There, on the ground, lay the C-Branch man who had almost killed her. His eyes swelled from their sockets, a bit of optic nerve visible in the hollow space behind them. Blood leaked down his cheeks, as well as out of his nose and mouth. His metal hand strained to close tighter still around his own throat.
Risa stared at his chest―his unbroken, unmarred chest. The spot where Raziel’s glowing broadsword had pierced had avoided even a scratch from the debris.
“I’m delirious.” Risa shook her head and looked again, still no wound.
The beeping came from a utility pouch on his belt, which contained a rebreather mask. An alarm warning him the atmosphere was gone. An alarm he would never hear.
She fell on him, all but tearing the case off his belt to get to the mask. As soon as she opened it, the horrible sound stopped. Risa fumbled to unpack the device and pressed it over her face, sucking in great breaths until she felt lightheaded. The taste of rubber and chemicals displaced the flavor of dirt. After dizziness faded, she secured an elastic strap over her head and re-examined the body.
It appeared he’d committed suicide by crushing his throat with a cybernetic arm. The knife he had been about to jam into Risa’s chest stuck out of his right thigh.
What the fuck is wrong with me now? She shuddered from the agony cascading over her body. Maybe I’m Cat-6 after all. Maybe I’m already dead and this is the other side.
“Hey, Risa?” yelled the girl.
She looked up, the bottom of the kid’s boots hung six feet overhead. How the hell―
“Your friend said you should get outta here before the army shows up. Oh, hey, you found a rebreather.”
“My friend?” She pressed both hands into the small of her back and took a few tentative steps. “What friend?”
The girl leaned forward, her mask-covered face glowing green in the light from the armor-encased screen attached to the front of her seat. “He said he was your guardian angel. That’s like a callsign or some shit, right? Guess you can’t use your real names or something.”
Risa looked up into the stars. You made their alarms go off early, didn’t you? She coughed into the mask, patting herself on the chest. The sensation of grit flying around her lungs seemed more real than imagination.
The girl smiled. The walker’s right work-arm mimicked her salute. “Thanks for trying to save us.”
“How…” Risa’s ‘mission mind’ had returned. She held on to stoicism. Hours or perhaps a day or two from now, she’d find a dark place and let out her guilt. Sobbing over the dead right here, right now, would do no one any good. “How many died?”
“Uhh.” The walker leaned up and back, swiveling in place. “Weber and Carlson got hit by falling dome. Died on impact. Couple of the mechanics are on ArdenChat bitching about bein’ trapped in the garage. Maybe ten or so of the upsecs got pasted when the ship aperture crushed the ass end of the office pod.”
Risa blinked. This is a child? “You don’t sound too upset.”
The girl lifted her rebreather mask to spit to the side. “Damn asshats in the biolab think they’re better than us grunt workers. Always talk down to us like we’re some less ‘an human species. Guess since I don’t got a double PhD and have to fuckin’ work, they get to shove me down the stairs because they’re ‘late for a meeting.’ They treat us like shit. Good for them.”
“Can you give me a hand with that?” Risa pointed at where the tailfins of the Lava Wasp protruded from dome fragments. “I need to get outta here. Damn, I hope that thing still works.”
“Sure.”
A large gripper claw pinched her weapons harness, right between the shoulder blades, and picked her off the ground like a battered, bruised, and despondent kitten. Risa swallowed the urge to scream. All her weight hanging on her armpits reawakened a broken rib, and many fist-shaped purple spots under her armor. Teeth gritted, eyes closed, she reached up and held on as the motion of the walker caused her to sway side to side.
Oh, fuck, this hurts. Hurts is good. I’m alive. Pain means I lived.
“Haro and Gill can wait a few more minutes,” said the kid. “The garage isn’t gonna collapse. So what’s this ‘guardian angel’ guy look like? Is he cute? He sounds hot.”
Raziel’s blazing, winged silhouette appeared in her mind. “Yeah… he is kinda hot.”
The machine moved with far more grace than its appearance would suggest. The girl guided it up onto the landing pad with ease, and set Risa down at a safe distance. She swooned to her knees, coughing and shivering. Chunk by chunk, the teen cleared away debris from the Lava Wasp. Although the aircraft’s armor was light, the worst damage it sustained consisted of a few gouges, dents, and superficial scrapes.
