Pathogen Protocol (Anghazi Book 2)

by Darren Beyer

  “We’ve got to do something about this. We’ve got to stop them.” Mandi spoke so quickly she could barely get the words out.

  “That is precisely what I was planning to do—at least until you and Jans showed up at Ouricsen. The hyperium is being stockpiled on the New Reykjavik space station. I was able to acquire—at great expense, I might add—a registered communications encryption module, and a transponder assigned to a TSI corporate transport, the Catarro. My plan was to use it as the proverbial Trojan horse—to pass right through defensive screens, to dock at the space station, and then to… deliver a bomb of sorts.”

  “You want to blow it up. The hyperium.”

  “The Anghazi I’ve seen, here and near Saturn, each sit on a massive deposit. I gleaned from my conversations with Mister Dagan that the one in the Eridani system—you said Helios, I believe—that it also has a sizable deposit.”

  Mandi’s eyes widened once more, and Nassir nodded in response.

  “Yes, my old Israeli friend and I shared quite a bit.” Nassir leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. “Only three known sizable stockpiles of hyperium exist. One is here. One is orbiting Ascension under AIC’s control. The last is sitting in, or on the way to, a cargo lock on a space station at Eridani—a station that just underwent a major refit thanks to Jans’s virus, and is not yet fully operational.”

  “So it’s vulnerable.”

  Nassir again tapped his nose with his index finger.

  “And if you blow it up, then all the raw hyperium will be under either yours or AIC’s control.”

  “Yes,” Nassir said. “But there is something else. You haven’t asked how we found this place, so far outside of explored space.“ Nassir waved his fingers, prompting her to take a guess.

  Mandi raised her palms. “Luck?”

  “Not to sound like a cliché, but people make their own luck.” Nassir chuckled. “We were on the run. After Aqaba—after we fought back against those who committed those atrocities—all hellfire was brought down on us. We might have hidden somewhere on Earth, for a while, but my dreams guided me elsewhere.”

  “Dreams? The Anghazi?”

  “Nothing like yours, but enough to get me thinking that if an Anghazi was placed in the Sol system, then there should be another. I began a search that eventually led me to a star system called Auberon.”

  “Auberon. I know that name.” Mandi searched her memory. “Wasn’t that the SETI star? The one they thought could house an advanced civilization?”

  Nassir nodded.

  “But I thought it was a false alarm.”

  “It was—just an odd pattern of repeating radio waves generated from deep within the star. Aside from that one little anomaly, it held nothing else of interest.”

  “Then what was there?”

  “In the early 2000s, SETI sent signals to Auberon, like they did to every star system of interest. It was fascinating to listen to something sent from Earth decades earlier. It was even more fascinating to learn that SETI wasn’t alone in that endeavor. The Iotians had found Auberon of interest as well.”

  “They sent signals, too?” Mandi’s jaw dropped.

  “It seems the penchant for exploration is not limited to Earth.” Nassir smiled wistfully. “You can’t imagine how surreal it is to hear two messages, separated by centuries and hundreds of light years, arriving at the same time, in precisely the same place.”

  “But wait. Wouldn’t they have reached out to Earth, too?”

  “Perhaps—maybe even likely. But Earth is farther from Iota than Auberon. By our best guess, any signals sent from Iota to Earth won’t arrive for at least another ten years.”

  “Then what happens?”

  “Then…?” Nassir shrugged. “I think everything changes. Before all this mess with Eridani, there would have been a space race to explore Iota. Once the Iotian Anghazi and its hyperium were discovered, an interstellar war would have broken out—not a good prospect, especially for us. But now, with what’s going on at Eridani, if Andrews does gain control over existing hyperium, then he alone would be in position to come to Iota in force. Before all this, I had time to develop a solution—but now Andrews has forced my hand. Either I act now or never.”

  “It makes sense,” Mandi said. “And it’s one hell of an opportunity. If Helios can hold out, together we would have leverage—a lot of it. Pan Asian, Eastern Bloc—everyone with any interest in interstellar travel would have to come to us. We could supply them, use them to—” She stopped at Nassir’s lack of reaction. “What’s the matter? This is how we beat Andrews.”

