Sam Cane: Hard Lessons (Sam Cane 2)

by T Q Chant

  Williams crouched down to inspect the shambler Yvgena had killed – it had more head and was therefore more useful. "Caha, make sure you store this and tag priority," she ordered, pushing him the recording as she made it. "Definitely modified human," she said, turning its head to inspect its eyes and then moving her inspection lower, tugging open the simple, rough clothes it was wearing. "No primary or secondary sexual characteristics, very heavily muscled. Didn't seem to have any combat instincts – think we can definitely call this some sort of menial. No identifying tags or personal possessions." She paused, eyeing the thing in its entirety. "It's at best a slave, more likely seen as little more than an animal."

  She moved over to the man she'd killed. What struck her most of all was that he wasn't in any kind of uniform, or even the rough sort of fatigues the hostiles who'd attacked them earlier had worn. If anything, they most closely resembled hospital scrubs. She couldn't find a name tag or any kind of weapon.

  “Definitely not a combatant,” she told Yvgena. “Hospital staff maybe. No clue as to place of origin or identity.”

  “I wouldn't feel bad for him just yet,” Yvgena said, her voice unusually shaken. Williams joined her at the cart. As she'd suspected, they'd been burning bodies – three remained, two of them emaciated males with no obvious signs of harm. “Those two look like they were just worked to death.”

  “I don't want to think about what killed her,” Yvgena commented, shifting one of the men out of the way so Williams could get a better look at the women at the bottom. She was dressed in the remnants of a simple hospital gown, torn and bloody now. Her body showed signs of abuse that dated back beyond the catastrophic injuries that had led to her death.

  “Was she vivisected, or torn apart?”

  “I think something tore its way out of her,” Yvgena said, her expression set.

  “Wait." She muted the squad push, both audio and video, before she looked any closer. "That isn't Cane, is it?”

  “Ethnicity and body type match, but it's hard to tell.”

  “Shit. Best keep it under your helmet for now.”

  “We should get back to the others.”

  “We should get off this rock and call in a Navy strike group.”

  Cahaya and Kora were right where they had left them, covering the wider area while the two of them had dealt with the immediate situation.

  Kora was watching Yvgena and Williams carefully. “Why did you kill the feed?"

  Williams gave her a hard look. "That's above your pay grade, boot. Caha, get Miller and Dirchs on the line and get them to uplink to the cutter.”

  “Gonna be a problem with that,” Miller told them over the fibre optic link between the two teams. It was so fine that it carried next to no bandwidth. “Was just about to call you – we got a burst from up high. They've got company upstairs – a ship J'd in about five hours ago and they had to run for the dark side of the second moon. They had to run silent until they had a direct line and could tightbeam us. Sending you the full package now.”

  Williams nodded. She didn't need to appear calm, she was calm. Sometimes an op went sideways, and panicking was the best way to get killed. “Roger. We'll move on you.”

  “Umm, negative boss,” Dirchs broke in. “We're about to have heavy contact, and I think they're blocking the tunnel as well.”

  “Hold them as long as you can – we'll find a way to you.”

  “Understood.” Already they could hear the sounds of mines and booby traps detonating, the whir of Dirchs spinning up the rotorcannon. “If you don't – it's been an honour, boss.”

  “Fuck that, come and get us ou-”

  The line went dead, not even any static. “Hardware fault,” Cahaya muttered unnecessarily. “Line's been cut.”

  The team was looking to her for reassurance, and for a moment Williams had no idea what to say to them. “Rack 'em up, people. Looks like this mission just went from intel gathering to rescue, evade and escape.”

  **********

  “Were there angels?” Bethany asked later that night. Her voice was breathless, but Sam wasn't sure if it was because of what they'd just done or excitement at the thought of visitors.

  She didn't press that point, just stroked Bethany's hair as she pillowed her head on Sam's shoulder.

  “There was...something,” she whispered, casting her mind back to the landing. She and the Unsaved had been hustled away, obviously unworthy to bear witness to whatever momentous event was about to happen, but she had seen some sort of creature emerge from the vessel – definitely a surface-to-orbit job, not a deep spacer. She hadn't got a good look at it, but it stirred some sort of awful memory. She'd seen it before, or something like it, but couldn't put her finger on it.

