Correlli’s head moved in a series of short but smooth jerks, quickly scanning the approaches to the intersection where he and Thorsten were standing, then behind and above them.
“You expecting them to get all the way down here?”
“I’m counting on it, sir,” answered Correlli, chambering a twenty-five-millimeter heat-seeking air-burst round into his assault rifle. He also checked the particle beam capacitor; its small display showed a full charge.
Thorsten’s own sidearm fired twenty-millimeter armor-piercing flechettes and was substantial in its own right, but he felt better with Correlli on overwatch.
“I’ll see if I can get you that sitrep, Colonel,” said the BLUE MONARCH, tapping some hidden keys on the collar of his hexagonal armor. Small blue lights briefly flashed, then faded from sight.
“I’ve got a clear signal now, sir. Patching you through.”
Correlli pulled another small piece of equipment from his bandolier and plugged it into Thorsten’s wrist comm.
“Anderson, are you there?” asked Thorsten, trying to sound like he was still in control of something.
“Sir, the situation has changed since you left,” came the deadpan response.
He’s still making jokes, that’s good, thought Thorsten, and he played along for the sake of morale.
“So I’ve gathered. I can’t leave you guys unsupervised for five minutes without everything falling apart. What’s our status?”
Anderson became serious.
“Sir, before our scopes went dead, we were tracking fourteen Komodo-class assault dropships in two seven-ship echelons. Typical Triven attack pattern.”
“Those are short-range craft. There must be a carrier ship in orbit somewhere,” Thorsten interjected.
“Aye, sir,” Anderson agreed. “But we had nothing on sensors until they were in the atmosphere. Then the jamming hit.”
“Continue!”
“Homestead has been hit hard,” Anderson reported.
Thorsten froze at the news. If the civvies had followed protocol, they could expect survivors and casualties to start arriving any moment in the main subterranean tube station.
“How bad?”
“Bad, sir. They hit the residential zone with multiple high-impulse thermobaric weapons. Then they hit the spaceport with some kind of massive ordnance penetrator. Made a crater the size of a city block. It’s completely obliterated.”
As if to emphasize the point, another shudder ran through Obsidian like a seizure.
Thorsten looked at Correlli, who gave him the grim litany of what to expect: “Anyone near the ignition point will be obliterated. Those at the fringe are likely to suffer many internal, and thus invisible injuries, including burst eardrums and crushed inner ear organs, severe concussions, ruptured lungs and internal organs, and possibly blindness.”
“Anderson, did you copy that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want anyone who’s not fighting down in the central tube station to receive incoming civvies.”
Thorsten paused and looked at Correlli.
“Get any BLUE MONARCHs who are not topside to help with the wounded, and cover evac at the underground airfield.”
“Colonel, we’re not under your chain of command ...”
Thorsten’s temper flared, followed quickly by his ulcer. He almost doubled over, but caught himself before completing the act.
“Correlli, I don’t care whose chain of command you’re in!” gasped Thorsten, jerking on the BLUE MONARCH’s bandolier. Correlli did not move an inch.
“Sir, I didn’t quite copy your last transmission,” interrupted Anderson.
“Stand by!” barked Thorsten.
“You didn’t let me finish, Colonel,” said Correlli patiently, removing the Colonel’s hand with little effort.
“We’ll follow your orders, sir. But if we’re issued an OMEGA command, neither I nor any of the other BLUE MONARCHs will be able to acknowledge any other orders you might give.”
“All other priorities rescinded?” asked Thorsten.
“All other priorities rescinded,” Correlli intoned almost religiously.
“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“Hope has nothing to do with it, sir,” replied Correlli matter-of-factly, cocking his head to the left and listening intently down the darkened corridor to their right. The audio sensors in his tactical helmet fed the signal directly to Correlli’s auditory nerves. He did some quick mental calculations.
“You’d better hurry up, sir. I think we’re going to have company in about two minutes and thirty seconds.”
“Anderson, give the evacuation order. Authorization Thorsten Alpha Three Tango Five. All remaining personnel and sensitive data to the underground airfield for immediate dustoff. Destroy anything that can’t be saved. Authenticate and confirm.” It’s happening on my watch, Thorsten thought.
Don’t beat yourself up, Colonel, it’s not your fault, a reassuring voice sounded in his head. He shot Correlli a look.
Anderson’s response was full of static but audible.
“Evacuation order confirmed and authenticated, Colonel.”
“What about TRIPWIRE?”
“It was automatically triggered the moment jamming broke our data link transmission, sir. The ... igates ... Cossack ... nd Hotspur are inbound ... ETA ... fif ... een ... inutes.”
“Status of Tempest?”
