by Rod Walker
“Looks like about ten have decided to stay with us,” said Mulger, tapping the radar display.
“Guess that settles that,” said Tanner.
We flew in silence for a while, save for the roar of the engines. After a few moments, the coast and the ocean came into sight and the expanse of cleared space around Outpost Town. I saw the buildings of the town, the rows of spacecraft parked on the landing field glinting in the sunlight.
“All right,” said Argent. “Mulger, start putting us down. Gentle arc. Set us down somewhere at the edge of the sonic fence, and…”
A shrill electronic tone cut into the cabin, and red lights began flashing on the control panels.
“What is that?” said Mr. Royale.
“Radar lock!” said Thompkins.
“Someone’s painted us with a targeting laser, too,” said Mulger. “Based on the signal strength, I’d say it’s a man-portable rocket launcher. Sir, we’d better…”
The alarm got shriller, and the word INCOMING DETECTED appeared on one of the displays.
“Incoming!” said Thompkins. “Looks like two heat-seekers.”
“Going evasive!” said Mulger, sending the quadcopter spiraling towards the jungle below.
“The aerials will be all over us,” said Charles.
“They might, but the missiles will kill us a lot quicker,” said Argent. “Get us down into the trees, quickly. That might confuse their homing systems.”
Mulger sent the quadcopter diving towards the canopy, and two things caught my attention. The first was the gray-green shapes of the aerials flying below us. The big animals looked like a twisted combination of a mythical Terran dragon, a blimp, and a hot water bottle. They were big animals, each one about the size of a car, with wingspans of over twenty feet, their scaled hides a mottled, glistening, greenish-gray. Despite their bulk, they weren’t that heavy, comparatively. Their bloated, sausage-like bodies held enormous bladders of lighter-than-air gas. Evidently, something in their metabolism produced the stuff naturally, allowing them to fly, and also providing the acidic breath they could breathe from their fanged mouths.
And Mulger’s evasive course was going to take us right through them.
The second thing I noticed was the flare of fire rising over Outpost Town, a flare of fire that drew nearer with every heartbeat. As it drew closer, I realized that it was two plumes of fire rising from the end of a pair of missiles hurtling towards us.
Somehow, we made it through the flyers without any of them breathing on us. I think our abrupt descent might have scared them a little, because they scattered in every direction as we plunged through them. But they recovered quickly, turned around, and began to come after us again.
“Does this thing have any countermeasures?” said Argent. “Flares or chaff?”
“No, sir,” said Mulger, accelerating into the dive. “Crash positions!”
The others scrambled into their seats, making sure their straps were secure.
“Brace for impact!” said Mulger. “I don’t think we can avoid both missiles.”
“Then we’re dead,” I said, despair settling over me.
“Not necessarily,” said Mulger, his eyes hard upon the controls and the display. “They aren’t big enough to hold a large warhead.”
The proximity alarm shrilled louder, and at the last minute, Mulger spun the quadcopter at full speed. The engines howled in protest, and the fuselage gave off an alarming shriek of stressed metal.
One of the missiles slammed into the starboard side of the quadcopter.
The explosion shook the quadcopter like a child’s toy, and if I hadn’t been strapped in, the shock would have thrown me into the wall. All kinds of alarms started blaring and flashing on the control panels, and Mulger snarled and started flipping switches.
“Shut down the aft starboard rotor!” he shouted. “It’s drawing fuel, and it’s on fire.”
I flipped the kill switches, and some of the engine noise subsided. The quadcopter gave an alarming lurch as it descended, and I risked a look at the central systems display. Mulger had been right. I had feared the missile would rip apart the quadcopter, but the warhead wasn’t big enough to do that. It had taken out the aft rear rotor, but the quadcopter was still flying on its three remaining rotors.
But I feared it wouldn’t be for much longer. The missile lock alarm still blared, and through the winds, I saw that both the aerials and the jungle canopy were much closer.
