Deadland Drifter: A Scifi Thriller

by J. N. Chaney

  “Shut up, Cade.”

  Sara risked opening her eyes one more time to check the status of the transmission on her comm.

  “Message Sent.”

  UNDISCLOSED LOCATION

  A whimsical jingle on Hank’s com alerted him that he had received a message. The soldiers who made up his escort sighed at the ringtone. It was not in keeping with what they expected for someone in Hank’s position. It was because it bothered people so much that he had set it to that jingle. Just his little way of remaining a rebel in a big machine.

  It was another message from Sara. The last one had been the hammer drop about the admiral still being in danger and where the terrorists planned on planting the bomb on the Pharbis. He had immediately relayed that information up the chain of command, and was rewarded, or punished, depending on one’s perspective, by being ordered to get to the space station and offer any support that was needed. That was why he was now on a small Union ship on his way to border territory with the Frontier and two tight lipped soldiers for company.

  He almost dreaded finding out what problems her new message would bring him.

  “Two birds. One assassin. Stack is mole LW”

  The identity of the mole. Or the codename of one, more likely. Positioned aboard the Liberty Ward. That certainly explained a lot.

  He pulled out his pad and did a search of the Union databases for the alias “Stack.” There were only a few entries about a hacker who occasionally broke into classified Union data. Not much was known about him, there were no leads about his identity. There were also no theories posited about what he did with his data.

  Hank closed the database and accessed the ship logs of the Liberty Ward. There was a delay as he came up against the ship’s security system. He knew he just had to wait for his pad to finish its link up. Having authorized access to almost any secured system in the Union was a perk of his job.

  When he was finally granted access, he looked through the logs for recent departures or any arrivals. Today’s log indicated that only one person had returned to the ship after being on leave. That would coincide with travel time from Dobulla. Problematically, this person was stationed on the bridge. That gave him access. It also made it almost impossible to isolate him from doing any damage once they started to move in on him.

  Hank hurriedly checked for the current location of the Liberty Ward and saw that it had been assigned to protecting the Pharbis. Normally, that would be a good thing. The Ward was one of the toughest ships in the Union fleet and its crew were some of the most experienced in combat due to the nature of their posting. But when a member of the bridge crew was a mole, it presented a bigger danger.

  If this mole was able to take control of the bridge, he’d have access to the weapons systems, and what the weapons on a ship that size could do to a space station...

  Two birds. One stone.

  “Oh, shit!”

  He rapidly brought up his comm and placed a call to Special Operations Director Woodstall. Things were worse than they realized, and time was limited.

  ABOARD THE ATLANTIS FALCON

  “Hey!”

  Sara froze. She didn’t know if her head could take another beating. Her thoughts were still muddled as it was. Any more blows were certain to cause permanent damage. But she didn’t think she had the strength in her to fight back, either.

  She tilted her head toward the source of the voice. Turned out the shout hadn’t been directed at her.

  Reginald stood in front of Cade’s chair as he ate handfuls of something crunchy from a bag. “Are you eating again? Do you ever do anything but stuff your fat face with all our rations?”

  “Sometimes I tell jokes.” He crunched down on another handful and talked with his mouth full, slurring some of the words like a drunk. “Might not need rations after today.”

  The other man grimaced in disgust. “Real classy, Cade.”

  Slowly, Sara made another attempt to check the message on her comm. Nothing. If Hank got the message, he would be making the necessary calls to stop it.

  This was the connection between Stack’s secret mission, the admiral, and the space station, she realized. Stack was going to have the ship attack the Pharbis and take care of Thiel at the same time.

  She wanted to try to get another message out, but the comm became blurry as her vision failed. Her fingers fumbled and she couldn’t find the right buttons. The world started to go dark as her head injuries again took their toll.

  Despite her best efforts to resist it, she one again slipped into the world of unconsciousness.

  32

  Aboard the Atlantis Falcon

  “He’s still back there, isn’t he?” Reginald wiped sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.

  Killington checked the readouts on the console in front of him. “Yeah, he’s still there. Persistent bastard. But we knew that already.”

  One more plan had failed. They had taken a detour to come close to a planet that was a known hangout for Ravagers and pirates. They had gone through the motions like they were about to dock, hoping to trick Burner into racing to reach the planet before them so he could set up an ambush. They had even piloted the Atlantis Falcon into the planet’s atmosphere on a course with the only operation port.

  But Burner didn’t take the bait. Instead he opted to maintain a low orbit over the planet and wait for them. Compounding their bad luck, none of the Ravagers who would have been monitoring the situation decided to respond to their broadcast claiming that Burner’s ship was a defenseless merchant vessel ripe for plundering. They must have seen it as a trap. After all, why would a ship with no defenses be out in the middle of the Deadlands orbiting a dangerous planet? And why would another ship be announcing it?

  They were in the home stretch now. This was the last slip tunnel before they reached the Pharbis, and Burner was still behind them. All their attempts to lose him, to draw his ship close enough to attack, and to trick him into taking a different route had completely failed. It seemed their hopes of Burner’s engines giving out after prolonged exertion at these speeds also didn’t pan out. Cypher decided that the plan couldn’t be delayed any longer and they would head to the Pharbis with or without Burner in tow.

