The Battle for the Solar System (Complete Trilogy)

by Sweeney, Stephen

  “I can see where they put down,” Estelle said. “I can see the sleds on the beach.”

  Chaz hurried over, looking to where Estelle pointed. He nodded, but didn’t linger by the window long. “Okay, that’s good, but we need to try and keep ourselves hidden, and that means keeping away from the windows.” He took Estelle by the arm and began leading her from where she stood.

  Estelle yanked herself free of the big man’s grasp. Again with the orders and the ill treatment. Did he suddenly think rank no longer applied? More than anywhere, it applied most of all here and now. She nodded to the computer Chaz had been working at. “Any luck?”

  “No, I wasn’t able to make head or tail of the system before it cut out. If we want to make contact with local forces, we’ll have to find them ourselves.”

  “We need to get to the beach first,” Estelle said.

  “Well, that’s where we were headed anyway. But we can’t rush this. We need to keep ourselves out of sight, and that means going slow.”

  Estelle nodded and began to stride back towards the fire escape. “We’d better get moving, then. We’ve got something like sixty floors to get down.”

  *

  The journey down, though not as laborious as their ascent had been, was by no means any quicker. Several times, the pair had hunkered down in a corner of the stairwell, as they had heard doors opening and closing above and below them. Despite anticipating a raft of Imperial soldiers to come sprinting up the stairs towards them, they saw and heard little, save for the slamming of the doors, scampering of feet, and flicker of shadows.

  Given the rate of their descent, it took them the best part of an hour to reach the bottom. They were ever the more cautious as they crept out of the stairwell and into the reception. It was, however, as quiet and deserted as it had been when they had first entered, and soon the pair were making their way back down the semicircular steps that led into the broadcast house.

  Was it Estelle’s imagination, or was it darker now than it had been earlier? Surely the sun didn’t set this quickly around here, especially not during summer. It prompted her to move on swiftly.

  “Beach,” she said in hushed tones, taking point. Chaz didn’t answer, and turning back to him she saw the big man standing stock still. “Hey, what are you doing? We’ve got to hurry!”

  “Shh!” he said, waving frantically at her.

  Estelle recognised that look – now there truly was danger. “What?” she said, looking about and trying to discover the source of the man’s distress. She couldn’t see anything … but now that she had stopped to concentrate on it, she could hear something. She was about to say so, when a pair of strong arms wrapped all around her and pulled her to the ground, close to one of the tall bushy areas of the television station’s gardens. A big hand closed tight over her mouth.

  Chaz’s voice whispered very quietly into her ear, “Don’t move, don’t talk, and keep your eyes shut!”

  Orders again, but this time ones she was more than willing to listen to. She did as he had said, and the two lay still and silent on the ground. The noise grew as whatever it was that Chaz was attempting to hide from approached. It sounded like a wind turbine, though at a much lower pitch and volume. It was accompanied by the sound of a motor engine and of heavy wheels, crunching along the road. With her eyes shut, her imagination began to play tricks on her. It seemed as if the source of the sounds were mere feet from where the two hid.

  The roar of turbines intensified and, unable to stand it any longer, she opened her eyes a fraction, to get a glimpse of the source. She immediately shut them again, but not before the image was burned into her mind. It was as if she had just pulled back her bedroom window curtains and seen the monster she had hoped not to be there, staring straight back at her through the glass.

  The roar came from a pair of aerial vehicles that travelled along the road, parallel to the broadcast house. They moved as if rolling on a set of large, invisible wheels. Sat atop each were two black-clad soldiers, one hand on the steering handles, the other firmly grasping a rifle. The real set of wheels had crawled into her vision just as she shut her eyes – a personnel carrier rolled slowly after the two floating craft, the thick, heavy wheels crushing anything that lay before them, including the bodies of the fallen. Estelle didn’t need to see any more of the APC – her imagination was doing an excellent job of filling in the blanks.

