Edge of Redemption (A Star Too Far Book 3)

by Casey Calouette

  A bright green sign marked the exit followed by another boring hallway lined with photos and industrial facts about Winterthur. Pictures of the vapor distilleries shone in the sunlight. She smirked a bit at the thought of the corrosion crusted towers that lined the sea shore. Hardly a tourist attraction. More gunfire echoed down the hall, reminding her to hurry the hell up.

  She was determined to get out, to get somewhere that she wasn’t bottled in and tucked up. Right now she was at the mercy of whoever was shooting. However it worked out in space, she had a feeling that Mustafa came out on top. She swore to herself and felt even more alone.

  A plan was slow in coming together. She walked through the empty corridor and tried to piece it together. She checked for a signal on her implanted tablet and saw nothing.

  She came to a wide set of smoked glass doors. Daylight peaked from beneath in a slender band of white. She tucked the pistol into her jacket, and pushed through.

  Outside the air was thick with the mist of the day. The smell of rain was on the wind along with another smell, gunpowder. The acrid tang tickled her nose. She stepped out quietly onto the well worn concrete and looked left and right. A man with a rifle sprinted past almost knocking her over. She stepped back and saw another person running. No one seemed particularly interested in her.

  “Shit,” she whispered. The sound of gunfire was louder outside. Much louder. She jogged cautiously in the direction the men had run.

  A horrible ripping boom blared through the air. She threw her hands over her head and crouched down. Her insides tightened and the shock almost made her cry out. The sound of gunfire had toned down with only the tut-tut echoing on.

  She ran past the dull concrete wall and caught glimpses of others running. A wider avenue opened up before her and she approached cautiously. She peeked around the corner and snapped back.

  Two men sprinted past without even looking at her. One didn’t have a weapon and the other held onto his rifle only by the strap. She peeked again for a better look and caught her breath. A gargantuan creature in heavy armor plodded into view with a massive autocannon hanging in front of it. Plumes of flame burst out from the barrel as it fired. Bodies littered the ground around it.

  A high pitched whine came from everywhere. The crunching stopped and another enormous blast shattered through the air.

  Emilie didn’t know what it was, but she knew enough to get the hell away from it. She glanced once more at the giant and saw it shooting away from her. She sprinted out the gates and was finally into the streets. A line of men huddled against the wall, clutching weapons.

  “Get over here!” a man in a beat up construction helmet yelled.

  Emilie ran over and knelt next to the man. She was afraid that she’d be found out—the pistol felt like a betraying lump against her waist. “What’s happening?”

  The man shook his head. “Hun came down with damned giants, like walking tanks. You work in Customs?”

  Emilie nodded and lied, “Yeah, I was inside,”

  The man nodded. “Get out of here, we’re going to try to hit ‘em once more.”

  The ripping roar sounded once again and everyone hunched down. “The fuck is that noise?”

  She looked down the line of men huddled against the wall and knew they weren’t professionals. She’d spent enough time with the UC military to see that these were just locals with guns. She stood on shaky legs and braced herself against the wall.

  A flash of silver dropped faster than a hawk and rebounded off the wall smashing into a man next to her. He rolled and screamed as the thing lashed out with razor like arms. Men stood and raised weapons as the man rolled on the ground.

  “What is it?” a man with a shotgun yelled as he thrust his barrel at it.

  Emilie stumbled back against a soldier and felt him move aside. She reached in and pulled the pistol out of her waist. It seemed heavy, blocky, artificial in her hands.

  The man stopped moving and the drone stopped, suddenly still. A dimly glowing sensor bank on the back rippled and sang. It was like a silver beetle with arms made of razor steel. It hunched like a cricket.

  “Shoot!” the man in the construction helmet shouted.

  Gunfire erupted and blasted the creature sideways into the wall where it shuddered and popped. A dim hiss of smoke rolled off the body and it collapsed into a pile of metal.

  “Fuck, man!”

  “What the hell is it?” a man with stringy yellow hair asked.