Static.
“Anderson?”
“Sorry, Colonel, they must be very close now if they’re jamming my gear,” said Correlli.
“All right, Correlli, you’re with me. We’re heading back to the Circus to get some very important cargo.”
“Aye, sir,” said Correlli, as he slapped two small devices on both sides of the corridor leading back to the lab.
Correlli gave the intersection one last visual sweep. When his helmet visor sight confirmed no targets, he turned and sprinted after Thorsten.
They were running out of time.
9
Emerson Avery could not understand what was happening to him. An excruciating burning sensation surged electrically all along his back despite the cold rain pelting him through the shattered windows. Everything was turning gray and he could not lift his head to look around. He dimly realized he had no peripheral vision. Ash was still mouthing soundless words at him and pulling on his hand.
His entire body felt limp.
“Ave, c’mon!” Ashley Reed yelled in desperation.
She stood up and began dragging him toward the door in the centermost part of what remained of their house. The same door in all of the houses on their street led to each home’s basement shelter and subterranean tube station.
John Reed was trying unsuccessfully to stop his wife’s frenzied thrashing on the kitchen floor. He grabbed her by both wrists, but she only twisted in his grasp and began to kick in every direction.
“Branden, hold your mother’s legs!” His son stared at him blankly.
“Son, I need you to grab your mother’s legs now!” John Reed barked.
Branden knelt down slowly and, with his good right arm, tucked his mother’s flailing legs into the tightest lock he could muster.
John Reed released Claire’s wrists, grabbed her under the armpits, and began heading for the door in the center of their wrecked house.
“Everyone downstairs!” he ordered, fighting another surging wave of nausea.
It was only then that he saw Ashley was already there with a very wounded Emerson Avery. An almost paralyzing fear gripped Reed, but he staggered forward, awkwardly carrying Claire and trying to calm himself.
“You’re gonna be all right, baby, just hang on. Hang on now, sweetheart, we can do this. You hear me?” John pleaded. He could see Branden was struggling to help carry his mother with only one arm, so he motioned for him to put her legs down and head below. Claire was not writhing anymore, so Reed turned and backed down the stairs, letting his wife’s feet thump unceremo
niously down each one.
The door to the outside world sealed shut and a thick armored blast plate erupted from the floor, engaging the ceiling lock mechanism with an iron grip.
Immediately all went quiet except for the gentle and reassuring hum of transit automate systems coming online. Even the soft yellow basement light began to restore some small measure of sanity to John Reed’s mind. The high-water mark of fear had been reached and some of the panic was finally beginning to ebb.
A stirring breeze in the tunnel and small flashing red lights along the edge of the basement platform signaled the approach of a transit tube.
“Warning. Tube car approaching. Please stand behind the yellow line,” an automated female voice cautioned.
John looked up to see who it was, then regretted his decision. The hatch of the first tube car was covered in bloody handprints and the occupants inside were dead or dying. The parade of human misery that began to pass them nearly froze him into inaction again.
“Don’t look!” Reed urged. “And get in the car!”
“Dad, the automate won’t disengage the safety to load the car!” yelled Ashley as she frantically hit buttons on the transit computer terminal.
Branden simply sat down on a curved bench that blended into the wall, cradling his left arm with his right one, and stared dully at the ground. Blood began to seep from his left ear again.
Ashley had lain Emerson on his left side on the basement floor. He felt the vibrations of the approaching tube cars and propped himself up to see what was going on.
So much death, he thought as the broken and bleeding whisked silently past him in tubular white coffins.
Why are they doing this?
The high-pitched ringing in his ears was fading to a dull, muffled sound, and he felt his mind was clearing despite the glass imbedded in his back.
He saw Mrs. Reed also lying on the floor a few feet away, and Ashley talking to her father. She was gesturing vehemently at their tube car. The transit computer terminal glowed an angry red, so he guessed the system was offline. Spying the manual override lever, he dragged himself along the ground until he could reach it, then pushed down on it with all his weight.
Dad, are you okay?! Emerson thought.
Ashley looked down, surprised to see him draped over the manual release lever.
The tube car floated loose from its magnetic moorings and slid gently down to settle lightly into the “load” position. The transit automate was supposed to sense a new car as it entered the system and adjust the speed of any approaching cars accordingly. But with the damage sustained by the colony, Reed had no idea if that safety feature was even working.
He gestured for Branden to get in. The dazed boy did so, collapsing in a heap in one of the car’s rear seats.
Ashley helped Emerson to his feet. He inhaled sharply as he stood and she saw him wince, but he managed to shuffle quickly with her as they took their places in the tube car.
