Stars Beneath My Feet

by D L Frizzell

  “Headquarters, sir. I’m getting instructions from the tower.” He pointed at a looming metallic sphere mounted to the very top of the structure.

  “You can talk to them from here?” I asked. “I mean, you’re talking to them…on a radio?”

  The pilot did a double take, then nodded slowly. His expression turned to alarm when he saw that Traore’s face had turn grey and sweaty. Grabbing a small paper bag from a compartment between the seats, he shoved it into Traore’s hands. “Throw up in this.”

  Traore seized the bag, but did not vomit into it. Instead, he clutched it like a security blanket and put his head down. The pilot twisted in his seat and looked warily at the sergeant, but finally turned his attention back to operating the flyer.

  The pilot guided the flyer through a partial lap around the tower before lining up on a pair of flashing white markers where other flyers crossed the tower’s threshold one at a time. He slowed to a hover and spoke into his radio again. He waited for a minute, and then proceeded forward once the flight path was clear.

  As we crested the sphere, we saw that the top part was hollowed out. A platform rested a couple floors below the upper edges, divided into dozens of painted circles, each labeled with numbers. Most of the circles were occupied by other flyers, while the perimeter of the landing area was filled with what looked like maintenance equipment.

  The pilot acknowledged instructions given to him over the radio, and then picked up some forward momentum. When he approached one of the circles, he angled the rotors back and slowed to a hover again. He decreased the throttle gently until we touched down on the concrete pad. Other officers in the vicinity covered their eyes from the downdraft until the engines had spun down.

  Major Kuznetsov jumped out and gestured for us to follow him toward a set of double doors at the far end of the landing area.

  I hopped out and looked upward, expecting to see evidence of the cavern ceiling. Amazingly, the sky still looked real in every direction. I did notice that the sun had moved several degrees in one direction, though. That was probably some kind of optical illusion. The sky really wasn’t overhead, so the sun couldn’t be, either.

  I tore my attention away from the sky when I heard Redland making a commotion behind us. It took me a second, but it dawned on me what happened. The officers that had been standing around the landing pad noticed his shackle. Each of them had a baton in one hand and a pistol – the same kind of laser pistol that Jarnum had stolen – in the other. Hathan-Fen, Norio, and Traore already had their hands up. Redland looked ready to throw punches, but Hathan-Fen hissed at him to take it easy. Before I knew it, our guns had been snatched from their holsters and we were being frog-marched into the facility.

  Major Kuznetsov shook his head. “My younger officers are too eager,” he lamented. It did not miss my attention that he failed to apologize, and further failed to return our weapons. We were directed into a maze of computer workstations, server racks, equipment stanchions, and other technological equipment I couldn’t identify. Multi-colored lights strobed on consoles. Police, all dressed in blue uniforms, typed at keyboards and touched their screens in practiced efficiency. Others walked through the expansive office with handheld tablets that looked like the touchscreens Mayford had used elsewhere. It was the picture of function and efficiency. I would have found it fascinating under other circumstances.

  “This way,” Kuznetsov said, pointing toward a glass-walled conference room where a dozen empty chairs awaited. “I will be in touch with you if I need advice.” Once he got us into the conference room and closed the door, he pressed a finger to a small object in his ear and hurried back outside.

  Redland tested the door. It rattled against the stops, refusing to open. “They locked us up!” he shouted.

  “Thanks for the news update,” Traore added.

  None of us took advantage of the chairs around the table, save for Redland, who hefted one as if deciding whether to throw it through the glass wall. It seemed to have little weight, so he grunted and dropped it back onto the carpet. Electronic-sounding voices spoke from circular meshes in the ceiling. They were throwing a lot of numerical codes back and forth, which hid their meaning, but the tone of their voices indicated stress.

  “I don’t know what they’re sayin’,” Redland said, “but those fellas are stressed out.” He then pointed through the glass at several officers having a heated discussion by a computer console.

