by L. E. Thomas
“Hang tight! We’re coming!”
Jaymed gripped his faceplate and looked back toward the APC. “Captain Tox, we have a man down, up the incline. Zak survived his wound and fell out of the vehicle. Permission to retrieve him.”
Tox didn’t respond, did not even appear at the doorway of the APC. Nat thought he could hear the squelch of a communicator and Tox grumbling something he couldn’t understand from this distance.
Slapping down the faceplate, Jaymed exhaled. “Must be radioing back for evac.” He paused, staring at the burning cannon for a pair of heartbeats. “All right, cadets, I’ve served with Zak for three tours, and I’m not about to let him die at the hands of some native lykers who—”
He hesitated, probably realizing he was surrounded by three “natives.” Whatever he had been thinking, the brief hesitation passed.
Nat had not been around the Zahlian Marines very often since he was brought to the Academy. Mostly they had been seen patrolling the streets of Mohal and acting as police at the edge of the Academy grounds. But he had never sensed a great deal of compassion from the Marines. Until that point, Nat had always assumed the attitude was pure arrogance. Now, he realized the Marines earned their grim stares from battling the Oshua military and local resistance when they weren’t policing the streets.
“I want you and you to go up to retrieve our man,” he said, pointing at Nat and Cal. “We don’t leave people behind. Me and the girl will cover you.”
Cal blinked. “Pardon me, sir,” he said, raising the pistol, “all I’ve got is this thing.”
Jaymed grabbed the rifle from Soola and pushed it to Cal’s chest. “Better?” He nodded. “Anything moves up there, you shoot first. You got me? Shoot first. Go.”
Without waiting for a response, Jaymed unfurled a tripod at the end of his MC-17 and propped it on the log, turning the fallen trunk into an improvised gun nest. After slapping an extended pack into the gun and allowing for more extended fire, he motioned for Soola to move next to him as he aimed the rifle up the slope.
Cal stared at Nat, his mouth hanging open.
Nat looked away, staring at the rocky terrain. A good fifty yards of open space extended between their position and the turret. He swallowed.
I’m not a combat soldier.
The words echoed in his mind over and over. His palms felt greasy with sweat as he gripped the rifle he barely knew how to use. He tried to control his breathing but suddenly gasped.
“Go!” Jaymed barked.
Nat wanted to hesitate, but Cal rushed forward. He jumped to his feet, scrambling across the uneven ground.
It felt like he moved in quicksand. Every moment in the open seemed like an opportunity for the enemy to shoot him. His crimson fatigues felt like the perfect target in the forest world. His eyes darted from tree to rock to undergrowth, each location appearing to hide a man trying to kill him.
But no fire hit them.
Cal reached the burning cannon first, his bony body pressing against the bent frame of the barrels. He stared up the mountain, his eyes bulging.
“I can’t see any—”
A bolt seared through the air like a burst of sunshine in the twilight.
“Damn it!” Cal barked.
Nat made himself small, pressing into the rocks and crawling toward the cannon. More bolts sparked to life, this time from behind.
Risking a glance, Nat peered over a boulder. Shadows moved behind the trees, lurking between the trunks and leaves. Jaymed’s fire exploded into the dry plants, sparking small fires.
Cal lifted the MC-17 over the cannon and fired blindly toward the enemy.
“Get to Zak,” Nat said, rising to a crouch and joining Cal at the metal fragment. “I’ll cover you.”
Cal glared at him. “Why don’t I cover you?”
“Are you really saying that?”
They stared at each other for a moment until more laser fire broke the standoff.
“Fine,” Nat said, shaking his head as his heart raced. “You better keep firing.”
“Don’t worry.”
Yeah, right, he thought.
The wounded Marine had ended up on the far side of the burning hulk. If he were careful, Nat might be able to use the rocks for cover while he tried to bring Zak back to safety. He might avoid being hit if he stayed low. And it might be dark enough so the resistance fighters wouldn’t be able to get a shot.
Might.
A whole lot of “mights” and “maybes” seemed to rest on his next move.
“Ready?” Cal asked, leaning against the cannon and staring down at him.
