Ashes Fall (The Ibarra Crusade Book 1)

by Richard Fox

  “If he recovers, it is because Malal wills it.” Nakir snapped a finger at the nearest guard. “Move this device onto our shuttle. Then both of you report to the incinerators to be decommissioned.”

  The guards nodded as one, then went to work.

  ****

  Masha nudged her elbow against Terry’s side. The man snorted and clutched their shared blanket tighter against his chest. He rubbed the back of a finger against the bottom of his nose and sniffed at it.

  Terry enjoyed his recreational substances, which Masha was happy to provide, especially as she could spike it with other compounds as needed.

  Masha slid out of bed, hating the chill air but not fighting for the blanket to cover up. She went to Terry’s crumpled uniform thrown against the wall and squeezed the fabric until she felt the tiny listening device she’d planted on him back at the control room.

  She’d found him in his quarters, slurring his words and unwilling to discuss anything but getting his fix and their normal follow-on activities. He wasn’t the most loquacious when it came to pillow talk, which was why she’d taken to bugging him any time he had an important meeting away from the rest of the hoi polloi like her.

  Masha teased the chip out and pressed it against her earlobe. The circuitry in the chip and the false flesh melded and she listened to the recording, fast-forwarding and rewinding with slight movements of her thumb along the edge of her ear.

  “Elias Hale…I’ll be damned,” she said to herself. “And he’s got Qa’Resh tech in him.”

  “Huh? Wha—?” Terry’s legs thrashed and he sat up quickly.

  Masha slipped the chip into her mouth and tasted bitter foam as it dissolved.

  “Just going to the bathroom, Skipper,” Masha said sweetly.

  Terry grumbled and reached over, squeezing a pillow like it was something more fun than it really was.

  “Ugh, the things I do for the Crusade,” she said as she took a data slate from Terry’s clothes, swiped it under his hand to unlock it, then executed a hack she’d installed on it a few months ago. She started typing a message.

  Chapter 3

  The Phoenix Spaceport should have had dozens of automated drones and piloted craft coming and going. But the landing pads were eerily still, and a gray pallor stretched across the sky. Long, red “remove before flight” tags on an onyx-black Sirin-class shuttle snapped in the wind as ribbons of sand snaked across concrete.

  A wall of sand and dust leading a thunderstorm rolled in minutes later, spreading over the sky like a deepening bruise. Visibility fell to a few feet around the shuttle and the beacon light on the control tower was snuffed out by the sandstorm.

  Three figures emerged from the brown abyss and took cover behind the shuttle’s rear landing gear.

  “Clear,” said a man with a battered helmet. The visor was fashioned into a skull face, the paint for the bones chipped and missing in parts, like war paint at the end of a long day at battle. He clenched a gauss carbine against his chest, shielding it as best he could from the blown dust.

  “Like we can see anything,” said a woman in goggles with a shirt tied over her mouth and nose. “Anything on the zars’ comms?”

  “Nothing.” The man tapped the side of his helmet. “But my IR’s been kind of iffy. Besides, we shouldn’t pick up anything in this soup.”

  “Damn, Cable, I thought Rangers took care of their gear.” The woman reached over, grabbed the third person by the shoulder, and gave him a shake. He wore a backpack over a technician’s overalls. The simple safety goggles over his eyes were clad in dust and his beard stubble had already taken on the hue of the storm. She pointed at the tail number.

  “ZZ-37, they use this one all the time!” she shouted over the wind. Watkins was hunched against the landing gear, his hands over his head. “What’re you waiting for?”

  “I don’t—I don’t know if I can do this, Kenny. We’re supposed to make these sort of repairs in a hangar—not out here in this mess!”

  “You said you did this out at Pendleton before you got rolled over.” Cable whacked a fist against the Sirin. “This was your idea. You said all you needed was for us to get you the bomb. Man up and do it!”

  “I was working on Mules, not—”

  Kenny grabbed him by both shoulders and pulled him face-to-face.

  “Watkins, do you want to avenge Jessica or not? They came into your house in the middle of the night and dragged her away and you couldn’t stop them, because if you fought, you’d be out there in the fields with her. But now you can make them pay, Watkins. What are you waiting for?” She pushed him against the landing gear.