  Between the numeric codes coming over the radio, a voice advised that units should be on the lookout for a suspect with a metal casing around his right forearm.

  “Dammit,” Redland muttered, pulling his sleeve down over his shackle. “One of these yahoos is gonna mistake me for Jarnum and shoot me.” In a whisper, he called me to his side. He checked the surrounding office area to see if anybody was watching us. He lifted one leg onto a chair and shielded it with his hand. He pulled up on his pantleg. Stuck in his boot was the pistol we’d taken from the guy named Charles back in the railway tunnel. Without taking the gun out of the boot, he said, “It’s small, but it should break the lock. I’m gonna need a distraction.”

  “No,” Hathan-Fen said, crowding in to see what he’d been hiding.

  “Using force will only put us in greater danger,” Norio said.

  “Seriously?” Redland said, lowering his pantleg. “Look at them out there. They’re not even paying attention to us. You think Kuznetsov is going to call us for advice? We’re under arrest here, folks. These locals think they’re going to take Jarnum down themselves, but they can’t.”

  “They may surprise you,” Norio said. “They seem to have a well-trained force.”

  “I think they could keep old ladies from shoplifting, maybe,” Redland scoffed. “I bet they could even track down a lost puppy, but these guys are thin-skinned. I can see it in their eyes!”

  Several red lights began flashing around the room. The meshes in the ceiling squawked a series of tones that prompted the remaining officers in the building to jump out of their chairs and run out to the landing area.

  “Need I say more?” Redland asked, a look of sheer distaste on his face. “Major Hathan-Fen, you’re the boss, so make a decision. Do we stay here, or break out and go after Jarnum ourselves?”

  “Now you want me to be in charge?” she asked, looking shocked.

  Redland did not reply. He didn’t have to. From the ceiling came reports indicating confusion, alarm, frustration. The roar of an explosion sounded over the speakers during one exchange, followed by a static hiss. Kuznetsov’s voice came next, asking for a status report. He did not receive a reply.

  “Get us out of here, Marshal,” the major ordered.

  Redland whipped the pistol out of his boot and fired twice into the door lock. It cracked open and the door swung free.

  “Our weapons are in that cabinet,” Traore said, pointing back to the double doors leading out to the landing platform. A simple nod from Hathan-Fen, and he was running over to break it open. When he got there, he turned around and shouted, “all the flyers are gone!”

  “They have elevators in the corridor,” Norio said. “We can take them to the ground floor.”

  We followed Norio to the elevators, pausing at the doors when Norio pressed a button on the wall. Traore caught up with us, and we had time to get our pistol belts on before the doors opened to an empty cabin. Hathan-Fen, Norio and Traore entered the elevator, but Redland’s eyes were elsewhere.

  “Hold on a sec,” Redland said, and ran back to a row of lockers at the other end of the office. He forced a few open before finding what he wanted. He crowed in triumph and pulled out a shotgun. A moment later, he found a few boxes of shells, and then frowned at them before rejoining us at the elevator. He tucked the pistol back into his boot and slid several shells into the shotgun’s magazine.

  “Non-lethal rounds?” I asked, noting their labels.

  “Anything’s lethal if you know where to aim,” Redland said grimly.

 
Once we were all inside the elevator, Norio pressed the button labeled L. Twin doors slid shut and the elevator dropped beneath us. I flinched a bit, as did the others. I’d never ridden an elevator before, and this seemed unnecessarily sudden. With no visual frame of reference, I had trouble guessing how fast we were descending and imagined we were nearly in free fall. Would the rapid stop at the bottom kill us, or just break our legs? I tried not to think about it. We all grasped the handrail mounted around the walls to brace ourselves. After what seemed like forever, I felt my weight increase dramatically. When our weight returned to normal, I figured we’d stopped. Still, I wasn’t absolutely sure until the doors slid open and I confirmed it visually.

