Stars Beneath My Feet

by D L Frizzell

  That’s what Jarnum was doing, I thought. It had to be. I imagined what would happen if Dolina’s vortex drive were fully powered inside Arion’s crust. At a minimum it would alter the planet’s center of gravity. At worst…

  My heart sank. Rather than explain the physics to Redland and Traore, I summed it up. “Jarnum’s going to destroy the planet.”

  Redland, completely unfazed, said, “Well, we better stop the sorry sonofabitch then, shouldn’t we?”

  I refocused my attention on the city below me. We were approaching the main skyscraper. I pulled back on the controls and angled the front of the vehicle up. Our speed dropped sharply to zero, and then I leveled out and set it to auto-hover again. We had lost altitude in the maneuver and now floated a few hundred meters above the ground.

  “I’m never doing this again,” Traore said, his face pale and sweaty. Redland looked almost as bad now.

  I held the tablet between Redland and myself and looked at all the dots. There were lots of blue and red arrows pointing off the edge of the screen, presumably indicating dots that were far away, but we were the only dots at the center of town. I thought about how Jarnum operated.

  “If you were going to misdirect all the lawmen in the area,” I asked Redland, “what would you do?”

  “First of all,” he said, “I wouldn’t wear a red dot on my ass to advertise my location.”

  “Exactly,” I agreed. “Why would he even wear a blue dot? Why not turn off all the dots completely?”

  “He would still want to know where we are, though, right?” Traore said.

  I stared at my table for a long second, realization trickling in at first, then hitting me in a flood. “Shit!” I said. and smashed my tablet against the dashboard.

  “Kid, you better hope he didn’t notice us,” Redland said.

  I growled in frustration. Redland was right. If Jarnum was at the center of Dolina, where the vortex drive must be, then he likely saw our dots on his screen. I pulled Redland’s console out of the compartment next to me and smashed that, too. Traore got the idea and snapped his like a wooden shingle.

  I dropped the throttle to almost zero and the flyer dropped out of the sky like a stone. Traore screamed bloody murder. I knew the vehicle’s capabilities by then and flared the throttle at the last moment to put us on the ground with barely a thud.

  We all jumped out, guns at the ready. The vehicle’s rotors spun to an idle as we looked around for Jarnum. No sign of him. We stood on a spacious, manicured lawn that stretched for hundreds of meters in every direction, save for the dome at the base of the skyscraper. Constructed from marble like many other structures in the area, the dome was exactly what I would have expected for a vortex drive enclosure. The trouble was that there were no visible entrances. Without the aid of our electronic maps, we’d have to find our own way in.

  “There,” said Traore, pointing at a depression at the base of the dome. Sure enough, there were steps leading down into a recessed stairwell. The air on the back of my neck stood on end - there were no guards at the stairs. Maybe they didn’t have guards as a rule, but I would’ve felt a lot better if there had been some. We ran toward the depression at a dead run.

  It was worse than I feared. There was no sign that guards had ever been posted, but I doubted the town engineers would leave the door open for people to wander in freely. Racing to the bottom of the stairwell, we entered through the half-open door.

  Once inside, we found ourselves in a well-lit corridor. There were a lot of pipes in the underground corridor. Some of them carried electricity, some carried water, all of them were huge. Signs warned against unauthorized entry at every corner, and active computer terminals showed more technical information than I’d ever seen in my life. We stopped at one of the terminals to learn as much as we could about the place before continuing further. I figured out how to bring up a menu on the screen, and tapped through several directories, speed reading as I went.

  “None of this makes sense,” Redland said.

  “Same,” Traore said.

  “I got this,” I said. Maybe it was my schooling, or maybe the fact that my favorite hide-out used to be one of the Founders’ spaceships, albeit decrepit and dusty, or maybe it was simply because I was half T’Neth that I was able to absorb so much of what I saw.

  I paused. Yes, I remembered. I am half T’Neth.

  “What’s wrong?” Redland said.