  As they approached, the attitude of the motley crew became more serious. Pretty soon, everything they had worked so hard for would come to a head. Whether history remembered them as heroes who helped throw off the shackles of the oppressive Union government or as fools whose plans were dismantled would all be decided in the next few hours. Killington kept his focus on the task of piloting, while in the navigator’s seat Reginald updated them on their ETA every ten minutes. Cypher had fallen into something of a meditative silence, seated on the couch with his arms crossed and his eyes closed. Even Cade was being unusually quiet, though he kept working away at his station, obsessively monitoring all the systems he could.

  Suddenly, he burst to his feet and let out a stream of expletives. He rushed to the back of the ship where their prisoner was still passed out, nearly tripping over Cypher’s legs in the process.

  Cypher slowly rose and turned his attention to Cade, who was manhandling the blonde woman to try and get her on her back. “Anything you’d like to share with the class, Cade?”

  The tech specialist searched the woman’s body. “Okay, remember how we thought our guest here might be Union? Well, I’ve been running cross-analysis on all the identities I’ve got for her against Union records, checking for commonalities or coincidences with documented Union personnel. Few results at first. Even with the access Stack gave us it’s tough to find a match without a specific target in mind. But then I created an algorithm that uses a brute-force breaking method to give me wider access—”

  Cypher interrupted with loud clearing of his throat. “Is all of this leading to you telling me she’s Union after all?”

  “Yeah. I mean, I think. Ninety percent. I’ve got a high degree of connection with a Constable by the name of Sara Nolan. No current photos
of her in her files but the descriptions sound a lot like our girl. But if that’s true, we have a problem, because I just got an alert about someone making a note in one of her files about her most recent contact from the field. And if that’s the case...” Cade held up her arm and examined the cracked com that they had missed. He tapped the screen and got no response. “Hmm…” His agitation stalled.

  At that moment, the comm lit up and vibrated with a new message. Cade’s eyes lit up in triumph, mixed with terror.

  He closed his eyes and pressed his hands against his nose as he stumbled away. Apparently, the woman was only pretending to be asleep, made her move, and had slammed the heel of her hand into his nose.

  Deftly, she pulled herself to her feet, looking unsteady now but determined. She immediately made a lunge for Cade’s weapon. Killington cursed and set the ship to autopilot. Reginald was already on his feet and rushing toward the back too.

  Before she had even made it two steps, Cypher had caught her by the arm and pulled her back. She resisted, twisting her wrist in a well-practiced hold-break motion, and kicked out at Cypher’s kneecap. Cypher grunted as the kick landed, but he didn’t flinch or recoil even an inch. His hold on her arm remained firm despite her attempts to break free. She threw a punch with her free hand and he caught it in an open palm.

  They grappled like that for a minute, the operative’s desperation fueling a strength that hadn’t seemed possible in her current state. But Cypher was larger, stronger, and just as fiercely determined. He twisted her arm around her back and pulled her into a shoulder lock. The other arm, the one with the comm, was forced to extend in Cade’s direction. “Any time, now,” he grunted.

  It took Cade, who was still reeling from the strike to his face, a moment to realize what was expected of him. He slowly reached over to remove the comm from her wrist. She tried to lash out, to stop him, but Cypher tightened his hold and forced her still. Cade was able to slip the device from her wrist and slowly backed away with it.

  The operative managed a strained laugh despite her position. “You idiots. The Union already knows everything. Your plans are fucked. All that’s left now is to take bets on whether it's Burner or spec ops that takes you out first.”

  Cypher growled, spun the woman around, grabbed her by the face, and slammed her head into the wall. Her unconscious form slumped to the ground.

  While Cypher stood over the woman’s body, huffing with rage, Cade hurried back to his console with the cracked comm. He managed to get it open easily enough and hooked into his workstation. It took him just a few minutes to crack the device’s meager security measures and access its recent broadcasts. “These are specifically encrypted Union frequencies. No doubt about it: she’s a Union Constable.”

  Cypher was still fuming. Killington took it upon himself to ask the follow-up question. “Can we read the messages they exchanged?”

  “In what timeframe?” Cade scratched his chin. “I’m not familiar with this encryption algorithm, and the key isn’t in any of the intel that Stack has given us. Must be unique to the Constables. If I had a few days I might be able to decrypt it, but in the time we have left…” He shook his head. “Not going to happen, even with my skills.” He looked back to where Cypher still stood over the unconscious agent. “Doesn’t really matter what the messages say, though, does it? We know she’s Union and she’s been feeding them everything about us. We need to get rid of her. I say blast her out of the airlock and be done with it.”

  “No.” Cypher’s voice was chillingly calm now. “We can use her.” He knelt down and put a hand on the unconscious woman’s cheek, a strangely intimate gesture. “Yes, I believe we will get great use out of you, won’t we, Constable Nolan?”