“Okay.” The girl backed her machine up and turned it to face her. “Looks clear.”
“Thanks,” wheezed Risa. She struggled upright, an arm braced through her gut, and limped to the cockpit. “Hey, kid?”
“Tara,” said the girl. “I’m Tara.”
“Hi, Tara.” Risa coughed again, swallowing the unmistakable metallic taste of blood. “Whatever they say happened here, this was not the Martian Liberation Front.” She swooned against the plane, grabbing on to a hollowed-out step to keep from wiping out. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop it.”
Tara looked downcast for a few seconds. “It’s okay. You didn’t know they had missiles outside.”
Risa slapped the hatch control, causing the canopy to rise a few inches and slide back. She grabbed the lip of the cockpit and struggled, but couldn’t pull herself up. Tara’s machine pinched the back of her harness and lifted her into the seat like a kid playing with an action figure and toy plane.
“You don’t look so good,” said Tara.
Risa sat for a moment, paralyzed by pain. “Feels wonderful. I’ll be okay. I can’t stay here. They’ll blame me…”
“Sucks.” Tara backed up.
“Yeah. It does.” Risa glanced up at the grimy teen. “Be careful. Take care of your dad.”
The robot arm saluted her again.
She closed the canopy and ran the power-up sequence in ‘combat fast’ mode. In nine seconds, the LSV-18 leapt straight up from an expanding ring of dust. Risa waved back at the four-legged walker, and pointed her ship east. The long-range showed inbound contacts at a touch over twenty-four miles, coming from a vector that lined up with Elysium. She hopped the remnants of the wall and guided the ship low to the ground, plotting a wide, curving turn that would keep her off their sensors.
Within a few minutes of leaving Arden, she shifted the flight characteristics to airplane mode, and increased speed. Flying fifteen meters above the surface of Mars at Mach 2.8 would have been nerve wracking if not for the overwhelming urge to pass out. Somewhere between feeling ready to wet her pants and wanting to fall asleep, she remained calm.
An endless stream of green lines highlighted scrolling rocks on the primary display. Terrain-following radar gave a thirty-second preview of any obstacles that would require a course correction. Risa’s head popped up as she fought off yet another near miss of sleep. She didn’t remember much of the four-legged walker clearing debris away from her stolen aircraft. She couldn’t recall how she went from slumped in a heap on the ground to being airborne. A vague memory of the girl wishing her luck and rushing off to extricate a couple of men trapped in a garage flickered in and out.
The console erupted in loud beeping alarms.
“Gah!” She screamed, flailing about as she realized she had indeed passed out for close to a minute. “Shit!”
Sensors in the cockpit had alerted the flight control system to an unconscious pilot. A monotone female voice repeated, ‘Wake up.’ The plane bobbed up to a hundred feet on autopilot.
Now alert, she clenched the sticks in a grip that numbed her fingers. A few seconds later, the voice ceased its nagging. Light-headed, she poked at the Navcon to check her route. Seven small settlements appeared between her and the ‘core’ of UCF-controlled Mars.
; Secundus City was the closest destination offering both a reasonable chance of medical care and civilization, while still being far enough removed from her usual haunts to hinder the military back-tracing her. She thought about how far a walk her body would tolerate, and where to ditch the ship.
Fuck it. I’m not going to make it if I have to walk.
Seconds after debating this, a small screen to her left populated with text. Risa blinked at it, astounded and confused as the meaning of the words filtered through her tattered consciousness. An official flight plan and landing assignment―again listed as a training operation―directed her to a small aboveground facility near the entrance to Secundus proper. A red note at the bottom stood out from the rest. Risa imagined the words narrated in Raziel’s voice.
This is how C-Branch usually arranges things when they ‘borrow’ military hardware for covert ops. Set down, and walk away as though you belong there. No one will question your lack of uniform.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
The image of his blazing silhouette unfurled its wings in her mind. She froze the scene in her thoughts where a broadsword made of light impaled the chest of the special operations soldier who’d almost killed her. The chest that had not a mark on it. Maybe it was some kind of spiritual blade that only hurts flesh. Risa traced her fingertips down the screen over the flight plan. How could an angel, a creature of another realm, influence her world so much? Why didn’t he stop the bombs himself? How could he let them destroy Arden?