  “Nothing,” I replied, and started scanning the computer screen again.

  A minute later, I found what I needed. The central cores, the computer systems that managed the vortex field, were several levels below us in a protected area. Without the appropriate biometric security, I couldn’t affect any changes from our location. Everything would have to be done at the core. The trouble was, it was nestled between the reactor’s fuel pods, massive tanks of liquid hydrogen and oxygen.

  “Careful what you shoot at,” I told the other two.

  “Why?” Traore asked.

  “Imagine a huge fireball that turns us into little piles of ash.”

  “Okay. Got it. Completely understood. Say no more.” Traore smiled queasily.

  “I’d bet a year’s wages that Jarnum’s still got that laser pistol,” Redland said. “Think he’ll be careful about what he shoots at?”

  “Actually, yes,” I said. “He wants the vortex drive operational, otherwise his plan will fail. Have your guns ready but keep your fingers off the triggers.”

  Traore shook his head. “I lost my pistol during one of your aerial maneuvers.”

  Redland noticed a tool locker and opened it. He gave a wicked smile and pulled out a crowbar. He handed his pistol to Traore. “You’re a pretty good shot, right?”

  “Yes, I am,” Traore said, and checked the cylinder. “Four shots left.”

  “I’ll find the computer that controls the vortex drive and lock it down,” I said. “You guys are my body guards.”

  “Are those voices in your head telling you what to do?” Redland asked.

  I looked over at him, thinking it wasn’t the time to make jokes. When he tapped near his ear, I realized he meant the officers chasing down the red dots. “They went silent after we destroyed the consoles,” I said. I pulled it out of my ear and tossed it under the nearest set of pipes.

  “Looks like we’re on our own, then,” Redland said with a grim smile. “No competition.”

  I took another look at the computer screen, committed it to memory, and then took off at a run down the maze of corridors that would lead us to the planet-killing vortex drive.

  It took several minutes to wind our way down stairs, hallways, and access tunnels to our destination. Assuming that Jarnum knew we were coming for him, and knowing how smart he was, I took a more circuitous route.

  My route not only allowed us to circle around Jarnum, but positioned us so that, in case a confrontation was unavoidable, we could shoot at him without igniting the fuel tanks. Hopefully.

  The last part of the route was cramped. We moved on all fours in a maintenance tube between rows of hydrogen conduits. The temperature there wasn’t as low as the Colderlands, but still made my fingers go numb. The conduits produced enough frozen mist to hide our movements, though, which was a plus.

  We entered the main chamber about ten meters above the computer cores. Due to the open architecture, we could see most of the computer stations. The internal design of the vortex reactor was completely industrial, with metal catwalks and stairs, pipes leading everywhere and the sound of massive pumps moving water into the facility for both fuel and cooling purposes. The chamber was circular, with the computer cores being situated within a three-story glass and steel enclosure at the center. Inside were rings of giant cabinets covered with lights and displays. On the top floor, situated inside the ring of computer cabinets, there was a large console packed with buttons and levers. A chair had been pulled away from the console. It was unoccupied, but there was a cold-weather jacket draped over the back. I looke
d closer and saw a handle protruding from one of the pockets. It looked very much like the grip of a laser pistol. I then caught a glimpse of movement, with the reflective shine of titanium between two cabinets.

  “This is the place,” I whispered.

  I pointed to the hydrogen tanks on either side of us. “See these?” I said. “Under no circumstances can you shoot these. If either of you have to shoot, and that’s a big if, shoot only in that direction.” I pointed to the far side of the computer core, where elevators and giant pumps spanned a large cross-section of bullet-tolerant impact zones.

  Traore groaned. “That computer desk is too far away for an accurate pistol shot.”

  “Cover us as best you can,” I told Traore. “Jarnum doesn’t know how many of us there are, or what weapons we have, so you may just need to provide suppressive fire. That should give us time to get in close for some good old-fashioned hand-to-hand combat.”

  Redland gave his crowbar a test swing. “I can’t wait,” he grinned.