  “Do you want it to be an angel?” she whispered as her fingers found the sweet spot at the nape of Bethany's neck. The other woman sighed at the touch.

  “I...don't know. It would be exciting – or maybe even a Full Raptured, come to give us commandments.”

  Sam didn't let her interest in that admission of doubt show, kept up the steady, gentle finger strokes, lengthened them down Bethany's neck and across her smooth bare shoulders.

  “Something's happening, isn't it? This isn't a regular event.”

  “There are...rumours. That there is a hostile force on the planet; that we are under attack.”

  Sam's heart skipped a beat, a thud that caused Bethany to raise an eyebrow as she looked up. Could mean rescuers, yeah. Could be something else entirely.

  “And these angels are reinforcements?”

  “Maybe,” Bethany said, brushing her lips over the ball of Sam's shoulder.

  And they also brought a ship. Which Sergei can fly.

  She was enjoying what Bethany was doing with her mouth, but shifted onto her side to defend her shoulder from further ministrations and unceremoniously tip the other woman's head onto the thin, hard mattress. "They must have come down from a ship in orbit – from one of the colonies?"

  Bethany pouted delightfully. "I guess." There was a doubtful pause. "Wonder why they'd need to send us reinforcements. Maybe it's a returning party that went out some time ago?"

  So close, sweet cheeks. "You'd know if an expedition had gone offworld, wouldn't you?"

  "We don't get told a lot." Bethany reached for her clothes, discarded on the floor. Though their rooms were right next to each other, they had to be careful and keep their movements to the middle of the night.

  Sam sat up, pressing herself against the arch of Bethany's back and nibbling her ear. "I noticed Okafor and his father seem to have a lot of sway," she whispered. The hairs on the back of Bethany's neck prickled. "But they're newcomers here."

  "An odd time to become interested in your betrothed."

  Yeah, that ain't happening. It's what she wanted to say to Bethany, but she still couldn't be entirely sure she trusted her. "Well, if I'm going to have to marry him..." It was as close as could be risked to saying what she really thought about the situation.

  Bethany sighed, her shoulders sagging. Sam hoped it was at the thought of her supposedly impending marriage, which would put an end to their liaison. "I think...I think the Raptured have been disappointed with us. Despite everything we have done, bringing Jonathan's people into the fold, our work to prepare ourselves to spread the word, the perfection of the Fragment, the Near-Raptured tell us that the faith of Jonathan and his followers is purer. Stronger, because it is fresh-forged, whereas we have had too many generations here without earning Rapture in any but the smallest numbers."

  "I've seen what kind of faith Jonathan and Cho have – I'm not sure I can call that pure." Sam realised her mistake even as she said it, as Bethany turned puzzled eyes on her.

  "It does seem odd that your own attitude isn't more like theirs."

  Sam tried a reassuring smile. "I just had the benefit of having you. As a mentor."

  Bethany pulled away and scrambled into her shift. She turned before she left, though, and lightly kissed S
am on the lips. "Probably time I went back to my room."

  **********

  +I'm getting movement from within the cavern+ Cahaya stated curtly. They'd reverted to subvoc as soon as it became clear that they were back in the hot zone – or rather, that the hot zone had come to them.

  +Going back out that way was never going to happen in a hurry+

  +I'm still picking up gunfire from the direction of the tunnel+

  The gunfire Cahaya was picking up with his gear was so faint they couldn't hear it themselves; that it could be detected at all was proof of life, though. Tier One didn't live by a 'no troop left behind' ethos, but if they could get through to a trapped comrade they would.

  +Find me another route out of this place+

  Cahaya pushed her the 3D map of the area he'd built from active ladar pings and other data sources like their helmet cams, gunsights and acoustic pick-ups. The route he'd picked out didn't go far, terminating at the fuzzy border where the information became too patchy. Its destination was clear, though – the tunnel that led up out of the cavern.

