’s body, using the med-bay’s supplies to staunch the blood.

  Minutes ticked by as Irena continued her work. Harlan and Bella shared a nervous look.

  “Is she going to survive?” Bella asked, reaching a hand to touch Greta’s still arm.

  Irena consulted her terminal. “It’s not guaranteed, but I’d say she will. If I can get more of the systems online, I can get that assurance to a hundred percent. Right now, even with the nanodrugs there’s a slim chance she won’t make it. She suffered considerable blast damage… her face… that’s going to require complete rebuilding if we ever get back to Atlas.”

  Harlan grabbed Irena by the shoulder. “You did good. Keep working.”

  “I will. What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going in after Luca. We don’t have any more time to waste.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Bella said. “No arguments.”

  “Fine.” Then to Irena, he said, “I’d like you and Wilbur to stay here, keep working on Greta—pod her into a coma like Bashir if you have to. Anything to save her. And see if you can get the ship’s scanners up and running. I really need the schematics to this place.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Irena said.

  “As will I.” Wilbur appeared in the doorway to the med-bay. He shook his head and let out a shaky sigh. “I just want to say for the record that this is all kinds of messed up, and if you find Luca, I want that bastard’s head on a stick.”

  Bella pulled Wilbur close to her. “Don’t worry, my friend. We’ll bring hell down on the heads of everyone involved in this.”

  Harlan gave the pair a minute, but checked his terminal: thirty-three minutes left.

  Bella released Wilbur. “You good?”

  He nodded and wiped a
tear from his left eye. “I’m good.” His hands shook, with rage, loss, or some other deep-seated emotion. “I’ll get those scanners online, and we’ll mess Luca up real bad. Real damned bad.”

  Harlan reloaded his rifle and retrieved two canisters of gel explosives from Greta’s webbing that Irena had placed on a nearby table. He checked his complement of EMP, concussion, and confusion grenades. His belt carried three of each. He had three magazines of smart rounds strapped to his right bicep and both thighs.

  He wanted to say something else to Irena, maybe some compassionate words for Bashir and Greta, but he had to stay focused. If they stopped Luca, there’d be time to feel bad for their compatriots, if they didn’t… then none of it would matter.

  Harlan strode out of the damaged ship with one intention on his mind. “Let’s go. We have a case to close.”

  36

  Harlan wasted no time. He dashed across the landing pad and scaled the roof until he arrived at the railgun. Behind the steel machine, a gantry led to a doorway cut into the tiles. A metal door swung open and shut, blown by the increasing winds.

  Black clouds gathered overhead in thick blankets, blocking out the sun, turning the day to night, and threatening to drown the world.

  Harlan held the door open and gestured for Bella to enter while he followed her through, covering over her shoulder as she crouched. They shuffled forward into a short corridor.

  Roof beams ran overhead. Great stone walls lined both sides, indicating that this area had been created in the original attic space of the castle. Composite sheet boards, gray and utilitarian, lined the floor.