  “OK, OK, I just need you two to try and block the storm.” Watkins shrugged off his backpack, removed an impact wrench, and worked the directional switch back and forth. He unscrewed bolts in the wheel well and slipped each one into a breast pocket.

  “Too much sand in here will trip maintenance. My guys are lazy, but they ain’t stupid.” Watkins removed a small panel and gave it to Cable. “Now let me reset the vibration-monitoring sensor…” He reached deep inside and cursed as his sleeve caught on the edge.

  “Why are you taking so long?” Cable flipped the panel over in his hand.

  “Because if I don’t reset the vibration sensor set to monitor the aft fairings and not the hydraulics, it’ll detect something’s off before they reach altitude.” Watkins ripped his sleeve when he jerked it free. “That’s the whole point, in case you didn’t remember.”

  “You’re talking way too much. Just get the mix in there,” Kenny said.

  Watkins lifted a small bottle of blue liquid out of his backpack and gave it a shake.

  “What are you doing!” Kenny recoiled.

  “Aerating; it tends to settle.” Watkins took the panel from Cable and set it on the ground. He took out a C-clamp and a small one-handed plasma torch and welded the bottle in place. A bottle containing a viscous oil was welded down next to it.

  “Binary explosives are harmless,” Watkins said. “Until you mix them, that is.”

  “Thought Puffies like you knew that.” Cable nudged Kenny with his elbow.

  “I’m a Pathfinder, not a ‘Puffy,’ you Neanderthal.” Kenny watched as Watkins gingerly removed the cap from the blue liquid and attached an elbow-shaped valve on both sides with a mechanical dial in the middle. He screwed the other bottle into the valve on the altimeter switch and twisted the dial. He looked over his handiwork and put the panel back on the shuttle.

  “There we go. There’s no explosive for the zars to detect until this bird reaches forty thousand feet. Then the altimeter will snap the seals and components will combine into nitrothrite and the next sparrow fart of vibration will set it off. No electricity. No timer. No moving parts until boom boom. Then there’ll be one less zar VIP. Maybe even Kutcher. The bastards only let the bigwigs make orbit or go to their big ships.”

  “Pat yourself on the back later,” Kenny said. “The storm’s letting up.”

  “Don’t rush me.” Watkins screwed in one bolt. The impact wrench slipped off and twisted into the onyx fuselage. The wrench ripped through the metal, leaving a deep gash.

  “You’re kidding me,” said Cable, putting a hand to his face.

  “That’s funny.” Watkins looked from the tool to the gash. “The panels are a graphenium composite. That shouldn’t have happened.” He gripped the edge of the broken hull and pulled hard. A thin panel the size of a car door came off and clattered to the landing pad. Inside the shuttle was nothing but a bare frame and landing gears.

  “It’s a fake…” Watkins pointed into the emptiness within. “Why would it be fake?”

  Headlights appeared in the storm, washed out into dull smudges.

  “We’re made.” Cable grabbed Watkins by the strap on his backpack and jerked him away from the decoy shuttle.

  “Shit, they’re at the fence line.” Kenny looked down at a compass as the needle wavered back and forth. “That was our way out!”

 
; “There’s-there’s a hangar!” Watkins pointed under the decoy. “We keep the cargo carts unlocked. No one’s supposed to get through the fence, so we—”

  “Move!” Cable hauled the mechanic in the direction he pointed. Kenny stayed close, as the sandstorm was so thick, they could barely see their feet. They kept going as the washed-out light of the cars at the fence line shifted back and forth.

  “They can’t see either,” Kenny said.

  The three almost ran into the curved side of the hangar. Watkins felt along the wall until he got to a door. He fumbled in his pockets for key fobs.

  “No time for this.” Cable raised his gauss rifle to strike at the lock with the stock.

  “Wait!” Kenny shot an arm up and blocked his strike. “We force the door, they’ll know we’re in here. He gets us in and then locks it, they might keep going.”

  Cable half lowered his weapon, then nodded when he grasped what the Pathfinder meant.