  The doors revealed an expansive lobby with marble floors and wide, circular columns that looked reminiscent of ancient Greek temples on Earth. Outside, a lone officer stood by a four-seat aerovee with its blue and red lights flashing. He was directing scared citizens to keep moving, while talking frequently into his radio.

  “It appears the party has started,” Redland commented in a slow drawl.

  “Yeah,” I said, “and we need a ride to get there.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  We ran out of the building. It occurred to me I wasn’t sure which direction was north in Dolina. A look up at the sun didn’t help. It was a few more degrees off zenith than it had been earlier, but that didn’t help. Trying to ignore my disorientation from the elevator ride and the sun overhead, I tried to zero in on the problem. It only took a moment. A column of dark smoke billowed into the sky outside the city. Judging by the wave of police flyers converging on the area, I figured that’s where we’d be going.

  The others close on my heels, I ran toward the officer directing citizens to return to their homes. The young man had no rank insignia on his collar and looked almost as scared as the people did. Definitely a rookie.

  “Officer,” I said. “We need your assistance.”

  The officer stared at us, not sure what to make of me and my comrades. When he put a hand on his sidearm, I thought we might have trouble.

  Before the officer could get the holster opened, I continued. “We have information for Major Kuznetsov.”

  The officer hesitated. “Major Kuznetsov?”

  “How many majors do you know, sonny?” Redland growled.

  I held my hand up to stop Redland. Checking the name on the officer’s badge, I addressed him carefully. “Officer Habersham, you were assigned here to help these people?” I indicated the crowds pushing to get past.

  “Yes,” he replied. “You need to seek shelter as well, sir. Public safety personnel are handling the matter.”

  “That’s what we are,” I said.

  “You’re both lawmen?” Habersham stammered and finally noticed our badges.

  “That’s right, son,” Redland chimed in with a stifled hint of irritation. “We are bona fide law enforcement professionals, so why don’t you step aside.”

  “What my colleague is saying,” I said, throwing Redland an angry glare, “is that we have critical information for the Major and need to get it to him ASAP.”

  “I’d be happy to pass on any information you have,” Habersham said.

  “Son, I ain’t gonna take the time to explain it to you,” Redland shook his head.

  “Hang on a sec, Marshal,” I said. Habersham was about as green as a guy could be. Maybe I could use that to our advantage. “I don’t think officer Habersham is cleared to know the situation.”

  “Cleared for what?” Habersham asked.

  “You’re right, Marshal,” Redland said. His face was serious, but I caught a twinkle in his eye. “I don’t think this youngster can help.”

  “I’m just a volunteer,” Habersham apologized. “Only been through about half the training.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Keep doing what you’re doing, and we’ll take care of the problem. All we need from you is to inform the Major that we’re on our way.”

  “The airfield is pretty far away,” Habersham said, nodding toward the column of smoke.

  “Good point,” I replied. “We’ll bring your flyer back when we’re finished.”

  “I can’t let you take my vehicle, sir!” Habersham complained. “I signed for it!”

  “Hold it!” an authoritative voice called from behind us. We turned to see who it was.

  Four officers, each with shotguns at the ready, ran to us from a flyer that had just landed nearby.

  Habersham came to attention and addressed the one with a pair of silver pips on his lapel. “Lieutenant, these men were…”

  “That’s okay, Habersham,” the lieutenant interrupted. “We’ll take it from here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Redland grumbled something under his breath. He casually moved his right arm behind his back and turned to the lieutenant with the most charming smile I’ve ever seen. “Glad you made it, gentlemen,” he said, inching behind me for cover. “We thought you forgot about us.”

  The lieutenant introduced himself as Perkins, and then told the three other officers with him to take charge of crowd control. He then told Redland and me to board the flyer. “I can take one more if you like,” he said, “but the Major wants you on the scene yesterday.”

  “Norio and I will help direct people to safety,” Hathan-Fen said. “Sergeant Traore, you go with the marshals and kick some ass.”

  Traore saluted and climbed into the flyer behind me.