  Nassir pointed upward.

  “What?”

  “You are forgetting that there is an enemy ship up there. One you told me is almost invisible.”

  “It’s not invisible to me—I know how to detect it. If we can narrow down where to look, then we can dodge it and get out of here.”

  “Dodging is not an option. If that ship leaves, then we don’t have ten years before word of Iota gets out. Andrews and Hallerson would know of everything here. They would have hyperium, and even their own Anghazi. We have ground-based weapons—that ship must be destroyed.”

  “But Jans could be on it.”

  “I hope he is.” Nassir’s voice was flat, grim.

  “How can you say that?”

  “Because there are only three possibilities: he is already dead, he is on that ship, or he is on his way to be tortured until he gives up the location of the Anghazi in the Eridani system. You’re a reporter. I’m sure you know the stories of what happens in TSI prisons.”

  Mandi nodded.

  “Then you will pray for his death.”

  Mandi pressed her lips together.

  Nassir dismissed her consternation with a wave of his hand. “Even if we can find and destroy the ship, that is only half of the problem. We still have to get to the station.”

  “I thought you bought those encryption transponder things.”

  “I did. They were in the process of being installed and tested on one of our ships.”

  “So get that ship in here, and let’s get down to business.”

  “It’s already here.” Nassir frowned. “You came in on it, and it’s orbiting this planet—in pieces.”

  Chapter 47: Eridani

  The whirring buzz of the drone’s motor dropped in pitch as it zoomed by, and from somewhere above came the hum of an orbiting helo’s turbines. Out of sight, the whine of multiple turbine engines carried over the ridgeline.

  Secure and nearly invisible in his SCoUT suit, Grae remained perfectly still within his makeshift blind.

  “Freya, this is Viking. Freya, this is Viking.”

  “Viking, this is Freya, go.”

  “Be advised, something big just set down on the opposite side of the ridge. Cargo carrier is my guess. That means troops—a lot of them.”

  “Skimmer is in sight. I’ll be wheels up in less than twenty. What’s your status?”

  Through the scope, Grae studied the top of the ridge, then the trees to his left.

  “Nothing on the ridge. I can’t see very far into the trees—they’ll come from one way or the other. Or both. The hill is open; they won’t like that. But they’ll be sorry if they try the trees. We’ve both got the scars to prove it. Now stop gabbing, and get the hell out of here. Viking out.”

  Grae swept his scope from side to side along the ridge, scanning for any sign of movement. Minutes passed before a flash beside a boulder caught his eye. He slid the crosshairs to it and zoomed in on a bush. The lighting through its leaves was off. Emptying his lungs, he let the crosshairs settle, then squeezed the trigger. The reassuring thump of the rifle’s butt blowing back into his shoulder brought a feeling of satisfaction. A pair of binocs slid from the bush and tumbled down the open slope. Grae zoomed the scope out again.

  Movement erupted along the entire ridge. Dozens of armed soldiers fired in Grae’s direction, their rounds cracking into branches and thudding into the ground. Grae
didn’t move, but instead zoomed in on a target firing over some low rocks. He prepared to pull the trigger, but the enemy soldier dropped out of view.

  Patience.

  The target presented itself again, and Grae squeezed off his shot. The target’s shoulder jerked backward, and both man and weapon disappeared from view.

  Grae traversed to the next target, then the next. Shot after shot rang true. At least six went down to Grae’s fire before the others retreated. He continued to scan the ridge for several minutes, but no more targets presented themselves, other than a couple of drones that buzzed in and out of the trees where he lay hidden. On one pass, they came so close that he felt the downwash of the ducted propellers.

  As slowly as he could manage, he pivoted toward the other likely avenue of approach. It didn’t take long for targets to show themselves there. Grae counted eight heavily armed and armored men moving through the trees, crouched in their combat stances, aiming through their weapons’ scopes as they crept forward. These were better trained than those on the ridge, dodging and weaving among the trees to take away the easy shot.

