Fire Fight

by Chris Ward

  ‘Get to ground, get to ground; storm imminent, storm imminent,’ it repeated in multiple off-world languages.

  Empty streets and closed doors confronted Lia at every turn. Avar appeared deserted, but even if the virus had decimated the local population, the off-world traders always found in spaceports would still be here somewhere. They might be below ground, but there would be frequent entrances into the tunnels—unless, of course, they were sealed to prevent the spread of the virus.

  Lia’s hair crackled. She reached up and found it standing on end as though caught by static, a sign that the air was filled with electricity and that a storm was coming. She had minutes left at best before fire engulfed the city.

  High above, the network of sprinklers designed to reduce the firestorm’s damage and extinguish any lingering fires as quickly as possible had turned on. Fine mist rained down on Lia’s face, but it was scant comfort. The firestorm would blast through everything, instantly evaporating the water, and her with it.

  ‘Help,’ she muttered under her breath, turning into yet another empty street. ‘Help me. Is anyone home?’

  The sky was turning orange. Sparks of electricity jumped from cloud to cloud, and plumes of flame rose out of nowhere to dance with each other. In no more than a couple of minutes, the entire sky would ignite and then rage until it burned itself out.

  ‘Where’s the way in?’ she shouted to herself, running hard now, searching for an entrance to the underground tunnels where the off-worlders would be. Yet, nothing. The city seemed in total lockdown.

  The sky rumbled. Lia glanced up, and her foot caught on a rock. She sprawled forward, face striking the ground, jarring her jaw. She sat up, rubbing her chin, as a plume of flame that had to be hundreds of metres long rushed across the sky like a flaming sword. She had moments left.

  ‘Help me!’ she screamed, cupping her hands around her mouth. ‘Help—’

  Strong hands grabbed her shoulders and dragged her backward. Lia fell, striking her head again, but then became aware of a softer floor beneath her, and the sky disappearing, replaced by the steel-infused rock walls of a building. A boom like a thousand storms colliding abruptly cut off as a door slammed, and Lia looked up into the grinning, sun-aged face of an old Abaloni.

  ‘You left it a little late, didn’t you?’ he said in a slow, calm voice, as the building shuddered and shook with the beginning of a vicious storm.

  ‘Who are you?’ Lia said, pushing the man’s hands away and sitting up. She pushed her back against the wall and could already feel a growing heat through rock and steel that was at least a metre thick.

  ‘I think I’m owed the introduction first,’ the man said. His eyes were a sandy brown, his smile lazy, almost tired. ‘After all, you’re the one breaking quarantine, and I’m the one who saved you from the barbeque that’s just kicked off outside.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Lia still refused the man a smile. ‘I thought the quarantine concerned leaving the city?’

  The man sighed, as though speaking was an unbearable chore. ‘It’s now been extended to all public spaces except those designated by Governor Tianne. Which means his meetings, and nowhere else. Something’s got into the water, so to speak. I don’t suppose you know anything about that? Having appeared out of nowhere, I’m thinking there are a few more skeletons in your closet than there are in mine.’

  ‘If you’re so worried about me, why did you pull me off the street?’

  The man frowned. ‘Why wouldn’t I? You were going to get hurt if you stayed out there.’

  Lia nodded. ‘Well, thanks.’

  The man smiled again. Lia remembered what she had been told about the Abalonis, that they were a laidback, peaceful people. Growing up in a land blighted by spontaneous fire from the sky tended to burn any youthful anger out of them. They lived simple, honest lives of mining and trading, continuing their ancient traditions with diligent satisfaction.

  And now someone had thrown a bomb into their midst.

  ‘My name is Lia Jansen,’ she said, eyes studying the man, who was probably older than anyone she had ever met besides Bennett. The age lines around his eyes looked like the fissures along a rock face, carved over centuries rather than years, slowly chiseled out by the relentless pummeling of life.

  ‘You can call me Ed Firthane,’ the Abaloni said. ‘Just Ed works best. I don’t need any more address than that.’

