This region’s era of repression was over. How it would cascade into the rest of the world, Aadil couldn’t guess. But he hoped in his heart that their actions of these past few days mattered. That Batrisyla’s death had meaning.
Aadil tilted his head in the direction of the ship-base. “How are we going to get in?” It was a good question. They had been up close. The pier to the ship was a half-mile long and narrow. It was a kill zone.
“By water,” a voice said, from past the light of the fire. A group of rat people appeared, led by Tazeem. “I’m sorry. We’ve been following you to see if it was true what you had said, that you were going to attack the ship-base. We want—we need—to help. Our children are there. We’d rather die than run off without knowing what has become of them.”
Haq regarded them for a moment. Their eyes were intense and sane, the burden of their horrible existence lifted, if not forgotten. They would be useful.
“Tell me about the water,” Haq said.
= = =
Tazeem and the others left to collect fuel and arms they had stockpiled underground. During the upcoming assault, Aadil would fight alongside them. Haq would fight alone. It made sense: Haq could be more ruthless in his attack if he didn’t have to worry about collateral damage. He could go insane with rage, and all the dead left behind would be deserving.
Tazeem would lead the diversion. He devised the plan to take down the base, and it involved a ruse. He, Aadil, and the others would cause a ruckus at the front gate, to draw all the attention. Then they would blow the gate open with a fuel bomb and fight their oppressors for the last time.
“You will be in a vulnerable position,” Haq said to Aadil. He was concerned. His sister had lost her life on his watch, and now—likely—so would her husband. He looked around to make sure the two of them were alone. “Stay under cover. Let them take the brunt of the assault.”
“They’re trying to get their kids back,” Aadil said. His eyes were wet with the thought. “I have to help any way I can.”
“Just stay behind cover. A handgun won’t do anything to a Tank Minor; they won’t even be distracted by it. Something sharp like an axe will. Fire will. Explosions, blunt force trauma—hitting them with a vehicle. That will break them.”
“I got it, Haq,” Aadil said with a worn smile.
Tazeem and his team reappeared with the scavenged supplies. A donkey pulled a cart loaded with fuel drums. Ancient RPGs and various small arms lay next to them. The donkey bucked and brayed around Haq.
“We’re ready,” Tazeem said.
Haq addressed Tazeem and the others. “I’ll wait for the explosion. Divert them, but keep your distance. I’ll do the rest.” He paused for a moment, considering his next words. “I’m sorry this happened to you. This is a small reparation for what you’ve endured.”
“It’s a start,” Tazeem said. “Good luck.”
The giant walked toward the gray, rolling waves. Aadil ran to his side.
“Haq, no matter what happens, Batrisyla would be proud.”
Haq remained quiet. Aadil patted his hand. “Do well. Keep your head above water.”
They laughed at how literal that statement was.
“I’ll do my best,” Haq said. “But if I don’t make it, you run.”
Haq walked into the sea.
= = =
Aadil, Tazeem, and the others moved through the city using the alleys as cover. They thought they might encounter a Tank Minor in the city, but that didn’t happen. When they reached the beach, they saw that the base was on high alert. Spotlights passed back and forth over the bridge, and the ship glowed with floodlights.
Tazeem handed Aadil an ancient 12-gauge shotgun.
“Haq said these won’t work,” Aadil said, looking it over.
“It has slugs in it. Up close it’ll do damage,” Tazeem replied.
They ran to the bridge.
= = =
“There’s activity at the entrance,” a tech reported. Chao linked into the hover-rovers that were scanning the perimeter of the base and saw a group of men at the gate. They were setting something against it. He lowered a hover-rover to try and see better through the damn fog, and immediately, the disk jostled from side to side. Chao raised an eyebrow at the tech.
“They’re shooting at it,” the tech said.
“Where’s Haq?” Chao asked.
“There’s no sign of him, sir. The hover-rovers have scanned the beachfront and most of the town.”
“He’s around. Keep looking. Link me in, full control, as soon as you find him.”