“As ready as I’m gonna be.”
Cal offered a tight smile, lifting the rifle to his chest. “All right,” he whispered with a nod. “Three … two … one.”
Cal stood to his full height and spun around, the cannon only providing cover up to his belt. The rifle flashed with a furious light, sending bolts up the mountain and into the forest.
Slipping on gravel with his first step, Nat bolted to his feet, keeping his head low as he sprinted into the open.
And then the air erupted.
Even in his worst fears, he hadn’t expected so much enemy fire to light up the forest. Bolts zipped by his ears and shoulders, but he weaved between the shooting. Spinning, sprinting and turning, he dived around to the turret’s far side. He collided with the rocks and branches, his forehead and elbows flashing with the pain of jagged stones and sturdy wood cutting into his flesh.
Rolling over on his back, he raised the rifle and fired without looking up the mountain. He felt a momentary sense of relief as return fire from Cal, Jaymed and Soola hit the trees.
“Zak?” Nat asked, ceasing fire to allow his chargepack a moment to replenish.
He knew the MC-17 could fire bursts without losing its charge, but a continuous barrage would require fresh packs he didn’t have. Without the ability to shoot back, the three of them would be caught in no man’s land between the turret and the APC.
“Zak?”
No response.
Moving onto his stomach, Nat crawled forward with only the flickering firelight to guide him. It took what seemed like an eternity of shuffling around in the darkness to find Zak. As his eyes adjusted to the night, he froze. A jagged piece of steel had ripped through the Marine’s stomach to his pelvis. Blood as dark as oil had pooled around Zak’s hips. The helm’s cracked faceplate was up, and he gazed into the stars, pupils wide as black saucers. The laser bolt graze from earlier had melted the side of his face. He wasn’t breathing.
Nat nudged his shoulder, but he didn’t move. Swallowing, he reached over and closed Zak’s eyes. He stared at the body, all sounds around him seeming muffled and far away.
Zak wasn’t much older than him, maybe only a few years.
Nat had seen a dead body before; both his grandparents had passed away when he was young. But death was something supposed to happen to the very old, not to a healthy and invincible young Marine who was part of the force that had conquered the entire planet.
Cal cried out. “I’m hit, man! What the hell are you two doing?”
Nat blinked, the sounds of laser fire yanking him back to the present. Jaymed said they didn’t leave men behind.
Using all his strength, Nat buried his shoulder into Zak’s stomach and hoisted him from the ground. He put the Marine’s body over his right arm, leaving the MC-17 in his left.
“I’m coming!” he shouted through clenched teeth.
Bolts sizzled past, exploding into the stone and steel. He fired back, not even aiming.
Pain exploded in his left calf muscle. The feeling shocked him, like being jolted from an electric outlet in his house, only a hundred times worse. His feet swept from underneath him, and he felt the odd sensation of floating in the air for an instant.
He crashed to the ground, his head smacking the rocks. Zak’s body fell on top of him, knocking the wind out of him. As he gasped, the world spun. He blinked and shook his head, his vision blurry. He stared
into the stars, laser fire crisscrossing his view.
And then suddenly he sensed movement, footsteps in the gravel and rock. He heard voices, punctuated by more laser fire as he lifted into the air. As he jostled about on a stretcher, he squinted and tried to make out who carried him away.
A tightness shot through his chest as he gazed at the figures now transporting him through the woods. They weren’t cadets, and they weren’t Zahlian Marines, either.
The resistance had captured him.
Fear clutched his heart with an icy grip. They would torture him for information or hold him for ransom. Worse, they might kill him on camera as a warning to the rest of the occupation force.
“No,” he breathed, trying to roll off the stretcher. “You can’t.”
A firm hand restrained him. Nat didn’t have the strength to resist, the throbbing wound on his head making him just want to close his eyes. He couldn’t focus, but he stared up at the figure forcing him back down.
The face looking back was oddly familiar. As his vision darkened, he realized the large face had been cleanly shaven since the last time Nat had seen him years ago, but there was no mistaking he knew his captor.
Jet Gretson.