  ‘You’re a miner?’

  Ed grinned again. ‘I prefer “mineral excavator”. It has a more dramatic ring for something I’ve been doing likely since before whatever ship you came in on was built. It’s a simple life, but a good one. And yourself?’

  ‘I used to be Galactic Military Police,’ Lia said. ‘Now I’m a nobody looking for a somebody—a somebody called Raylan Climlee.’

  Ed’s smile dropped, and for the first time he looked uncomfortable. ‘The warlord who runs the mining operations on some of the moons? What could you possibly want with him?’

  ‘I want his heart on a plate,’ Lia said. ‘I want to ensure personally that it’s tossed into the trash and destroyed.’

  ‘You hold a true hatred. While rarely spoken aloud, many among us feel the same. Our land is protected while we work it, but it’s common knowledge that he wants to drill for trioxyglobin. Is there any particular reason for your own prejudice?’

  ‘He is a murderer. He is the man behind this situation.’

  ‘And you can prove that?’

  ‘I’ll prove it when he’s dead.’

  ‘Isn’t that a little late for a man to defend himself?’

  ‘He’s no man. He’s a monster, happy to see everyone on this planet die. Do you know where I might find him?’

  Ed gave a slow nod. At first Lia thought it was an answer to her question, then she realised the Abaloni was still processing earlier information, like a transmission line with a delayed response.

  ‘The off-worlders are gathered around Avar City Plaza. A limited number are allowed to leave.’

  Lia stared. ‘Why? They can’t be allowed.’

  ‘They are unaffected by the disease that is spreading through us, therefore it doesn’t seem fair to have them ruled by our quarantine.’

  ‘It’s not a disease, it’s a computer virus.’

  ‘You know rather a lot about it.’

  Lia looked down. ‘It was once in my possession. Had I known its true nature, I would have destroyed it.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  Ed gave her another slow nod, and she felt the weight of his judgment bearing down on her. Would she really have destroyed it? After all, it hadn’t mattered when she thought it was to fight a war.

  ‘I can present you to the governor if you have information to pass on.’

  Lia started to agree, then changed her mind. Something was wrong. Raylan Climlee’s virus had failed, the quarantine containing it.

  ‘Do you know when or how the off-worlders will leave?’

  Ed shook his head. ‘I do not. But there is an over-land transport station a short distance from Avar City Plaza.’

  ‘Can you take me there?’

  ‘Not until the storm abates and the sprinklers have finished their cooling work.’

  ‘Isn’t there an underground way?’

  Ed gave her a pained look. ‘There is, but I told you, we’re under quarantine.’

  ‘Can’t you just show me?’

  ‘Each home has a maintenance hatch. If I show you, I’m responsible for anything you might do.’

  Lia took a deep breath. ‘What if I held a blaster to your head? Would that make a difference?’

  Ed cocked his head. ‘But you’re not.’

  Lia pulled her blaster from her belt. ‘I am now. Come on, which way?’

  Ed frowned. ‘Is this for real?’

  ‘It’s nothing personal, Ed. I can’t thank you enough for helping me, but I need to get to that transport station. It’s worth more than your life.’

  Ed looked down. ‘Very well. Follow me.’


  He led her through the house to a large steel door with a wheel opener like an airlock. ‘Through here. After you go, I will seal this door. There is no way back. At the bottom of the ladder, turn right and follow the passage. You’ll see the signs near Avar City Plaza.’

  Lia nodded as Ed opened the heavy door and pulled it back for her to climb onto the top of a metal ladder descending a thin tube. ‘Thank you, Ed.’

  The Abaloni didn’t return her smile. ‘I wish you the best,’ he said, then pushed the door closed, enclosing her in the shaft.