  “Ha!” Watkins shouldered the door open and they rushed inside. Weak lights along the apex of the ceiling illuminated workstations with robotic arms and dismantled engines. The space still groaned with the storm, but it was almost blissful compared to the riot of wind and sand outside. He locked the door and backed up.

  “How’d they know?” Cable grabbed fistfuls of the mechanic’s overalls and hauled his feet off the floor. “How’d they know?”

  “It wasn’t me.” Watkins kicked his boots, his eyes wide with fear. “I swear. They killed my wife. Why would I—”

  Cable dropped him with an angry grunt.

  “We need to get away from the Commissars before they find us,” Kenny said. “Dump our gear and blend in to a friendly neighborhood.”

  “Dump? I’ve had this helmet since the Kesaht War.” Watkins pointed a thumb at his faded skull face.

  “We can replace gear! Can’t replace you.” Kenny pointed at a Gator, a small cart with seats for two. The cargo bed was full of boxes.

  Cable shoved the boxes off, and tools and parts scattered across the concrete floor.

  “Ah! Those were packed by the bots.” Watkins hurried over. “It’ll take hours to—”

  “You’re going to need a new job anyway, buddy.” Cable went to the box on the other side and tried to haul it off, but only managed to half tip it with his first try. “Shit, what’s in this one?”

  Snap-snap-snap

  Gauss bullets ripped through the walls and struck the box. Cable jumped over the cart and took cover, his combat instincts kicking in instantly. Kenny was crouched next to a robot arm, her carbine in hand, a finger to her lips.

  Watkins was splayed out, blood pooling beneath his head and back.

  Kenny slapped the stock of her weapon and signed at Cable with Terran Union standard patrol signals.

  Rear. Door. Quiet.

  Cable nodded. The two hurried to the back of the hangar, the squeak of their dusty boots against the concrete feeling like a giant bullseye on his back. Banging at the front entrance grew louder as they reached a stack of pipes.

  “Fatal funnel.” Cable took aim over the pipes and waited.

  “Marked exits are a bad idea right now.” Kenny looked at the back exit like it was a snake about to bite. She unsheathed the Pathfinder knife strapped to her thigh and twisted the pommel. A dull blue lit up and down the edge. “I’ll cut us a doggy door.”

  “We’re Marines all of a sudden? Do it,” Cable said, keeping his optics trained on the door at the front. He set his rifle to high power and a whine that made his teeth hum rose from the power pack. The door broke open and a Commissariat shock trooper in deep-green armor with a raised neck guard and a bullet-shaped helmet burst through.

  Cable drilled him through the vision slit before he could get two steps into the hangar. The trooper went down, his legs entwining with the man trying to rush in behind him. Shadows jostled to get in, but the first dead man had become an obstacle.

  Cable fired single shots into the doorway, the magnetically accelerated slugs ripping through armor plates, over-penetrating through the lead man and punching into the one behind him. He was certain he’d killed at least four when they abandoned the doorway. He lowered the power output on his rifle and shot along the front wall, hoping to hit anyone that thought aluminum sheets would stop a bullet. His power pack died before the magazine ran out of bullets.

  “Swapping!” He yanked back on the discharge handle and a red-hot power pack clattered to the ground. He reached to his belt and pulled out his last power pack.

  “Almost done!” Kenny called out.

  The rear door bent inward and came rushing straight at him. Cable rolled over and kicked out, tripping the shock trooper with the door bent over his shoulder as he thundered past. The brute went down and slid on the door until he whacked into a garbage can.

  Cable slammed his fresh battery home and felt the weapon vibrating in his hands. Hot swaps were always dicey, especially for gear as old as his.

  “Gonna rip your face off!” yelled the shock trooper as he knocked greasy lunch bags off his head.

  There was a beep-beep and his gauss rifle was ready to fire. The Ranger shot the brute in the neck where the armor was thinner. The bullet ripped down the man’s body, imparting all its kinetic energy and knocking the now-dead man back into the cans.

  A crackle of energy swooped past Cable’s face and a baton struck his arm. Pain shot up his arm and he howled. The rifle fell from twitching fingers and he ducked his head down as another blow struck, glancing off his shoulder and sending fresh agony through him.