Chapter Ten
Frigid water splashed on his face, jolting Nat awake. Rope restraints cut into his ankles and wrists. He jerked his head back, and his skull pounded against the rock. Wincing, he took in his surroundings.
Candlelight washed over wet rocks in the narrow subterranean passageway. Shadowy figures surrounded him, the largest of the group holding the bucket still dripping water over his head.
"Time to wake up, son," a deep voice boomed and echoed down the winding corridor. "You've had quite a day."
Nat shook his head, his mind still fuzzy. To his right was Cal, bound and gagged, lying in the fetal position. His eyes were closed tight. Discarded Zahlian body armor sat under a small table with a lantern, probably taken from Zak.
He looked back at the looming hulk standing over him. "Jet?" he asked, his voice still rough.
"Yeah, it's me," he said with a laugh. "Where you been, son?" He gestured to the Zahlian fatigues. "Whatcha doing in this get-up? They makin' you wear this trash now?"
Sitting up straight against the rock wall, Nat raised his bound wrists. "Untie me."
Jet chuckled, dropping the bucket and stepping to the far side of the narrow cave. He struck a match and lit a large cigar. Taking a long drag, the embers glowed and cast firelight on his face. He had grown leaner since the early days of the invasion. He'd shaved the dense black beard and most of his head, leaving only a sandpaper sprinkle of dark hair on his skull. Scars crossed his face, and he slipped off the jacket to reveal a black tank top. His solid biceps told the tale of many burns from energy weapons. Jet had been an active part of the resistance, that much was certain.
"I don't reckon we're gonna be untying you just yet," Jet said, exhaling a cloud of smoke from his nose like a dragon from a children's story. "Not sure if they've gotten to you."
“Gotten to me?” Nat blinked, a flash of blood rushing to his face. “How are you alive, Jet? I thought you and my father were killed. Two years gone by now."
"That's just what I mean."
"Coward," he said through his teeth. "You just run away? Leave my Da for dead?”
It was like he had thrown something at Jet. The man recoiled and bowed his shoulders, taking a step toward Nat.
"Watch yourself, boy," he said, sliding his cigar between his fingers and jabbing it toward Nat. "If you had any idea what we've been through, you'd check your tone."
"What's my tone got to do with it?" Nat lashed out, ignoring the quiet voice in his head suggesting it might not be a good idea to antagonize a man of Jet's character. "You don't know what I've been through, either."
Jet sighed, backing off a bit and leaning against the wall. He stared at the floor for a long moment and glanced at his watch. Stepping away, he whispered to one of his comrades. Nat looked past them to the other six rebels in the tight corridor. All were lean and heavily armed, clothed in thick furs and bandoliers. They glanced at him, some with contempt in their weary eyes. A short woman, her yellow, stringy hair tied behind her head with red fabric, sat at the end of the tunnel, holding a rifle with a grenade launcher under the barrel.
He looked to the cave floor, seeing two indentations running the length of the expanse like a track.
"Where are we?" he asked.
Jet swiveled his head to look at him. "Canton Mine."
Nat's jaw dropped. The Canton Mine wasn't far from The Beast. In fact, it was on the same mountain range. That meant Captain Tox was still out there and probably looking for them.
"You need to let me go," Nat said. "Now."
Jet laughed. "We're not going to do anything like that. You're going to join us."
"Like hell I am."
Crossing his arms over his broad chest, Jet asked, "So, they did get to you, huh? You really joining the invaders? You're really going to forget about your own kind?"
Nat clenched his jaw. “This isn’t about loyalties. The Zahl will be looking for me. You and your people are in danger. Do you realize what's going to happen when they find out you fired on us? Do you?"
Jet's eyes narrowed. "More than you'll ever know, boy."
The words sent a chill rippling across his skin. Nat's lips parted to retort, but something about Jet's tone silenced him.
Cal coughed, his body jolting. Jet moved over to remove the gag, and Cal gurgled as he writhed on the floor.
"Where are we?" he asked, his eyes ablaze as he looked at Nat. "What's going on?"
"We've been captured by the resistance," Nat said, eyeing Jet.