  +Not liking that – taking us well away from the others. And there must be other entrances, if the cavern has filled up with hostiles+

  +Maybe so, Yvgena. Those two bastards will hold out for a while yet, but we're going to get tagged if we try to go back the way we came+ Williams nodded sharply, her mind made up. +We go up – last thing they'll expect+

  The tunnel, up close, turned out to be more of a corridor, the walls properly machined and lined and the ground paved with evenly-cut stone. It was tall and wide, easily big enough for a shambler dragging a cart of dismembered women, and lit by the occasional flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling.

  Williams put Yvgena on point, Kora sweeping from behind, and took a few moments to think about the sitch. She knew it wasn't looking good, with the team split and Dirchs and Miller probably dead or captured by now; deep in uncharted enemy territory with their ride gone dark and hiding out.

  She had to make a way to break them clear and get their bearings, lie low until they could be extracted, try to link back up with their teammates if they were still kicking. She had a few things in her favour – a handful of boots could slip through where a battalion would get stuck, particularly when all of them were highly trained and when it seemed to be amateur hour in the enemy units. The hostiles were clattering about in large, noisy groups; calling to each other in what sounded like an archaic form of Anglic with smatterings of other old Earth languages, a broken patois out here on the ragged edge of civilisation.

  Yvgena held up her hand as they approached a point where the gently sloped corridor turned into a broad, spiralling ramp. They couldn't see what was at the end of it, but from the cheerful sounds of talking ahead and the occasional rattle of equipment it was obviously guarded.

  +OK, so smarter than I gave them credit+ Williams conceded to the others. +We push up, ultra quiet. Unless there's a full battalion at the top we take them down fast and hard and then break as quickly as we can+

  +You sure, Williams? Might be better trying to find another way round+

  She turned, eyeballed Yvgena. The Russian's cold grey eyes met hers, then looked away. +OK, boss. Getting tired of this creeping around anyway+

  Williams led the way, slow and steady, her world narrowing down to her straining senses and the awareness of her heart rate spiking slightly, the rasp of her own breathing in her ears. Light was flooding down the ramp and the noise of the guard post got louder. When she was pretty sure they were a turn away from ploughing into the hostiles, she crouched down, back to the inner wall of the helix, and nosed the Mauser around to scope the way ahead.

  + Makeshift checkpoint. Count ten+ She thought about it, but only for a second. +Go to suppression and stack up+

  Yvgena was solid as a brick as she slotted into the line-up, Kalash autopistol in a two-fisted grip, pumpgun over her shoulder. The two of them would do the bulk of the killing, while Kora and Cahaya tagged stragglers and watched their backs.

  Williams gave them a once-over, making eye contact with each of them. Their visors were untinted in the low light environment, their faces lit up by the faint glow of their in-helmet displays. Kora was cool and impenetrable as always; Cahaya looked a little shaky but wouldn't let the team down. Yvgena was ready, she'd always enjoyed when it came time to do some killing – even more so than Dirchs and Miller.

  The thought of their stranded comrades spurred her into action. +On my lead+

  She and Yvgena shot the four hostiles looking their way. There wasn't any need for co-ordination or planning; Williams went right and Yvgena left, shooting at centres of mass, and their weapons making less noise than the bodies hitting the ground. The clatter of a dropped gun alerted the others, but by that point it was too late for them. The two women were implacable, advancing with their weapons up, targets tagged for them by combat systems; the enemies who reacted first were just the first to die, misted blood a dark haze on their enhanced displays. They paused at the barricade of upturned tables, ducked down into cover as they reloaded, then Yvgena went over to finish the job as Williams covered.

  "Hostiles rear!" Kora called out. Yvgena had the last sentry in a chokehold, but released him and let him drop, gasping for breath. She shot him in the back of the head as the two backstops moved up to join them, weapons aimed down the ramp. They didn’t have eyes on the hostiles down the ramp, but they were definitely heading up and, from the tone of their voices, they weren’t sure what was going on – they definitely knew something was up.

  One of them called something out, his voice oddly plaintive.