  One didn’t dodge well enough. As he ran headlong into a cluster of the sharp pine-like needles, he gave Grae the chance he needed. The round sounded like a whip cracking. It struck the hapless soldier just above his nose and exited the back of his head.

  As he fell like a sack, his compatriots opened fire. Once again, Grae didn’t move, even as their rounds struck trunks, branches, and the ground all around him. One round struck a trunk less than a meter from his head.

  “That’s a little close for comfort.”

  With drones buzzing overhead, and his helo patrolling high, Erik worked his way through the trees toward his men’s gunfire. While his men had made their way to the trees flanking the south approach to their adversary’s position, Erik had scaled the steep canyon wall to the north and come down the slope into the same trees his quarry was using for cover.

  As his men crested the high ground, Erik heard something like the crack of a whip. It was a sound he’d heard before, when Grae Raymus took down his men approaching the spaceport during the invasion. The same sound preceded the southern contingent opening fire. Someone in that contingent was using the same rifle Raymus had used.

  While the firefight shattered the early morning air with staccato bursts, Erik worked his way forward. And when the firing stopped, so did he—watching and listening. He was close now. Very close.

  “Helo two, confirm on station and ready,” he called through his comm.

  “Helo two is on station, weapons hot.”

  “Missile team, confirm on station and ready.”

  “Missile team is set, weapons hot.”

  “South team, I’m in the trees north of target. Cover fire—now.”

  Automatic small-arms fire filled the morning air, and again the crack of that amazing rifle spit lead in response.

  “Ridge team, advance down the slope. Go now, now, now.”

  Movement erupted along the ridge to Grae’s right. Dozens of soldiers leapt from cover, crested the hill, and began sliding down the slope. Grae quickly swung his rifle, zoomed to one, and squeezed off a shot. The target went slack, and his weapon fell from his hands. Both man and weapon tumbled uncontrollably.

  Grae was already traversing to the next target. Just as he was about to fire, a notification— “Laser Alert”—appeared on his heads-up display. From behind the ridge, a trail of fire shot skyward, then turned directly toward him. Grae barely had time to dive for cover.

  The missile struck less than ten meters away, showering him with dirt and splintered wood. When Grae looked up, an attack helo banked along the ridge toward him, its chin- mounted autocannon spitting fire. They knew where he was, and Grae knew he had little chance to dodge the thousands of rounds that would soon engulf his blind.

  Suddenly, a puff of smoke and debris popped from the helo’s main engine housing. Another popped at the base of its tail spar. The tail buckled, and the helo dove into the ground.

  Grae heard the crackling hum of a skimmer’s grav pods flying low overhead.

  “Viking, if you’re still alive, you’d better get low and stay low.”

  With some of the most skillful flying Grae had ever seen, Ivey brought the skimmer to a near standstill at the end of the canyon, nose up, then pivoted it on its end, and came back along the valley’s length in an attack run. Cannon fire raked the trees south of Grae’s position, forcing the soldiers to dive for cover. Elsewhere, others raised their weapons to fire at the skimmer.

  “Freya, I ordered you to get the hell out of here!”

  “You didn’t tell me which direction, so I decided to come this way.” Ivey paused. “Shit, I’m getting painted with a laser.”

  From behind the hill, another missile shot upward, this time angling for Ivey and the skimmer.

  “Countermeasures!” Grae yelled.

  The missile missed narrowly, and slammed into a hillside.

  Before Grae could say anything more, a voice spoke behind him. “Your rifle. On the ground.”

  Grae spun to find Erik Hallerson bearing down on him with an assault rifle. Grae obediently tossed away his own rifle.

  “I’m coming around on the missile launcher,” Ivey called through the comm.

  “It’s no good,” Grae said softly. “I’m done.”

  “Grae—”

  “Get out—now.”

  “Your hands.” Erik spit venom as he approached. “Let me see your hands! Now, behind your head, and turn around.”

  No sooner had Grae complied than Erik was ripping off his helmet. Hallerson stepped in front of Grae and snarled, baring his teeth like a rabid animal.