  He rolled away and got to one knee.

  A Commissar loomed over him. She wore a dust-caked overcoat, the black of the fabric still visible beneath her arms. A lightning-bolt-shaped scar marred her from an ear down to a chin; one eye was dead and pale. Her features were mixed race and might’ve been pretty before she was maimed…and if she wasn’t looking at Cable like something she should scrape off her boot.

  Shannon. Her again.

  Cable’s arm jerked of its own accord, and he didn’t know how long the nerves would be shot. His weapon was out of reach, and he wasn’t going to beat her to it.

  “Hello, skull face, why do you make this so hard on yourself? You could live in peace.” Shannon twirled the shock baton in one hand while the other drew a pistol from a holster.

  “Maybe we just like killing you.” Cable dragged himself away from her with his good arm. “We’re not yours, tube baby; never will be.”

  “We already have what we want from you.” Shannon stepped toward him. “Surrender and we won’t have to do a lottery to make amends for the damage you’ve done. It takes ten souls to—”

  “For the Lady!” Kenny tackled Shannon and the women went down in a tangle. The Commissar’s gun went off several times and bullets smacked against the concrete next to Cable’s head.

  Kenny straddled Shannon and got a handful of her dark hair. She beat the Commissar’s skull against the floor, then stabbed her knife into Shannon’s heart.

  Shannon let out a “guh,” and her eyes went wide.

  Kenny wrenched the knife to Shannon’s ribcage, then pulled it free as bloody spots grew on the back of her dirty fatigues. She wavered for a moment, then slumped to one side.

  “Kenny?” Cable crawled to her. Her breathing was ragged. He pulled her goggles and mouth covering away. Blood trickled from her mouth and nose.

  “Color,” she rasped. “What color’s the blood on my stomach?”

  “It’s dark. Real dark.”

  “Then I’m as good as dead. Break me.” She struggled to swallow and coughed up blood. “My soul’s not for them.” She pressed her Pathfinder knife to his chest.

  “Lord, forgive me.” Cable pulled her scarf away to expose the gold-filigreed harness that covered the back and side of her neck. “I’m sending you home. Save me a place.”

  He jammed the knife into the harness and shattered the crystal matrix at the back.

  Kenny gasped and went lim
p. He slid the knife into his belt and scooped up his rifle as he went to the triangle-shaped cut in the back of a short hallway formed by offices and a bathroom. He ducked through and went out into the storm.

  She could’ve left him behind, he realized. She died as a true Pathfinder, ensuring that others might live. He stumbled through the storm, unsure what direction he was actually going. So long as he was putting distance between him and the hangar, he considered that progress.

  His nerve-damaged arm recovered after a few minutes, and he felt at his collarbone. The Big Boss promised a few more hours of the technical difficulties with the Commissar’s tracking software. Enough time to get clear and bed down someplace friendly.

  The mission was a failure, but killing a Shannon and some of her goons was still a blow to the occupation.

  A thrum rose in the storm and triangular running lights of a craft swooped over him. The ship continued on and Cable changed direction. He pushed on through the storm, his exposed skin rubbed raw. He choked on the finer dust that made it through his helmet’s filters, and breathing became harder and harder as more dust clogged them up.

  Shadows flashed in the wind-borne sand. He heard a throaty rumble, but the storm made it impossible for him to know where it was coming from. A beast came loping out of the storm, as tall as Cable at the shoulder. It hit him in the flank and Cable went to the ground with a grunt, his rifle still clenched in his hands.

  He got to one knee and swung the weapon from side to side, but there was no sign of what had hit him. An ache crept up his right forearm. Three claws had sliced through his sleeve and left hairline scratches down his skin.

  The icy tip of fear finally broke through the adrenaline coursing through his system. The precision of the wound was no accident; he was being toyed with, and he knew by what. The Geist had him…now they were just toying with him.

  He snapped his helmet to one side and pulled it off. The smell of the storm was like an old tomb. The winds died down, giving him a dozen yards of visibility.

  A figure approached, a dark shape that sauntered from the storm like he was born from it. He wore the Commissar’s black, but his face was a chrome mask with a mannequin’s features.