The quadcopter had lost a lot of its altitude. Worse, it had lost speed. From what I remembered of the technical manuals Charles had made me read, the quadcopter could still fly with two functional rotors, and with one functional rotor it could, with luck, manage a mostly controlled landing but not much else. With three rotors it could stay flying, albeit slower and less maneuverable. Under normal circumstances, that wouldn’t have been a problem.
With a pack of hungry aerials in pursuit and one more missile on our tails, that was another matter.
“Second missile incoming,” said Mulger. “Hammond, on my mark, cut power to the port fore rotor.”
I started to protest, realized I didn’t know what I was talking about, and nodded.
Mulger glared at the radar display, the flashing dot of the second missile looping around to head towards us. “Three… two… one… now! Now!”
I cut the engine, and the quadcopter gave an alarming lurch as Mulger yanked the controls, spinning the craft into the path of the missile. This time, I saw the fireball as the blast ripped apart the forward port rotor and sent flaming debris tumbling past the canopy.
An instant later we plunged through the top of the forest and back into the Arborean jungle. Forget the aerials, now gravity was the more immediate danger.
“Hang on!” shouted Mulger. “We’re going down!”
I said several bad words, and I heard the roar and felt the thrum through the deck as Mulger opened up with every single one of the quadcopter’s weapons at once. There was a snapping, tearing sound, followed by a disturbing crunching noise, and then a hideous whine from the engines as they started to fail.
“Brace yourselves!” said Mulger. “Impact in three, two, one…”
There was an almighty grinding sound, and then the quadcopter heaved, the impact shooting through every bone in my body at once. I slammed into my restraints so hard that I felt like my gut was about to rupture, and then I was thrown back into my seat once again.
Slowly, the grinding noise faded to nothing, and the quadcopter came to a halt.
Silence and smoke filled the cabin, accompanied by the smell of something burning.
“All right, look alive,” said Tanner, though he sounded a bit wobbly. He started unstrapping. “Check in, people. Anyone’s hurt?”
“I’m fine,” said Mulger.
“Also fine,” said Thompkins.
Argent, Charles, and Mr. Royale were all uninjured as well. I hadn’t been expecting that. Hobson hadn’t made it out of the last crash alive. I thought about how unlikely it was that I had been in two quadcopter crashes in the same day, and decided not to think about it further. I had probably already used up my entire lifetime’s allocation of luck, and I was going to need a lot more luck to get out of Paul Valier’s crazy hunt alive.
On the other hand, maybe I had more than my fair share of luck. It was just bad luck.
“You were firing on the way down,” said Argent, squinting at his two men. “Why?”
Mulger shrugged. “We couldn’t use the guns against those balloon-bird things, whatever they’re called…”
“Aerials,” said Charles.
“Right, aerials,” said Mulger. “So I figured we could use them to clear a path down for us, shoot some holes in all those branches so we didn’t smash up against a tree.” He scratched at his jaw. “Guess it worked, seeing as how we’re still alive. Didn’t it turn out so well for the quadcopter, though.”
“I’m sure the Ecology Ministry can lodge a complaint with the Security
Ministry,” said Mr. Royale. “Although I doubt they have a form for this particular situation.”
“You might be surprised. But they’ll have a lot more to complain about before we’re done,” said Argent, reaching for his belt.
I heard a distant screech from high overhead. The aerials were making their way through the canopy, following us down, and I really didn’t want to be caught inside the wrecked quadcopter when they found us.
“We should go,” I said.
“Yes,” said Tanner. “You have a way to blow up the quadcopter? Burning fuel ought to discourage our pursuers.”
“Of course,” said Argent, reaching into his belt and drawing out a dark, flat object about the size of a deck of cards. “If we put this on the fuel tank, that ought to do it.”
“I suggest configuring the timer for sixty seconds,” said Charles. “Indentured Worker Hammond, help me gather up some supplies.”