Chao ordered all the Tank Minors to meet outside with sniper rifles and submachine guns. Then he moved quickly to the armory and began the process of linking in to the ship’s defense systems. That would take a while due to the incongruity of the old ship and his own software. He initiated one of the Sleepers to hasten the compatibility.
Chao had justified a lot of actions he had taken in his life. A soldier desensitizes over time. The first kill is tough, but strangely, the second is tougher, because you’re grossly aware of what you’re taking away. After that though, the value of life diminishes.
Humans have always justified the superiority of their existence over other creatures, but what makes it so? Who judges that a slug salted dry by some bored brat has less value than a soldier killed in battle? The ones in charge, of course. On a microscopic blue orb circling a star, one of octillions.
Chao made his home in such observations, and this made him dangerous and unpredictable. But also, in some twisted way, truthful. He valued life of all living things equally—because for all living things, it meant nothing at all.
Chao’s main weapon was a .50 caliber minigun. He slung the seven-hundred-pound ammunition case over his shoulder like it was a preschooler’s backpack. It locked on to brackets that protruded from his spine.
He zeroed the gun sight to his vision. The Mindlink made this possible, like it did so many other things. A targeting reticle appeared in his field of view. It showed the trajectory of the rounds he would fire, with accuracy down to an inch.
Chao holstered the massive gun to the ammunition case. His hydraulshocks were locked and loaded. Just one more errand to ensure victory.
= = =
The room Chao entered looked like some sick pedophile library. Forty-four children surrounded the perimeter, floating in capsules. The boy was one of them. In the center of the room, the Data Core—a massive blue cylinder five stories tall—coursed and crackled. All the data in the region flowed through it. A Minor nodded at Chao sleepily.
“Wake the fuck up,” Chao ordered.
Six Sleepers surrounded the Data Core like the petals of a daisy. They monitored the Data Core’s health, and provided a notification whenever an existing “fuse”—a child—needed to be replaced. Mounted outside on the nuclear reactor was the Data Sump: a massive satellite dish that relayed all information to the Northern Star.
Chao made his way down to the Sleepers. They had always creeped him out. They tended to curl up like coma patients, oblivious to their surroundings. One of them vibrated back and forth.
The Northern Star was based in Washington, D.C. and consisted of thirteen components. Eleven of those components were the so-called “Pieces”: scientists and savants dragged from their homes and manipulated with Forced Autism in order to have full access to their aptitude. The procedure made them brilliant—but also listless and easily distracted. The final two components were the Consciousness Module and the Will. The Consciousness Module was unmodified and guided the Pieces as directed by the Will. The Will was Evan Lindo—who ruled them all.
This base was a Multiplier for the Northern Star’s consciousness. The children in this room were “fuses” used to reduce the Northern Star’s latency to this part of the world. Ten of the children were used to multiply the Will. Three children were used per Piece. But only one child was used for the Consciousness Module.
“I need the Consciousness fuse,” Chao t
hought to the Sleepers.
“He will be ready for removal in forty-five seconds,” the Sleeper said in Chao’s head. “You will be linked in to the ship’s defense system in four minutes. Any requests for specific weapon activation?”
“The chain gun,” Chao said.
Chao heard the release of the Consciousness fuse, and he went to it. Inside, the boy was healing nicely. Wesley shouldn’t have shot him. Consciousness candidates were rare—one in fifty thousand.
VIII
The ocean water grew hot as Haq approached the base. Above him, hover-rovers flew back and forth in grid-like patterns in constant search, but the temperature of the water masked his heat signature, just as Tazeem had predicted. They couldn’t see him, and they would think he was with the others at the gate.
The sea could swallow Haq—he was too heavy to swim—and if the sea got a hair above his nose, he would drown. So he moved slowly. Each wave that crashed over him stopped his heart. But the pier to the ship was more dangerous than the water. If the warship was armed, it could shell him. If Minors saw him, they could zero in with high-powered armor-piercing rifles or TOWs. It was an intentional bottleneck designed to ward against assault, and it was perfectly executed.