  Williams didn't hesitate – luck was against them, so now they'd have to carve their own luck out. "Bang out!" she warned the others as she hoisted a grenade down the ramp.

  Everyone went loud at the same time as the grenade went off with a flat crump and someone screamed down below, caught in the vicious storm of whirling shrapnel. Yvgena lobbed another grenade down the way as Kora and Cahaya simultaneously fired on someone who staggered round the corner, sending him flying back. Williams had her Engager unslung and shouldered.

  The air stank of blood and explosives, a sour tang of vented bladders. There were definitely still hostiles moving around down there, but quite sensibly staying out of sight. They didn’t need to press an attack to keep the team pinned where they were – Williams didn’t want to risk getting caught in the open.

  “Yvgena, let’s clean them out. You two cover.”

  Yvgena vaulted over the barricade and advanced with her shotgun raised. Williams gave her a three-count and then went forwards as well, offset by half a metre to give her a clear field of fire.

  “Flash bang,” Yvgena murmured, almost lovingly, before rolling the cylinder she’d palmed down the ramp, disappearing round the curve. The device went off with a sharp crack and actinic flash, acrid smoke billowing, then Yvgena went round the turn low and fast, her pumpgun crashing twice. Williams was hot on her heels, but threw herself flat as Yvgena was flung back to crash into the outer wall.

  She came up on one knee, Yvgena’s breath choking in her earpiece. For a second, Williams couldn't work out what was wrong with her, then she made out the long barbed tendril that had punched through her armoured torso and was now probing about grotesquely where it emerged between her shoulder blades. A second later, Yvgena's killer came into view, rounding the curved inner wall. Yvgena screamed then, booted feet coming up off the ground, and the tentacle separated into three writhing tendrils, slicing her body into bloody chunks.

  CHAPTER EIGHT – BROKEN MEMORIES

  Sam lay in the darkness of her room after Bethany slipped away, letting the sweat cool on her skin. She knew she should sleep, that she needed to be on her toes tomorrow, but her mind was buzzing. She suspected she’d gone too far with Bethany; that she had placed too much trust in what they had going on, whatever the fuck that was.

  "I can't wait around too much longer." The approach of this wedding sham,
the arrival of the 'angels', everything was making her feel like a noose was tightening around her neck, and she was dangerously close to cracking and making a terrible mistake.

  At least the angels had brought with them the possibility of escape. Assuming the shuttle was still on the pad, and that Sergei was still alive and able to pilot it. She remembered his name, remembered what he had told her; couldn't remember his face or when he had had the opportunity to tell her that he was one of the colony's pilots. She wasn't even entirely sure she wasn't muddling memories from another time, another world altogether.

  Even if they got offplanet, they'd have the problem of where to go, even if the interstellar ship that must have brought the angels didn't blow them out of the sky. Try and seize the ship? Try to hide until reinforcements came?

  "What reinforcements, though? I don't even really know where the hell I am."

  You got a message out, though, remember? It came back to her in flashes – the bunker, out-of-date technology that she and...and...Adisa! had put back in working order. The fight, the message pod launching and...

  "The angel." She wouldn't ever forget that smell, or the sound Fassetti had made as it drilled into his skull.

  "Bastard deserved it." She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, relishing the coolness of the stone floor against her feet. She smiled suddenly. "Oh yeah. I'm back."

  Sort of.

  She dressed quickly, the fabric of the simple tunic and trousers still irritating on her skin. She'd have to move fast, but carefully. The hospice wasn't controlled, but she couldn't get cocky.

  Rule ten – there is such a thing as luck, and it isn't always on your side.

  The corridor outside her room was empty, which was a good start. She paused next to Bethany's door and listened – she could just make out the sound of gentle breathing. Her hand hovered over the door handle, then she stole away, retracing the steps she'd taken when she'd first been led out of the hospice.

  She could feel her heart thumping in her chest, and the sweat that slicked her back and the palms of her hands wasn't just because of the heat. She knew – or at least she'd been told – that she'd made a run at this before; that the runs had always ended in disaster.