  “Got it,” Traore said, and slid into concealment beneath a stream of mist.

  Redland and I moved around the perimeter to a stairwell that led down to the level where the mainframe sat. There were three gantries connecting the walkways to the cores, and we moved to one that could not be seen from the entrance into the computer ring. We both sneaked across, crouching low and stepping lightly.

  We stopped at the edge of the computer ring and listened. All I heard was the noise of a hundred fans running inside the cabinets, so I pointed to my ears and shook my head. Redland raised his crowbar and made a chop-chop motion with it. It seemed light in his hand, but I knew he would break bones with every swing. I nodded.

  He smiled again and moved around toward the opening. When he was ready, he gave me a thumbs-up with his wooden prosthesis and rushed the computer console, his crowbar already primed for a swing.

  I heard a sickening crack. Redland flew backwards out of the ring, flipped over the railing, and fell onto the gantry on the next floor down. He did not move after that. The crowbar flew much farther, rattling loudly when it hit the concrete floor several stories below.

  I mouthed a silent curse and looked up to where Traore should be keeping watch. All I could see was mist coming from the pipes at his location.

  I reached down to unclip my holster.

  “Don’t,” a voice behind me said.

  I raised my hands and turned around slowly. Before me stood a sinewy man about my age dressed in a Dolinian police uniform. He had slicked-back hair with a couple days’ worth of stubble, a few memorable scars and an icy stare from black irises that were so wide I couldn’t see the whites around them. In his left hand, he held a kind of pistol, not the laser pistol I’d seen in the jacket’s pocket, but a larger, more menacing device with four prongs sticking out the front. Completely encasing his right forearm from the elbow down was a shackle engraved with the number 5187.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  “Hello, Oliver,” I said.

  “Marshal Vonn,” he said, his voice sounding less intimidating than his appearance would suggest. “It is good to finally meet you.”

  “Likewise,” I said. “I’d almost given up, but here we are.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Here we are.” He motioned toward my gun belt. “Take it off. Drop it over the edge.”

  I unlatched the buckle with my left hand, careful not to make any sudden moves. After dropping the belt over the edge, I stood without moving a muscle. We stared at each other for a long moment. He was sizing me up.

  “You think your soldier friend between the hydrogen tanks is going to shoot me,” he said with a cold smile.

  I tried to look confused.

  “You’ve never heard of security cameras, have you Alex?”

  I hadn’t, but it suggested that Traore wasn’t coming to my rescue. That meant I was on my own. I stared at Jarnum, piecing together what little I knew about him. It was damn little, unfortunately. But there was something I learned at that moment; Jarnum was the kind of guy who wanted to tell his story. Otherwise I’d be dead already. Well, I decided, I’m not the sociable type, but I’d make an exception for Jarnum. With luck, he’d reveal a weakness, and maybe I could capitalize on it.

  “Your soldier friend might still be alive,” Jarnum continued, “although dead might be better. A stream of liquid hydrogen to a person’s face can be rather limiting to their career.”

  I imagined Sergeant Traore, his visage blue and rigid. The hydrogen would evaporate quickly, but the vacant expression of shock may be permanent. I put the gruesome thought out of my mind, concerned more with the bigger picture. “Hydrogen, eh?” I asked. “Very explosive in gaseous form, which it probably is by now.”

  “You’re unflappable,” Jarnum smiled, “not to mention clever! That probably explains why you didn’t fall into that trap I left for you at Avaria. I didn’t have time to wait and see what happened, but now I’m glad you made it here.”

  “You did set that trap, didn’t you?” I asked, allowing a bit of admiration to seep into my voice.

  “Oh, I was there,” Jarnum smiled, this time gleefully. “I was really just toying with you. I could have sniped you at any time on that stony ridge, but I wanted to see if that clefang would get you first.”

  “This is a game to you?” I asked.