So he found himself walking parallel to the shore for two hours, his head just above water, starting from the rocky wall that Kadir had called home.
Haq was loath to let Aadil go without him, but this was the only way. On his own, Haq didn’t need to worry about those around him, he didn’t need to protect anyone. Still, it was Aadil who would be in the danger zone, not him. Aadil would be where the initial firefight would begin. The Minors were sharpshooters, strong up close. And Chao was worse, a bull in a china shop. He could squeeze the life out of a person in seconds.
I won’t let it happen, Haq said to himself. To his dead sister. She swam ahead of him, looking back, making sure he held his promise.
The emotions had dried out because he had given himself a task, but now they were back. His sister was dead, gone. He’d never see her smile again. He’d never wait for her visit while he rotted in his bunker. The tears burned because they were laced with anger and regret. Because he could have chosen differently, and those other paths wouldn’t have led here.
Haq gripped the bridge’s support beams. Relief washed over him: he would not sink helplessly into the ocean. With extreme care he moved sideways, beam to beam, into deeper water. Above him, he passed the gated entrance. Water seeped into the battle chassis and scalded what skin it could, but he moved on. It was the least of his worries.
A wave sloshed over his helmet. Haq laughed—a weird, joyous noise. If Batrisyla could see me now, he thought. I’m going to kill him, Batrisyla. I’m going to kill him. And I’ll save the children. All for you.
He made it to the end of the bridge. To his left, huge heat sinks were mounted to the ship, sunk a third into the water. Steam roared off them; he felt like he was in the middle of a geyser. He climbed to just below the surface of the bridge. He had never done this before—climbed—and he was surprised at how good he was at it.
When he reached his position, he stopped and waited for the signal. He was ready.
= = =
While Tazeem and another man placed the bomb, the others suppressed the hover-rovers that tried to approach with gunfire. One of them got close, and Aadil had a chance to try the 12-gauge. The butt of the gun slammed hard into his shoulder and the hover-rover rattled and clanged from the slug’s impact. It shuddered away, out of range. Two flew past, high overhead, and scanned behind them. Looking for Haq, Aadil knew. He prayed that Haq was alive, that he hadn’t slipped into the sea. This battle would be short without him.
The bridge showed no signs of life. He didn’t see the glowing eyes of Minors or the hulking outline of the giant who had killed his wife.
Spotlights swept the surface, but the fog was suffocating, like they were in a fugue. Silhouettes of supply crates and old vehicles sat just within sight. They would have cover. It was still a walk of death, but at least there was something to get behind.
“It’s time!” Tazeem yelled. “We do this for the children on this ship and the children we’ve already lost! We do this for the lives taken away too soon and without apology! To the death!”
Tazeem ignited the fuel wick, and it chased toward the opened hydraulshock and the drums of fuel. Aadil took a shell out of his pocket and reloaded his shotgun.
= = =
Chao stood on the ship’s deck, surveying the scene. Six Minors were positioned on the pier. Two remained back in sniper positions. The other four moved toward the mob, submachine guns drawn. Chao was online now, and the battleship’s turret—designed to destroy incoming airplanes and missiles—followed his eyes. He could see the rat people at the gate. But no Haq. The giant was missing.
= = =
The hydraulshock that Haq had given the rat people would have been more than enough. It ignited with the fuel, sending a mushroom of fire a hundred yards into the air and cooking the fog off half the bridge. The gate collapsed.
Aadil was the fifth man through, and he saw tight flashes, like fireworks, ignite on the ship. Next to him, a man’s arm exploded. Aadil tried to help, but another shot tore the man in half. Aadil ran for a truck parked sideways on the bridge.
He heard submachine gun racket. He moved slowly to the back of the truck and used the wheel for cover. He peered out carefully to survey the scene.
On top of a crate, a Minor, his eyes aglow, was using his submachine gun to pick off targets. He was fifteen yards from Aadil.
Aadil leaned around the wheel and took careful aim. The Minor didn’t see him. Aadil fired. The shot was low, and the Minor rolled off the crate to the ground. Five men charged him.