We salvaged what equipment we could from the quadcopter. I suppose it was technically stealing, but since EcoMin agents had tried to kill me more than once today, I didn’t feel that bad about it. The distant screeches of the descending aerials proved an excellent incentive to work with alacrity. Once we had gathered the equipment, Argent activated his explosive device, and we ran away from the quadcopter, back into the jungle of Arborea.
The now-familiar alien smells and sounds washed over me, the air hot and muggy. Overhead I saw several aerials circling, preparing to descend upon the quadcopter and feast. Tanner and Mr. Royale and the others hustled out of the quadcopter, rifles held ready. A crashing quadcopter ought to have scared off most of the predatory animals, but megafauna like the tankstriders might not care at all, and the tromosaurs were clever enough that the noise might only pique their curiosity.
“Keep moving!” shouted Argent, and he gestured for us to keep running.
I wondered just how powerful his little bomb was.
We sprinted further away from the damaged quadcopter, heading for the trunk of a massive tree. It was big enough that the quadcopter would have just bounced off it if we had crashed into it, so I was glad that Mulger was a better, or just a luckier, pilot than he had claimed to be. We dashed around the trunk, taking cover behind it, and I glanced back just in time to see a dozen aerials settle around the quadcopter’s wreck, preparing to pry it open and feast on anything within.
Then Argent’s bomb went off.
The quadcopter ripped itself apart in a spray of fire and twisted metal, and it took most of the descending aerials with it. At least a dozen of the animals blew up as burning shrapnel tore through their gas bladders, and the rest fled, screeching in indignant outrage. The fire roiled and twisted, throwing up a big plume of black smoke.
“Nice explosion,” said Tanner.
“Thank you,” said Argent.
“We had better move,” said Tanner, adjusting the straps on his back. “The sooner we’re gone, the better. Valier might send someone out to check on the explosion, and he’s bound to send someone out to check on Toulon and Lysokos and their flunkies. And I don’t know how much ground we have to cover to reach Outpost Town.”
“Actually, I may have much-needed good news, Security Director Tanner,” said Charles. “I estimate we are no more than three or four kilometers from the sonic fence around Outpost Town. Officer Mulger covered more territory than I anticipated.”
Mulger let out an indignant sound. “I did just land without killing anyone.”
“Crashing,” said Thompkins helpfully. “What we just survived is called crashing.”
“Our successful and casualty-free crash landing will be duly noted in your commendation, Officer Mulger, should we live long enough to receive one,” said Argent. “Meanwhile, Mr. Tanner is correct. We need to move. Mr. Charles, Mr. Hammond, you seem to have the most experience in this death trap, so I suggest you lead the way.”
Chapter 7: Hostile Takeover
The journey went better than I expected. We only had to shoot our way through two packs of tromosaurs before we reached the relative safety of the sonic fence.
Unfortunately, that meant we had to cover the kilometer of cleared ground around Outpost Town, which meant we were exposed.
“Let’s head for the landing field,” said Tanner as we stood near one of the posts maintaining the sonic fence. It was a big metal cylinder that stood about three meters tall, antenna jutting out the side. It continuously put out a sound that humans couldn’t hear but irritated the tromosaurs beyond all measure, keeping them away from Outpost Town. I didn’t hear anything, but if I got too close to the post, my teeth started to hurt.
“Why the landing field?” said Mr. Royale.
“More cover,” said Tanner, looking at Outpost Town. It was quieter than it should have been at this time of day. The large plumes of smoke rising from the administration building and one of the quadcopter hangars likely had something to do with that. “We can hide behind the ships.”
“They might be guarded,” said Argent. “Those special operations unit agents Valier brought with him are overrated, but we can’t assume they’re entirely incompetent.”
“Even if they’re guarded, they won’t have more than four posted at the landing field,” said Tanner, “And if they’re overrated, we should have no trouble shooting our way past them.”
Argent frowned but said nothing. I wondered if Tanner was overeager, if in his rush to rescue Kayla we were about to make a mistake. On the other hand, I couldn’t think of anything better, and he did have a point. The landing field was still full of yachts and shuttles and all the other ships belonging to the visiting guests, and all those ships provided plenty of cover.