John Reed came last, backing into the car and gently dragging Claire behind him. Her breath came in a shallow rapid pant and she was shivering uncontrollably. He lay her gingerly on the floor in the front of the car under the main control panel, then grabbed an old blanket from one of his basement storage lockers and draped it over her.
The center dash screen in the tube car was black save for one word in bright yellow letters:
EVACUATE
God have mercy, thought Reed. They’ve finally found us.
He hit the large green button to the right of the center screen and the tube door hissed shut.
The onboard computer, sensing no direction from the central transit automate, defaulted to safe mode and quickly dumped the tube car into the maglev channel, then accelerated it to standard cruising speed.
Everyone sat quietly except for Reed, who knelt down and gently stroked his wife’s forehead and whispered to her.
Tube travel time between their home and the main station was only fifteen minutes.
It felt like an eternity.
10
To: Spec Ops Cptn Larz Kristie / Tempest
From: Spec War Ops Comm
TRIPWIRE data stream terminated at approx 1800 hrs local time.
Proceed with all speed to OBSIDIAN.
Retrieve the package.
All other priorities rescinded.
11
Special Operations Captain Larz Kristie finished reading the brief message that appeared on his chair’s comm pad, then quickly swiveled his seat 180 degrees.
“Chief, push the matrix to 115% total output.”
Quickly, efficiently, and without question, the chief engineer made the necessary adjustments to the Tempest’s thraceium matrix. Kristie could almost feel the energy pulsing through the deck plates.
The dimly lit bridge of the special warfare ship was a cocoon of quiet yet intense activity. The crew spoke in muted tones as they went about their duties, and every computer worked in hushed mode. For all intents and purposes, the Tempest looked like any other naval supply ship. She could and did carry cargo from time to time to keep up appearances. But the resemblance was only skin deep.
The Tempest bristled with every type of sophisticated sensor array in the Navy’s inventory, and some that did not officially exist. Her external hull plating, although scarred and pitted from use, covered a special hardened armor alloy. Designed to withstand massive ballistic impacts and absorb, then dissipate energy weapon discharges, it made the Tempest an extremely robust and stealthy ship.
And while Tempest was an exquisite tool for discreetly collecting information from unknowing targets, if necessary, she could fight as well or better than any Navy frigate. Along her port and starboard sides were four large cargo bay doors, allowing easy roll-on, roll-off, through-ship access for all types of vehicles and equipment. Hidden behind each one was a powerful naval caliber electromagnetic railgun capable of punching through Triven deflector shields and armor.
Concealed in the bow were four launch tubes, enabling the Tempest to fire a wide range of guided and unguided ballistic and energy-based weapons. The stern cargo bay could launch and recover a small contingent of support ships or shuttles, but generally housed a quartet of Mako-class space superiority fighters. A close-in point defense system capable of shooting down Triven fighters or missiles with hypervelocity tungsten flechettes completed its weapons suite.
All of this, and the proficiency of his crew, gave Kristie supreme confidence in their ability to face whatever lay before them. He scanned the ship’s chronometer and projected course through hyperspace. They would find out soon enough.
He activated the intercom. The digital bosun’s whistle sounded and all activity on the ship paused.
“This is the Captain,” he said calmly. “All hands report to battle stations.”
12
Richard Avery’s mind raced furiously and he felt his heart thudding in his chest as he stared at his computer.
Every monitor in the lab blazed with only one pulsing yellow word on a black background:
EVACUATE
He had rehearsed this scenario several times of course. Evacuation drills were a mandatory part of life if you lived and worked on Entropia.
But now it was real.
The Triven were no longer an abstraction.
They were coming.
Colonel Thorsten charged into the lab, sidearm drawn, startling the doctor out of his chair.
“What’s your status, Rich? We’ve got to get out of here. Now!” Thorsten asked and demanded in the same breath.
Before he could respond, BLUE MONARCH Correlli came running through the lab door. He was looking intently at a small holographic display built into the armor of his left forearm.
“Doctor, we are out of time,” he said sternly. “Is Subject A sedated?”
The chirps and screeches coming through the blast glass supp
lied Correlli with an answer.
“I, I was just getting to that ...” Avery responded weakly.
“Please do it now, doctor,” said Correlli, while releasing the safety on his assault rifle and peering back the way he had come. His helmet sight still registered no targets.
Avery flipped up the small clear cover on his desk console and hit the red button beneath.
Subject A was leaping around the confines of the Circus like some oversized frog, overturning its bed and smashing the meager furniture into tiny pieces. The clear, odorless tranquilizer gas hit it mid-jump and it crashed to the floor in a pile of spines and talons.
Cerulean Rising - Part I: Beginnings Page 3