"Wait a minute," Jet said, kneeling in front of Cal and cocking his head to the side. "Say that again."
Cal stopped moving. "Say what again? Who are you? Why are you doing this?"
Jet slapped his thighs and stood, spinning around to his companions. "It's a freaking Ceroqan? Here? Oh, that's just great. Kill him."
Nat gasped. "What?"
He shrugged. "He's probably a spy, anyway. That's why he was picked up here in Oshua. You can't trust a Ceroqan. You know that."
A rebel stepped forward, pulling the energy latch back on a laser rifle as he moved over to Cal, the weapon humming.
Cal slinked into the wall, his body convulsing.
"You can't do that!" Nat shouted. "He's with me!"
Jet shook his head, taking another drag on his cigar. "Then you're more lost than I thought."
The blast ignited the tight confines, sending a bolt of energy burning through Cal's eye. His body twitched, fell to the floor and remained still.
Nat stared in horror, his comrade's lanky body trembling once more. He fought back a lump in his throat, the mining tunnel suddenly feeling colder.
"You bastard."
Jet blinked. "What's that?"
"He didn't deserve that!"
Jet waved his hand in front of his face. "Yes, he did. He was conspiring with the invaders and the son of a Ceroqan agent. We would have been at war with him one way or the other. Do you think it was an accident we hit a cadet run in the mountains? We knew exactly who was on that APC. We've been looking for you."
Nat blinked. "Me? Why?"
"I have something to show you." He nodded to the resistance fighter who had killed Cal. "We need your help. Do you have any knowledge of the air traffic going off planet from Greeva?"
"I don't know anything about that." He raised his chin. “I can’t help you!”
"Yes, you can.”
Cal's executor kneeled and produced a digi-glass encased in thick black rubber. He typed onto the screen, his face expressionless. As he did so, Nat glanced down at Cal, a shiver continuing down his body at the sight.
Cal, his most significant competition in the cadet class, murdered for no reason. He had only tried to excel at the Academy, never once doing anything but working toward graduation. And now he was dead.
The digi-glass came to life.
Nat recoiled as he stared into a face from his past.
Tressa.
"Hey little brother," she said, looking at her hands. "Been a long time. I hope you get this message."
Nat's chin trembled. "How?"
"Watch," Jet grumbled.
Tressa's hair was cut almost to the scalp. She looked slender, her skin as pale as a cloud. Behind her was a smooth, silver wall without any distinguishing marks. The camera shot the image through bars like a jail cell. Nat reached over and took the device from the rebel's hands, pulling it close to his face.
"I don't have long," she continued, her voice trembling. "They told me you ... had joined the invaders' academy and were studying to be an officer. My friends have made it possible to film this video, but you might never see it."
She paused, and Nat noticed for the first time the tears dampening her cheeks.
"I don't know how you could work for them, Natty," she whispered. "I keep telling myself it must be brainwashing or ... or maybe you're not the little brother I knew. But we need you now. There's no hope for us without you, especially with me ..."
She wiped at her cheeks and tensed.
"They're shipping me out to Atheron at the end of the month," she said, strength returning to her voice. "I've been sentenced to a life of hard labor. I know I won't survive. I just want you to know ... we tried to get to you, Nat. Oh, stars, we did everything we could. We failed. If this is the last time we ever communicate, know this, little brother ..."
Tressa leaned closer to the camera, her eyes darting down the hall as the sound of a steel door crashing shut echoed.
"... never forget—no matter what they tell you—this world is Tarrafa. Our city is Greeva. They’re here to wipe us out. Remember, Nat. Remember."
The image shook and showed the floor before it fizzled to black. He sighed, realizing he'd been holding his breath as his sister—the sister he'd long feared dead—spoke to him.
"How?"
Jet stared at him. "How ... what?"
Nat swallowed, fighting back emotion. "How did you get this video?"
Kneeling, Jet's eyes bore into Nat. "We have our ways. Confidants. Inside sources. Men and women who will sell information. It doesn't matter. Until I know where your loyalties lie, I'm not saying nothing."