  Shrieks and screams echoed through the air. Farther down another one of the things descended upon the troops.

  “Get up! Hit the wall, get ready to shoot. Everyone keep an eye on out,” the man in the construction hat bellowed down the line.

  Emilie felt nothing but fear. Her eyes scanned up and sideways trying to see the next drone. Flashes of silver in the sky told of more, and the fear grew deeper. She’d seen them before, a branch of research had a whole shipment. Razor drones, to be used to assault ground troops or as a weapon of terror.

  The blond man peered into the mist. “What are they? The fuck did they come from?”

  “Razor drones,” Emilie said.

  “Who are you, lady?” the man in the construction helmet asked as he stared at her pistol.

  Emilie looked from side to side. “I’m Emilie Rose, my father was Klaus Rosenstein.”

  “Well shit, I knew Klaus,” the blond man said.

  “Hey, hey!” the man in the construction helmet yelled. “Focus!”

  “Name’s Duma,” the blond said, smiling. He turned and hefted himself onto a set of containers.

  Emilie looked down the road and had no idea where to go next. Behind her were the invaders. All around were razor drones. She figured she’d stick near the people with guns, at least for now. She squatted near the edge of the container and waited.

  “Get ready!” a raw voice bellowed.

  The fire coming from the spaceport had mostly died away. The steady fire of the autocannons continued, but the intensity had dropped. The heavy whine droned on with the crunch of concrete pulsing through the air. More screams came from farther inside of the city. Men on the containers turned and glanced behind them.

  “Fire!”

  A chorus of gunfire ripped through the drizzly air. The militia fired with everything they had. Casings rained onto the ground in a steady roar of pinging brass. The tut-tut of the autocannons roared back to life. Rounds seared through the heavy concrete wall and slammed into the cargo containers. Then the concrete crushing noise stopped.

  Emilie felt it before she even knew it fired. A ripple inside of her rose and oscillated. The feeling was like being thrashed about without knowing it was going to stop. The sky tumbled into darkness and a roar assaulted her. Then she was on the ground coughing on concrete grit. She tried to stand and fell forward. Her lungs burned, her eyes were filled with chalky grit.

  “Get up!” Duma yelled in her ear. He wrenched her up and helped her stand. “C’mon!”

  She followed as quickly as she could. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she spat up a mix of grit and spittle. She closed her mouth a moment and could feel it on her teeth and against her gums. She turned and looked behind her.

  A massive gap was ripped through the concrete wall. The cargo container she’d huddled next to was split open at the seams and rolled over. Bodies littered the ground.

  “Keep moving!” Duma said loudly, but it sounded muffled, distant.

  The sound came into her ears slowly. A ringing sound pulsed up and down, ranging from one tone to the next. She looked down at herself and saw nothing more serious than a few scrapes. “Thanks.”

  Duma said nothing and led her away from the complex. They ran past a woman in a yellow jacket, sprawled out and eviscerated. More bodies were scattered around her. The civilians were sprawled out as if running from something, each farther than the next. Emilie snapped her head away from the corpses and focused on staying on her feet.

  The gunfire died away to almo
st nothing before only the wind sang through the streets. An occasional crack and boom signaled that someone was still fighting. The pair ran to the edge of the docks and passed below a mass of stained tubing. Farther along the rising distillation towers continued to spew steam.

  Duma stopped beneath a maze of piping and pushed his back against a damp wall. His eyes scanned from one side to the next. He let out a deep sigh and slowly shook his head.

  “Thank you,” Emilie said, sliding up next to him.

  The wind rose slowly and the mist pushed back. A light patter of rain dropped onto the pipes. A stray gunshot rang out, followed by screams.

  Emilie looked up to the sky and caught a glimpse of silver darting through the mist. “Hey,” she said pointing up.

  A drone clattered onto the pipes and was still. Legs ticked with each step as it gently made its way above them. The sensor package scanned from side to side. It seemed oblivious to the pair huddled below.