  Perkins took the pilot’s seat and donned a helmet. As the rotors spun up, he took three touchscreen gadgets out of a pouch and handed them to us. “These will be your tablets while you are here. I understand you haven’t used technology like this before, but they might still be helpful.” He then gave us each small blobs of plastic, pointed to a similar device in his right ear and said, “Use these receivers. You’ll be able to listen in on radio comms by tapping here.” He turned his tablet sideways and showed a line of buttons down one side. “You can zoom in or out to find any location in the city.”

  “Can’t you just give me a map?” Redland asked.

  Perkins held up his tablet. “This is your map.” He held it up and demonstrated how the buttons on the screen worked, scrolling through the menus and tapping some. Grids, buildings, and topography appeared in green lines.

  “The arrow points north. You are the white dot in the middle,” the lieutenant said. “Officers are blue, suspects are red.” He gave us a wary look. “Citizens are yellow. Don’t shoot them. Now we need to go. I’ll explain a few more things on the way.”

  We no sooner had our buckles locked than the flyer shot straight up into the sky. Traore grabbed the bar in front of him. His look of grim determination failed to mask his queasiness. I met his eyes and gave him a questioning look. He nodded back weakly.

  Perkins gave a quick tutorial on the handheld consoles as we flew toward the column of smoke. By the time we started our descent, Redland had shoved his tablet into the compartment between the seats. “The kid can work the gizmo,” he said, pointing to me with his wooden thumb.

  “I understand you are familiar with the suspect we’re currently chasing,” Perkins said.

  “Yes,” I replied, not going into detail.

  “We believe he has one, possibly two weapons in his possession,” Perkins said. “Currently he’s holed up in a hangar at the airfield.” He pointed to a corrugated aluminum building in the distance where smoke streamed out of the doors at one end. A row of winged flyers sat on a wide concrete strip adjacent to the building. One of them had been damaged, apparently by gunfire. Police officers knelt behind barricades that formed a perimeter around the building.

  “He has some kind of leverage,” Redland said, “or you’d have stormed the building by now.”

  “He does,” Perkins said.

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “Tap your earpiece,” he said. “Once to turn it on, again to turn it off.”

  Redland, Traore and I did as instructed. Our ea
rs were immediately filled with the sound of people talking back and forth, using code signals and generally making no sense. Redland and I turned ours off, but Traore kept his running.

  “Just point us in the right direction,” I said. “That’ll be enough.”

  Perkins circled the hangar at a safe distance looking for a spot to land. “Not that the console map tells you anything new, but you can see the circle of blue dots around the building, and the red dot inside. There are also two blue dots inside the building,” he said angrily. “You may notice that they are not moving.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “I’ll drop you off here,” Perkins said. “I’ve been assigned to fly cover for the breaching operation, so I’ll dust off as soon as you’re away.” As he was coming in a bit hot, he bounced and skidded briefly on the tarmac a hundred meters from the barricades. Once we jumped out, he waved us closer to say something else. “I saw what you did to your holding cell up in HQ. Not that you did yourselves any favors by breaking the lock, but I figure it shows initiative and some skill. Help us out here, okay?”

  Redland and I both nodded as he took to the sky.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  We ran toward the barricades, where maybe a hundred officers surrounded the hangar. A quick check of the tablet’s summary screen showed ninety-two in all, counting those inside. Some of the dots were blinking, so I tapped on them. Instead of a flood of voices all at once, I heard just the voice for the officer I’d selected. I pointed that out to Traore. He nodded, apparently having figured that out already.

  “Target is located inside the hangar by the shelving units,” the voice squawked.

  I tapped a blinking dot at the bottom of the touchscreen.

  “Logical Predictors indicate ninety-one percent certainty,” a mechanical voice said. “Standby for Alpha Team Insertion.” I relayed this information to Redland.

  “We can’t let these jokers shoot him,” Redland said.

  “Right, that’s our job,” Traore agreed.