  His expression went from friendly to deranged in a split second. He shifted his stance, seeming like he wanted to knock me over the railing like Redland, but restraint got the better of him. He put the happy face back on as quickly as he’d taken it off. “I could shoot you right now,” he noted, waving the pistol a bit for emphasis.

  “Don’t you want to tell me something, though?” I said. I could tell in his eyes that he did.

  “The destruction of Arion will be spectacular,” he admitted, “but you should know it wasn’t part of my original mission.”

  “Killers don’t have missions,” I said. “Soldiers do.”

  “You’re probing for information. I like that!” Jarnum shook his head with a devious grin. “No, I’ve never been a soldier. I’m a scientist. An explorer. A man devoted to improving mankind.” His smile faded, replaced by a haunted expression. “Until thirty-two years ago.”

  “Thirty-two years?” I said.

  “You don’t think I could be that old?” he sneered. “You don’t think I could have a lifetime’s worth of pain inside me? Two lifetimes, even?”

  Up to that point, I’d thought Jarnum was a sociopath, a cold-blooded killer. That made him somewhat predictable. Now it looked like he was crazy, too. Predictability just went out the window.

  Jarnum let his pent-up hate build, and it showed in the bulging veins on his forehead. I really hoped his need to rant still trumped his murderous instincts. Pacing back and forth with nervous energy, a powder keg ready to blow, he kept the gun trained on me at all times. He was teetering on the edge of a full-blown psychotic episode, but still under control at the moment.

  A thought occurred to me. If he shot me with that weird gun he was holding, it may very well set off the hydrogen in a massive explosion that would kill us both. Not an ideal solution, but one that might prevent the reactor from reaching full power. Maybe a little more application of my special talent for irritating people would send him over the edge. “You hate the T’Neth, don’t you?” I asked.

  He laughed bitterly. “I didn’t come to Dolina for the borscht, Marshal.”

  “I know where you can find a T’Neth,” I said. “He’s close, in fact. Real close.”

  Jarnum twitched and took a step back. He jerked his head in several directions, eyes scanning methodically. His eyes narrowed as they turned back on me. “Where is he?” he seethed.

  “You’re looking at him,” I announced. “I’m T’Neth.”

  Jarnum’s expression went blank for a second as he absorbed the information. Then he laughed, seeming truly amused. “I understand you want to push my buttons, marshal. Get me to lose my temper and shoo
t you. I respect that you’re willing to sacrifice yourself. I really do, but…you’re going to need a story that’s a little more believable than that.”

  I shrugged.

  Jarnum looked at his left hand and felt a gold ring on his third finger. His anger cracked for the briefest moment, replaced by sorrow. “You ever love somebody enough to die for them, marshal?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “You do!” he screamed. “You love that little T’Neth bitch with the stupid goggles!” he came toward me like he was going to stab me with the pistol, but drew back at the last second and cackled. Shifting from one foot to another, he shook his head. “You do love her. That’s why I want you to see how I’m going to kill her and every other T’Neth monster on this planet.”

  I realized that my talent for sending people off the deep end was extraneous in Jarnum’s case. He’d past that point a long time ago. “You’re not going to shoot me like you shot Redland?” I asked.

  “Him?” Jarnum laughed, pointing at the railing. “I didn’t shoot him, but it would be no less than he deserved for locking me up. No, I knew there was hydrogen gas in the air, like you said. I released it to prevent unwanted gunplay. Can you smell it?”

  “Hydrogen is odorless,” I said. “What did you do to Redland?”

  Jarnum blinked his black eyes and smiled. “I kicked him.”

  “Kicked him?” I said. Jarnum didn’t look strong enough to overpower Redland, a man much larger than he, with a single kick. Then again, crazy people can do extreme things.

  “Didn’t you hear his ribs break?” Jarnum laughed. He paused, and then smiled. “I think his back might have broken when he landed. That would be cheery, wouldn’t it? You two don’t get along, so you should thank me for that.”

  Maybe less talk would be better in this situation, but one more attempt to rile him up couldn’t hurt either. “Fuck you, Oliver.”