  Emilie held her breath. Her eyes focused on the razor sharp legs and mandibles hanging underneath the drone. She willed herself to be small, to be quiet, to be invisible. The pistol felt close, so close, but she didn’t dare pull it out.

  It sprang onto an orange stained valve and hung in place as it swung its head from side to side. The sensor pack stopped and the entire body was rigid, silent.

  Duma stared up at the creature with his rifle tight in his hands. His dark knuckles were white with tension. A nervous tick made one eyebrow dance on his face. She looked back up and it was gone, as silently as it arrived.

  “Wow,” she whispered.

  Duma raised the rifle and pointed it at Emilie. The muzzle was shrouded in shadow.

  She looked back at the man and saw his eyes unfocus. It was if he was staring through her. “What are you doing?” she asked, afraid. Then she realized he wasn’t pointing at her, but at something behind her. With every muscle tense, she slowly turned and saw the razor drone perched behind her, half hidden behind a set of conduit.

  It sprang and Emilie dropped to the ground. It clattered through the conduit and fought to free itself. Duma fired once and tumbled it back against the wall. Emilie struggled to tear the pistol out from her waist and pulled the trigger aimlessly. Rounds impacted against the alloy tubing and smacked against the wall.

  She stopped when she saw that it was dead. One set of limbs danced and tapped on the ground while the others folded in and out. The sensor bank was dim and half torn away. They were above her, around her, and she had no way of knowing. The foreboding terror came to her like only prey can feel. “Can we get somewhere safe?”

  Duma lowered the rifle to his waist and pressed himself against the wall. “Where?”

  “Inside?”

  Duma’s eyes danced wildly through the conduit.

  Emilie saw him losing his edge, falling under the pressure. Fuck, she thought. “Duma, you need to get us out of here. You can do this, but don’t fall apart on me.”

  Duma snapped his eyes to her and squinted. “Who are you? To come here and fucking order me around? I don’t owe you shit. Your old man owed me money.” Duma stepped closer and loomed over Emilie.

  “You’re pissed about money when there’s razor drones around?”

  Duma shook his head and stood his ground. “Where we gonna go? Get away from this? This,” he said, gesturing all around them, “is the new reality. It’s all gone. Gone.”

  “Just like that? Someone comes in and pushes you, and you fucking buckle?”

  Duma slapped her with the back of his hand. He looked away and took a deep breath.

  Emilie licked her lip and felt it growing thicker. Her mouth tasted of blood. “We can’t stay here,” she said, knowing she’d pushed the wrong way. “I need your help.”

  A transport pulled along the edge of the port, three hundred meters away, and stopped abruptly. A single soldier dropped down in a suit of blocky pattern armor. His weapon was stubby and short. He raised thermal binoculars to his face and scanned around.

  “We need to go,” Emilie said. The troops were hidden from view, but something had caught their attention. She glanced at the dying drone and knew they had to move and now. “Like now.” The additive cell, she had a location, if she could get there she’d be safe, at least for a short time. “I know where we can go.”

  Duma redirected his gaze from the troops to Emilie. “Where?”

  “There’s a Core facility down the shore, a couple of kilometers, we can make it,” she said quickly. She stepped closer and grabbed Duma by the arm.

  “Core?” Duma spat. “Core? You’re one of them.”

  Emilie released his arm and stood back. “No. No, I’m not, I bought the facility to come back here.”

  Duma focused his eyes and cocked his head. He looked to the troops spreading away from the transport and back to Emilie. He took a cautious step back and raised his rifle.

  Emilie watched the muzzle rise again and point at her. This time his eyes were focused on hers. Not like this, she thought. “Duma, we can go, we can do this.”

  Duma shook his head slowly. “They’ll want you. They’ll leave me alone.”

  “No Duma, they won’t.”

  He stepped back and raised the rifle up. “Stop!”

  She focused her eyes on his and took another step. Her hands stretched out to the sides with palms outward. “You’ll have to shoot me, Duma.”

  His feet slid back on the crusty ground and he stopped against the ragged edges of alloy. His eyes were wild and spittle ran down one side of his face. “Stop!” he yelled.