  Killington’s console beeped with an alert, forcing his attention back to the screen. “We’re nearing the end of the tunnel. Everyone strap in. We’re going to be there soon.”

  The brightness of slipspace gave way to the darkness of space and in front of them a massive space station materialized. Their target: The Pharbis.

  SPACE STATION PHARBIS, NIMROD SECTOR, DEADLANDS

  The Pharbis and any Union personnel on board should have received ample warning that there was a terrorist threat. They would also have instructions to screen any incoming ships with high levels of scrutiny. It was apparent that some of them were doing their job by how long Burner was being kept in a holding pattern while his identity was verified. But that didn’t seem to apply to his targets, who his scanners caught docking almost immediately after entering the space around the station. Burner did his best to warn the station about who had just docked there, but it seemed his messages were ignored.

  After more than ten minutes in a holding circuit around the station, he began to worry about problems with his own clearance. There were a number of reasons why the authorities on the Pharbis might have an issue with his credentials. The Union could have mentioned him by name as someone to deny access to. Sara’s handler, Hank, had warned them to not get involved and specifically not to show up at the space station. But that had sounded more like a request than an order. Besides, Burner was technically a private citizen and didn’t have to obey such a command. It was also possible that it was the ship that was flagged and not Burner. The ship had been stolen, after all, and might even have another bulletin placed on it from its antics leaving the atmosphere of Demeter.

  Wouldn’t that be ironic. For me to travel halfway across the galaxy chasing terrorists, only to get stopped by the people I’m trying to protect while the terrorists destroy them?

  He gripped the steering handles impatiently. If this was a planet he was orbiting, he might have chosen to find a decent spot away from the ports, risking whatever wrath would come his way for entering the atmosphere without permission. With a space station though, he didn’t really have much choice in the matter. The only way on or off was at the docks. If he wasn’t given permission to land, he would just have to keep circling the station until it exploded.

  Finally, fifteen minutes after he had first requested landing permission and twenty minutes after the terrorists arrived, Burner was given the go-ahead and a dock number. The process after that turned out to be relatively uneventful. There was no sudden rush of authorities banging down his door as soon as the ship was clamped, no demand over his comm for him to step out of the ship with his arms over his head. In fact, no one seemed to care about his docking at all. He didn’t even receive a customary message over comms welcoming him to the station.

  He hurriedly stepped out of the ship and into unfamiliar territory. During his time drifting about the Deadlands, he had wanted to avoid the Union as much as possible. This made places like the Pharbis, which might technically be in the Deadlands but had strong Union feel, unattractive options. For many it was a center of cultural and economic trade between the Union and the private interests of the Deadlands. The size of the docks and the number of ships it could hold was a testament to the importance of the station to many in the region.

  Even if the docks were almost empty right now. Word had gotten around that something was happening behind the scenes of the station and those with their own ships had taken off already. The interference with the terrorist plot had saved at least that many. It was only a small consolation to Burner, who knew there were thousands more who lived and worked on the station who would still be killed if the bomb went off.

  As he marched through the docking bay, he began to formulate his next move. The terrorists had a solid head start on him now. They wouldn’t be able to just walk to the core, not with as much security as the station had right now, which would buy him some time. If he could prove his identity to the Union officers around, he might be able to take a more direct path to the core.

  Then there was the problem of what to do about Sara. In his gut he knew that Sara was alive. It made sense for them to use her as a hostage. If it came down to it, he knew that Sara would want him to sacrifice her if it meant saving all the lives on the station.
Burner wasn’t sure he could do that. There had to be some way to get her free. She was tough enough that she just needed a moment’s opportunity to break her way out.

  Assuming she was even conscious when he found them. There was a lot he didn’t know about how the final confrontation was going to pan out, and unfortunately the time for information gathering had long passed. He was in improvisation territory now.

  He stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted the Atlantis Falcon parked nearby. The terrorists would be long gone by now, but he had other things in mind as he approached the ship. He gave an appreciative whistle and an approving nod as he stepped toward it, acting like the stereotypical ship enthusiast getting all excited at seeing another impressive vessel.

  “Sir,” a voice called after him. “If that’s not your ship, I’m going to need you to step away.” One of the station’s security officers was giving him the tired look of someone with much more important things to do than babysit a wandering visitor.

  Burner turned to give the officer a friendly smile. “Was just taking a moment to admire this beaut.” He gave the hull of the ship a couple of light pats. “You think that’s the original finish?”

  The officer sighed. “I don’t know. Now, if you don’t mind…”

  Burner raised his arms defensively and walked away from the ship. His goal there had already been accomplished anyway. With a subtle movement, he tucked his tiny remote detonator into his top pocket. He knew that those charges he had found in the terrorists’ weapon cache would come in handy.

  Quickly, he made his way to the station’s main hub. There, the levels of the station ran up and down in a wide arc, curving at a gentle angle to create a dizzying spiral effect. Shops, restaurants, and entertainment lined the spiral at the current level. The signs pointed out that up above was the residential district, while down below was administration, security, and maintenance. Burner knew that was also where the station’s power center would be.