Aadil stood up and ran toward the commotion. The Minor had broken the arm of one of the rebels, had shot two, and was about to kill another. Aadil fired a slug into him, hitting his shoulder. The man in the Minor’s grip opened up with his assault rifle, peppering the Minor with shots to the chest. The Minor retreated. Aadil looked around. Already a third of their assault team was injured or dead, and they hadn’t even killed one enemy soldier.
And then he heard what could have only been Haq.
= = =
Chao couldn’t believe what he saw. While watching the Minors picked apart the rebels, he sensed a huge movement beneath him. Haq had crawled over the side of the pier just thirty yards away. Water rolled off the giant’s body, and when he stood up, even more rushed out of the seams of his armor. The Tank Major from two boroughs over spun up quickly and charged toward the ship.
The nearest sniper had climbed atop the arm of a truck crane to get maximum visibility downrange. Haq saw the muzzle flash three stories up and veered in its direction.
BA-BAM!
For a fraction of a second, Haq became a smear. Half the truck vanished, its diesel tanks blew, and the crane arm snapped back, launching the sniper into the ocean like a trebuchet. Haq didn’t waste time—he charged the other sniper, who lay prone on a pile of crates. The sniper tried to jump off, but Haq crashed through the boxes. The Minor fell and Haq stepped on him, smearing him into the ground.
Haq felt the chatter of bullets against his body. Chao was firing at him from above with his minigun. Haq was about to charge and hydraulshock the ship wall beneath the goliath when he saw Chao’s trump card:
The boy in orange was strapped to Chao’s chest.
Haq hesitated—he couldn’t attack the ship and risk injuring or killing the boy. And Chao used that to his advantage. He aimed the battleship’s turret at Haq and opened fire.
A well-aimed round tore one of Haq’s hydraulshock magazines right from his shoulder; another round punctured his chest armor. Under the withering assault, Haq had no choice but to retreat. He fled, the rounds chasing him, obliterating the pier where he had just stepped. He felt another round slam into his back, and a warning light in his helmet erupted with red. Diving behind a large truck for
cover, Haq braced himself against the onslaught.
= = =
The rat people screamed in triumph when they saw the crane explode near the ship, and Aadil and the others rushed forward. Ahead of them, a Minor stepped out from behind an old helicopter and opened fire. Two men near Aadil collapsed.
But the rebels were no longer afraid. An RPG ripped past the Minor, and his eyes widened with surprise. Lead and shot from the twelve remaining men peppered the bionic. Two men with axes lunged at him. The Minor grabbed one, but the other swung with all his might into the Minor’s neck. The Minor fell to his knees, and they swarmed him like wasps. They shot and chopped until he moved no more.
We’re going to win, Aadil thought.
But then the ship roared in rebuttal: a huge gun on its front bow fired on Haq. Aadil looked up and saw Haq retreat behind a truck, pinned, with nowhere to go.
“We have to help!” he yelled.
They rushed forward to save the giant.
= = =
Chao saw the rat people closing in. Bullets ricocheted around him. An RPG went wide, exploding into the wall.
But then the rat people saw what he had done with the boy. “Stop shooting!” one of them yelled to the others. They ceased their attack.
Chao looked back to Haq: he was now pushing the truck forward, using it as a shield. Chao used the ship’s chain gun and shot at the ground in front of it, ripping a hole in the bridge. The truck immediately wedged into the crevice.
And then Chao shredded the truck in a hail of blinding lead.
= = =
Haq had no choice but to remain crouched behind the truck as Chao’s chain gun chewed it apart. He glanced back and saw Aadil. Their eyes connected, and a helplessness passed between them.
The gunfire left the truck and circled Haq’s perimeter; Chao was cutting a hole in the pier.
The ground under Haq crumbled. His foot replanted, only to replant again. The water, whose depth now meant death to him, was somewhere in the fog below.
The Northern Star Trilogy: Omnibus Edition Page 70