  A slight metallic sound clicked and tapped. A razor drone clacked from inside of the piping and punched spikes out.

  Duma spun with his rifle and jammed the muzzle downward. He fired once and drilled the drone into the ground. The razor drone righted itself and struggled to get through the conduit. Shouts echoed from behind them, the Hun troops were coming. He turned quickly with the barrel of the rifle following.

  Emilie held the pistol before her and looked into Duma’s eyes and pulled the trigger. His head snapped back against the piping with a dull thud and he crumpled onto the ground.

  The moment was on her and she was locked in place. A thin snake of smoke rose up from the action of the pistol. It felt warm in her hands. She’d never killed anyone, the adrenaline dropped away and a sickness welled up inside of her. Go, she thought. Run. Run away. But she couldn’t move, her eyes locked onto Duma’s. He looked almost normal, like he could rise, except for a small ragged star shaped flap on his cheek.

  “Fuck,” Emilie whispered and choked on a mouthful of bile. She spat onto the ground and left the dead man behind.

  The Hun troops spread out and advanced with weapons at ready. The lead trooper held his blocky weapon tight to his shoulder and sighted down the barrel as he stepped closer. His face was mostly obscured behind a mask, but his eyes were bright white.

  She snapped her eyes back and forth. The pistol was heavy in her hand and she glanced at it for a moment. The feeling of sickness was heavy inside of her. She dropped the pistol with a clatter and pushed herself into the shadows.

  A single gunshot rang out and the lead trooper crumbled into a heap. Voices called out angrily and the Hun troops sprinted for cover. A round sang out and the Hun retreated farther back.

  Emilie ducked into the piping and squatted in the shadows. She eyed a narrow passage leading down to the shore.

  “Move it!” a voice hissed from the darkness.

  She almost fell backwards with fear. “Who is it?”

  “Shut the fuck up and get in here!” the voice said again. “We ain’t got all day, lady.”

  She glanced behind her and could see the Hun troops hunched against hard surfaces. A second Hun trooper lay dead not far from the first. She stepped into the deeper darkness and felt a cold hand on her elbow. “Who are you?”

  “The dumb one,” the man’s voice replied as he pulled her through the shadows. Her escort was silent the entire way. All
she could hear was the flapping of a jacket.

  The smell of metal came on strong and they dropped down onto the edge of the shore. Heaps of corroded waste lay strewn in front of them. Clouds of steam danced in the wind and obscured the upper reaches of the wall. The man was wrapped in a heavy jacket that reached down to his knees. One hand was a heavy alloy augmetic. His face was scarred, rough, and speckled in a layer of chalky stubble. A slender black oxide barrel peaked out from the bottom of his jacket. He leaned against a rust stained pillar and caught his breath.

  “Who are you?” Emilie asked.

  “Emmet,” the man said, breathing heavily. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a slender comm clip. “We’re clear.”

  “Are you militia?”

  Emmet looked to her and shook his head. “I ain’t with those clowns.”

  “Then why did you help me?”

  “It’s my job.”

  “What?”

  “It’s me and Kari, she’s the one with the sniper drone.”

  Emilie blinked and wiped the condensing mist off her face. “But the militia doesn’t have sniper drones.”

  Emmet looked to Emilie. “You’re slow for a smart person. We’re not militia, we’re Core. Or we were until you bought it.”

  “How did you—”

  “Find you?” He pointed to the small bag clinging to her side. “Your data tablet is keyed in the Core system.”

  She glanced down at the bag and patted it gently. The only thing she had, the only thing she owned, was the Core assets. Most importantly, the library. A complete collection of Core items on the open market. If it could be bought and sold, she had a license to make it. Each license fed an additive cell. Each cell was a self-standing collection of material aggregators capable of making anything. Or at least anything that it was programmed for.

  Emilie hoped more Core personnel would have stayed behind, but at this moment she was happy with whatever she could get.

  “We’re secured for now,” Emmet said, nodding down the shore. “But we’ve got to move.”