  “You!” Erik growled. “It can’t be—you’re dead!”

  Grae shrugged. “Sorry to disappoint.”

  “Not as sorry as you will be.”

  Erik’s face contorted with rage as he struck Grae in the face with his rifle butt. Grae did not let out so much as a grunt. Two blows later, consciousness deserted him.

  Chapter 48: Iota Ceti

  Mandi couldn’t make sleep come. The mattress was lumpy, and the dry air burned her sinuses. Every so often she leaned her head toward the curtain that acted as her door, trying to catch a glimpse of sunlight, a passerby, anything that might tell her it was time to wake. But here, deep within the underground complex, nothing gave a clue to the time—which only served to further keep sleep from her.

  When footfalls echoed off the concrete floors and a shadow flashed by her doorway, Mandi leapt up, brushed the curtain aside, and looked down the hall.

  “Hi!”

  The young man who had walked by turned back to her.

  “What time is it?”

  “Uh—I don’t know. About 0500, I guess.”

  “Could you point me to Nassir’s room?”

  “I can take you.” He smiled.

  The young man guided Mandi through a few twists and turns and past a number of curtained doorways before stopping before one and gesturing toward it with his hand. Mandi smiled her thanks, and he hurried off.

  Mandi raised her fist to knock, but there was nothing to knock against other than cement, so she pulled her hand back.

  “Nassir?” she called softly. “Nassir, it’s Mandi.” She waited. “Nass—”

  The curtain opened, revealing Nassir looking every bit as tired as she felt.

  “Do you know what time it is?” he said.

  “I think it’s about 0500,” Mandi said sheepishly.

  Nassir narrowed his eyes at her and frowned.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she explained. “And when I can’t sleep, I think.”

  Nassir looked both ways down the hall, then motioned for Mandi to come in.

  Nassir’s room, only slightly larger than her own, was cosmopolitan meets poverty. There were few furnishings, and his bedroll looked no different from her own. But here, at least there was art adorning the walls. Mandi’s eyes were immediately drawn to a
painting depicting a grotesquely surreal human monster with its head cocked back against a blue and white cloud- filled sky. Its arm morphed into a leg that stood on its torso, which in turn sprouted arms ending in disfigured hands.

  “Is that a Dali?” she asked.

  “Salvador Dali, yes.”

  Mandi ran her fingers along the edge. “Real oil paint—and on canvas. And it looks like it was done by hand.”

  “Well, they didn’t have machines that could paint in 1936.”

  “This is real?”

  Nassir nodded. “Its name is odd, but I find its subtitle to be somewhat prophetic: Premonition of Civil War.”

  “You’ve got an original Dali on your wall, but you sleep on a bedroll on the floor.”

  “You woke me up to ask me this?” Nassir rubbed his eyes.

  “No, sorry. Like I said, when I can’t sleep, I think—and I think I have a way forward.” Nassir looked at Mandi through his fingers.

  “When you told me about your—” Mandi waved her hands. “The technology on the ship?”

  “Encryption module and transponder.”

  “Yes, those. You said the ship was in pieces. But it’s not—at least, it wasn’t when I left. The engines were hit, and there was a big hole in its side, but the bridge was still in one piece. Would its systems still have power?”

  Nassir sat down and gestured for Mandi to do the same.

  “The ship’s main reactor is nuclear-thermal. Its safeties would have kicked in, so it’s likely offline. But there are also two hydrogen power cells and a bank of emergency batteries. Though I can’t know for sure, it is likely that at least minimal power is being supplied.”

  “The debris detection system was on when we were attacked. If the bridge has power, then it would still be active, right?”

  “Perhaps. But even if it is, the enemy ship could be anywhere. If our ship is still relatively intact—if—it will be a beacon for any searching ships. Were it me, I would not stay close. We need to find the ship lurking in orbit, but I have no idea where to even begin the search. I have our last transport in the system heading home at maximum burn, but it won’t be here for more than a week, and even when it arrives, there’s nothing to stop it from falling prey to whoever is out there.”