  The darkness was terrifying, but almost immediately luminous strip-lights flickered into life to illuminate the shaft. The ladder descended for about fifty steps before exiting on a steel-walled tunnel just tall enough for a person to pass without stooping. Lia followed it in the direction Ed had told her, passing other ladders climbing into other shafts on the way. From time to time she reached other larger entrances, for businesses and public buildings, and once in a while it intersected with another tunnel running across-ways. The whole city, it seemed, was connected by a network of escape tunnels.

  After jogging for about twenty minutes, she came to a wide door which announced itself the entrance to the trading tunnels. A tiny window looked through onto a set of stairs leading down to one of the far larger, rougher tunnels she had travelled through on the old bulldozer. As she tried the door, though, a screen flashed on, asking for a code.

  She glanced back over her shoulder, wondering whether Ed had known about this, whether he had let her down into the tunnels, knowing she would find no way through, leaving her trapped to eventually starve to death, or whether it had been so long since he himself had used them—if ever—that he had simply forgotten. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, but it didn’t matter. She was still trapped.

  She took a few steps back, drew her blaster, and fired at the lock. The blast was impossibly loud in the confined space of the tunnel, but, despite a few scorch marks, the door didn’t move.

  Lia grimaced. She clenched her fists with frustration, and felt a little bump under her palm.

  The palm grenades.

  She picked one out from beneath the synthetic flap of skin, wincing as it pressed against the gash the last one had made. Then, stepping back again, she threw it at the door.

  The boom knocked her from her feet, but when she looked up, the door hung ajar. Aware that anyone for hundreds of metres around would have heard the explosion’s echo, she pulled her blaster, crept through the cloud of dust, through the door, and down the stairs to the main subterranean part of the city.

  The quarantine appeared in place here too, with the buildings built against the huge tunnel’s walls locked up and silent. Spotlights illuminated the tunnel curving away out of sight in both directions, while signs with alternating neon displays directed her down side tunnels to different parts of the city.

  A sign for Avar City Plaza pointed straight ahead. Lia broke into a run, quickly covering her body in sweat as heat from the firestorm overhead permeated down through the rock.

  The tunnel ended at a wide set of stairs, with a spiraling roadway beside it for vehicles. Lia ran up, and found herself blinking in the light of day as she exited above ground in Avar City Plaza.

  The storm had gone, but the air was still filled with the crackle of latent electricity, and the ground was hot and scorched from the fire. On one side of the plaza stood a squat stone building she knew as the city hall, while all around, businesses were opening up their hatches to resume their daily activities. Lia looked for the surface transport station, and found a long, low building appearing behind the nearest line of businesses. She ran toward it, coming around a corner to find it in front of her, just as a huge steel door slid open and a boxy space shuttle lumbered out, its thrusters shaky as it rose up into the air, then took off across the city in the direction of Boxar.

  Clumsy and slow, with its sandy brown color making it resemble a flying cardboard box, its outward harmlessness defied the menace it carried.

  19

  RAYLAN

  It was best, sometimes, to stay out of the way and let things take their course. With off-worlder shuttles allowed to leave, providing they remained out of the city for a determined length of time before returning, Raylan left the oppressive stone walls of Avar and returned to his moonbase, from where he could monitor the disease’s progress while being out of the line of fire should something else go wrong. Already, even with the virus’s limited success, available land prices had dropped significantly, and Raylan instructed his advisors to begin preliminary inquiries.

  In the meantime, with Fardo Galad and a couple of others waiting to board a transport with the virus secreted away, it was only a matter of hours before the action began again.

  So far, the Abalonis appeared to have no clue of how the virus was spreading. Raylan had instructed plants to contact both the local government and the local news agencies to claim that everything from groundwater sources to imported food was contaminated, trying to imply that the virus was organic rather than electrical.

  They would catch on eventually, but by then the whole planet would be infected, and the Abalonis would be reverse-unhatching in their hundreds of thousands.

  He rubbed his little hands together with glee, then returned to his bed chamber where Lady Julienne was waiting. He let her pleasure him for a while, and when she was done he took a nap, falling asleep while she massaged his tight muscles and whispered words of love into his gnarly ears.