A woman’s voice filled the cockpit. “Scout one-three, come about zero-four-four degrees and slow to thirty knots, copy.”
Risa swallowed blood and spit, and another gulp of exhaustion. “Copy.”
“You’re clear for approach, one-three. Set down on pad nine.”
“Copy,” said Risa.
The pilot’s ghost inside her head seemed to know what all of that meant. She let the chip take control. Her arms and fingers moved with automatic motions. A while ago, she’d heard a rumor that being near death, or half-awake, let skill chips work better. It had something to do with a person’s active consciousness not fighting for control with the recorded memories. Too worn out to do anything but trust that story, she surrendered. Within minutes, the Lava Wasp glided over one of twelve rectangular metal platforms arranged in a horseshoe around an area full of six-wheeled vehicles, missile trucks, and hoses. Larger dropships sat on the end pads, craft large enough to ferry a pair of personnel carriers inside their holds from ground to orbit.
Loose brick-red soil swirled away in gusts as the Lava Wasp settled in over a bare plastisteel surface emblazoned with a massive numeral ‘9.’ She pulled back on the stick to flare the nose, deployed the landing pads, and eased the vertical controls down until the craft’s weight settled into the springs. Anyone on the outside would’ve thought she knew what she was doing.
Dozens of men and women in Mars camo moved about the assorted vehicles, carts, and cargo in the central area. A few glanced at her in passing. Risa’s chest constricted.
“Like I own the place…” She winced as a broken rib seared a reminder into her side.
It took her a moment to find the canopy release. Before she pulled it, she made sure no blood smeared her face. Small, square pads folded out of the side of the Lava Wasp, forming a ladder to ground. Risa held back the urge to scream as she forced herself to stand, threw a leg over the sidewall, and climbed to the ground.
She summoned her best why-the-hell-are-you-looking-at-me glare while walking off the landing pad. Every step hurt. One man checked a holo-panel floating over his left arm, looked at her ship, looked at her, and turned pale. Being thought of as C-Branch was as reassuring as it was nauseating. Her stumble took her away from the military area, over bare dirt, to a cluster of civilian buildings housing air purifiers, water pumps, and the electrical uplink to the solar energy fields a quarter or so of a mile away.
A gleaming silver track ran from a huge platform elevator to a civilian shuttle terminal a mile east of the city. She trudged over to an attached stairway and climbed up to a grated walkway, the only pedestrian outside. Wind from a passing capsule-shaped tram full of commuters knocked her into the fence. For a few seconds, she clung to it wearing a grimace. Every bruise echoed in her muscles. When the pain subsided enough to allow conscious thought to return, she staggered the last fifty meters to a bank of elevators along the side of the shaft where tramcars emerged.
Secundus City, as its name implied, was the second attempt at UCF colonization of Mars. Built in the days before atmospheric domes had the trust of the people, the bulk of its population resided a quarter-mile under the surface. Risa leaned against the back corner of the elevator on the way down. Energy melted out of her muscles, leaving her sliding into a half squat/sit. She stared at the open door for a full minute before remembering she needed to get up and walk out.
The trip from the visitor center at the bottom to a tourist-trap hotel four blocks away passed in a blur. She blinked at the little room around her, feeling as though she’d teleported from the landing pad. A few fumbling pokes at her NetMini ordered a plain long-sleeved top, loose pants, and basic shoes.
She couldn’t go to a med center armed and armored―that would raise too many questions.
Risa shrugged off her weapons harness, letting it hit the Comforgel pad behind her. Sitting on the bed might have been a mistake in that she’d never get up again, but she didn’t care. She pinched the top of the collar where the ballistic stealth armor met her jawline and pulled the fastener down to her hip. The thick rubbery material peeled away from sweaty skin covered in purple spots. She felt a little bad about putting on new clothes without a shower, but a shower would bring sleep, even with the massive headache she had.