“Whatever we do, we should do it now,” said Charles. “The Safari Company typically keeps surveillance drones in the air to watch the perimeter of the forest, and unless Ecology Minister Valier specifically disabled them, they will continue their appointed rounds.”
“Agreed,” said Tanner. “Let’s go.”
We hustled past the fence and across the cleared field to the landing area. Calling it a “landing field” was a bit of an exaggeration. It was simply a large enough stretch of ground that had enough bedrock beneath it to support small starships and shuttles, so incoming ships usually landed there. Right now, the field was full to overflowing with luxury yachts and governmental shuttles. Tanner led us towards a large yacht that I thought had belonged to Alexander Toulon, and then we ducked beneath the chrome monstrosity, Tanner gesturing for silence as we did so.
A moment later the patrol drone flew overhead.
It looked a little like a smaller, snub-nosed version of the various quadcopters we had crashed today. It had a rack of cameras mounted on its belly, and I tensed as it passed, wondering if I should lift my Avenger and try to shoot it out of the sky. It was flying low enough that I might have been able to hit it.
Fortunately, Toulon’s shiny chrome-dipped yacht seemed to provide adequate cover, and the drone went past without detecting us.
“Go,” said Tanner. “We’ve got ninety seconds or so until the second drone comes around the perimeter.”
We ran across the landing field, dodging past the various shuttles and yachts, and finally reached Outpost Town. Like I’ve said before, there are really two parts to Outpost Town. There’s the shiny, fancy, expensive part with the hotels and the banquet halls and the tourist shops and whatnot. That looks expensive and sleek and inviting, kind of like Toulon’s overpriced yacht. The other half of Outpost Town, the part where the men and women of Safari Company worked, was much less ostentatious. Most of the buildings were prefabricated or metal trailers, though they had held up well in the hot weather of Arborea. I saw signs of damage. Several of the equipment sheds had been blown up, and one of the hangars was still burning, throwing up one of the plumes of smoke we had seen from the edge of the jungle. Outpost Town had not fallen without a fight, though I wondered how many of the employees of Safari Company had gotten killed.
At last, we
ducked into an equipment shed. It wasn’t locked, but it didn’t hold anything critical. Rows of cleaning drones stood in silence, powered off and waiting for maintenance. I had a brief idea of wiring them up to cause mayhem, but I discarded it.
“What now?” said Mr. Royale.
“We need more information,” said Argent, “before we can decide on a move.”
“Exactly,” said Tanner, crossing the shed. There was a repair bench on the far wall, along with a computer terminal. “And I know just how to get that information.”
“Do you think they restricted your computer access?” I said. “That’s the smart thing to do.”
“It is,” said Tanner, typing at the keyboard, “but our friends in the Ecology Ministry have made lots of mistakes. Maybe they’ve made one more.”
“If they assume you’re dead,” I said, “why shut off your computer access?”
“Exactly,” said Tanner.
“Mulger, Thompkins,” said Argent. “Keep an eye on the door.”
The display flashed, and Tanner grinned.
“Ha!” he said. “They didn’t bother to delete my account. Idiots.”
“Let us continue to hope for foolish enemies,” said Mr. Royale. “I imagine as security director, you have access to a lot of useful systems.”
“Specifically,” said Tanner, “the security cameras. Let’s see what we can find here.”
He accessed the security cameras and started cycling through the live feeds with practiced ease. The coverage of the security cameras wasn’t great. Outpost Town had been thrown together quickly, and with a million different things that needed to be done, the security cameras had been further down the list. Nevertheless, Winston Tanner had a knack for getting his way, and most of the public areas and all of the sensitive areas of Outpost Town had cameras.
Most of which, it seemed, were still functioning.
“Hangar One,” said Tanner, pointing at a flickering image. Several hundred people were in there, guarded by a squad of EcoMin’s Special Ops men, guns in hand. “Looks like they rounded up most of the company personnel and put them in there.”