  An alarmed cry woke him from a welcome slumber, and he sat up, groggily rubbing his head, a scowl half-formed as he turned to the door, imaginary blood already on his fingers.

  ‘What? What is it? Can’t this wait?’

  ‘My Lord,’ said a nervous guard, ‘there’s a … situation down on Abalon 3. You might want to view this for yourself.’

  Raylan dismissed the guard before he could memorise the man’s name or face and have him killed out of sheer spite, as the man had been doing his job after all. Pulling on some robes, Raylan snapped and snarled like an injured dog at no one in particular as he walked the short distance to the base’s main command centre.

  A group of his advisors huddled around a monitor screen showing a rendered map of Abalon 3’s surface. They looked up at his approach, their faces split between fear at his arrival and fear at his imminent response to the situation.

  ‘What?’ he snapped. ‘I don’t like being woken up. What is it?’

  ‘The transport,’ one advisor said. ‘It’s under attack.’

  ‘What?’ Raylan said again.

  The advisor indicated a flashing cursor on the screen. ‘That’s the transport. It’s midway across the desert between Avar and Boxar, due to arrive in two hours. This’—he pointed to another flashing dot—‘is something else. We don’t know what, but it’s moving quickly and following the transport’s exact course. All indications are that it means to attack.’

  Images of disaster and failed dreams flashed in Raylan’s mind. He remembered tall kids in school holding him up by his legs and taunting him while other boys hit him with sticks. Of course, he had since hunted them all down and subjected them to exquisite levels of torture, but the shame followed him everywhere.

  ‘Alert my space station and ready a squadron of fighters,’ he said. ‘I want that ship destroyed. Set up a viewing screen so that I might take visual command of the operation.’

  ‘At once, Lord.’

  Raylan rocked from foot to foot as the advisors and guards got to work. When he let out a sudden scream of anger, the only person who didn’t jump or gasp with fright was himself. He only saw another failure approaching, and he was done with failures. It was time for people to kneel, and kneel well.

  20

  LIA

  The quarantine had worked while it had remained established, but the clumsy, trusting Abalonis were about to sign their own death certificates. Of course, they had searched each passenger on the first of
f-worlder transport to Boxar, but Raylan Climlee was not a warlord without good reason; the chip containing the virus would be hidden where no search would ever find it. And then, when the transport reached Boxar, devastation would spread once more through the streets.

  As she ran into the transportation hangar, she passed several lumps of ash that were Abalonis who had died in the latest firestorm. Too many had died already, and within days the body count could number hundreds of thousands. She alone could stop it from happening, but time was nearly up and she had no plan.

  The transportation hangar hummed with people. Lines of off-worlders jostled and argued as they waited to be searched and scanned before joining the queue for the next transport to lumber out of its dock.

  Lia, feeling a mixture of cockiness and desperation, headed for a bay near the hangar’s front where guards sat waiting on small hover-bikes to guide the transport to the doors. She was within a few paces when one hailed her, stepping off his bike to approach, reaching for a blaster on his belt as he came.

  ‘No!’ Lia shouted, pulling her own blaster, but the guard fired off a shot that caught her shoulder a glancing blow. Pain lanced through her, knocking her off balance, and Lia returned fire, aiming at the ground by the guard’s feet, not wanting to hurt him.

  The Abaloni gasped, and with the clinking of metal parts, began to unhatch. After a couple of motions, something horrific happened. Instead of unhatching inward to become a tight, fire-proof ball, the man unhatched outward, his body contorting into a sickening shape that culminated in a crunch as his neck snapped. The guard let out a last expiration and then lay still.

  Lia stared, too stunned to move. Only when shouting began from the waiting queue did she turn.

  ‘Murder!’

  ‘That’s who’s responsible!’

  ‘Detain her!’

  Guards were moving. Lia leapt on to the dead guard’s hover-bike, and, thankful he had left the motor running, turned it toward the hangar door. With one regretful look back, she shouted, ‘It’s an off-worlder virus! No one leaves!’