No longer feeling the need to hold back, she gasped, wailed, and cried out with every motion as she peeled herself out of the armor. She lay still for a moment before stumbling from the bed to the bathroom and leaning against a metal sink. A steady trickle of blood rolled from her left nostril, explaining the taste that had been in her mouth for the past twenty minutes. Risa gargled, and gathered several handfuls up to her face to wash, but the leak wouldn’t stop.
She fell heavy on the toilet, amused by the pat pat pat of blood between her bare feet. A buzz at the door signaled the arrival of her ordered clothes. She forced herself upright, trudging naked across the room until the sight of her reflection in the window, blotched with purple bruises, made her pause. Apathy overpowered shame, and she opened the door with a grunt. The delivery bot, a large hovering box about the size of a footlocker, tilted in like a curious dog. Her NetMini, somewhere under the bundle of ballistic suit, beeped. With a happy wobble, the delivery bot opened a hatch and let her collect a few boxes. The machine flew off. Unconcerned with who saw what, Risa dropped the boxes on the ground and got dressed where she stood.
A few passersby in the hotel concourse stared. Some took video. One man rushed over.
“Hey kid, you okay?”
Risa pulled down on the shirt. Her head emerged, face obscured by a tangle of unkempt raven hair. She tried to focus on the man who was obviously not a native of Mars. Silver brushed the sides of his dense, curly hair. His skin matched Osebi’s for dark, and his black shirt had a cartoony drawing of Mars over the chest. The sort of thing people buy at shuttleports when they’ve been on-planet for less than an hour. He grasped her shoulders in a gentle, steadying grip, and looked her in the eye.
“I’ve had better days.” She half-smiled. “Kid? I’m like… twenty… fuck. Ow.”
His kind eyes blurred into a smear of colored light. Coarse cloth brushed across her cheek, and arms grabbed on to her. Her headache throbbed, intensifying with the sensation of a red-hot needle rammed into her left eye. A scream emanated within her mind; she begged for death to get away from the pain.
The next thing Risa knew, she stared up at bright, round lights. The vague sense of being in a bed followed a few seconds later.
Fuck it.
When next she opened her eyes, the same lights remained overhead. Warm Comforgel squished under her. The faint taste of strawberry lingered in her mouth, with a thick, syrupy presence at the deep end of each breath. I’ve been in gel. A clingy, white smock with a high neck covered her arms to above the elbows and went midway down her thighs. Soreness pervaded every muscle fiber, though the sharp agony of a broken rib was absent.
Risa looked around at what could only be a hospital room, based on the white walls and Spartan décor. The new clothes she’d ordered upon arrival lay folded on a table to the right of her bed, and the weak fruity scent of dried breathable gel clung to her hair. A thin plastic bracelet around her wrist identified her as ‘Jane Doe.’ She covered her face with both hands, trying to rub feeling into her cheeks again.
Worry and relief dueled in her head. At least no one recognized her. Disorientation of a windowless room and perhaps oversleeping left her clueless as to how much time had passed or even what day it was.
“Miss?” said a deep but concerned-sounding female voice. “Do you have a minute?”
Risa pulled her hands down from her eyes. Her heart raced at the unmistakable silhouette standing in the room’s only doorway: Mars Defense Force armor.
The police.
Shit.
isa and Luck had never been on the best of terms. Once again, her old ‘pal’ seemed to have gotten the upper hand. Most of her effort went to holding back a geyser of energy from exploding as the MDF officer approached. Scream, cry, panic, pass out, run away, kill, and throw up cycled around her brain as if on a carnival game wheel. The feminine figure in brick-red armor with black highlights and grey patches stepped into the room. A dull, scratched armored visor plate concealed any clues to her intent based on expression. Tiny camera dots at the temples weren’t too good at conveying emotion.
Risa closed her eyes. Please let this be nothing. Please let me go home to Pavo.
“Miss?” asked the woman.
Risa rolled her head to the side, facing the cop. Something about the officer’s posture struck her as wrong―not enough aggression. The woman had an almost conciliatory stance, like a child about to ask for a cookie ten minutes before dinner. The unexpected passivity caught her off guard, and let her fear of imminent arrest weaken.
Hand of Raziel (Daughter of Mars Book 1) Page 42