  The two remained where they were, Chaz not loosening his grip on her at all whilst the sound of the rolling wheels and the crafts’ engines faded as they moved away. Eventually, they could no longer be heard. Even then Chaz didn’t let go, and several minutes passed before he released his grip.

  He stood slowly, without a word, keeping one hand firmly on Estelle as he did so, pushing down on her arm to indicate that she should remain where she was. He scouted about, to ensure that the danger had well and truly passed, and the soldiers had not simply stopped further up the road, before returning to her side.

  “Okay,” he said quietly. “Let’s get moving.”

  Estelle nodded and rose to her feet, following after him.

  Three left, she thought. Only three left …

  VIII

  — The Girl with the Right Hook —

  Throughout his career, Simon Dodds had considered quitting the CSN three times. The first came within the first few weeks of joining the service, when he had successfully made an enemy out of Anthony Hawke. The high-ranking officer had taken offence to his cocksure attitude and had gone out of his way to break his spirit. After a number of beasting exercises and blanket punishments for his dorm, his friends, and seemingly anyone else who happened to be near him during training exercises, Dodds had wondered if he had made the right decision in enlisting. A chance to see the galaxy – perhaps become a hero – was a bigger draw than apples, computer keyboards, or office politics.

  But even he had his limits.

  What had convinced him to stay was another equally confident pilotin-training – Estelle de Winter. Ironically, she had also gone on to become the second reason for him almost quitting. For a time, the ambitious young woman had become a significant part of his world. So, when she told him that she wished to break off their relationship to concentrate on her career, Dodds was unsure whether he could remain in the service. He wasn’t someone to often confess his true feelings to people, but at the time it felt as though Estelle had tossed his heart into the rubbish. But, yet again, he had made it through, taking some time out to gather his thoughts.

  The third event that had caused him to consider ending his career had been that time – when he had taken the lives of Poppy Castro and Stefan Pitt. He didn’t like to think about that time much. But he always did. Every day.

  And today? Today marked the fourth time he had given strong consideration to quitting. There wasn’t really much to say about this one – the past few hours spoke for themselves.

  *

  Damn it was hot. He had no idea how far he had walked through the streets of New Malaga, but what he did know was that it was sweltering. He had already shed his jacket, in an attempt to stave off the heat of the sun that was beating down upon him. How hot had the sled’s navicom said it was? Local time: somewhere just after 11:00am, Temperature: 29°C. And it would probably only get hotter.

  His journey east had been a lonely one, though also quite unsettling. His company, for the most part, had been a trail of corpses and wanton destruction, that grew in size as he drew closer to the built-up city centre. Several times, he had seen people running in the distance. Twice now, he had seen vehicles speeding about in a bid to escape, the first of which had been making its way haphazardly across an open field. The driver was either too panicked to do so with any care or attention, or was totally unaccustomed to the vehicle, their course extremely erratic. The second, a motorcycle of some kind, had almost hit Dodds as it attempted to negotiate the traffic that clogged the city streets. It seemed that the driver had seen him and had been toying with the ide
a of running him down, should he block his path. Dodds had been forced to jump up onto the bonnet of a nearby car in order to get out of the way, leaving the rider to speed past without a look back. Like the bodies Dodds had seen, the man was dressed as an office worker – smart shirt and trousers, his collar undone, looking as though he had discarded his tie elsewhere.

  That was the last human being Dodds had seen for a while.

  With every step he took through the apparently deserted city centre, Dodds had to fight a great urge to hide himself away, lay low and wait for rescue to find him. Though he had yet to see them, he was certain that this was the work of those black-clad soldiers. Pandorans? Is that what they had been called? The ones that had attacked Ifrit and doomed the carrier to an early retirement. He wondered what had become of the ATAFs, whether they were still secured in the hold, deep beneath the sea as Hail had intended, or if they had been destroyed along with the entire ship, after it had dropped from the skies and hit the ground at some tremendous velocity.

  But more than anything, he wondered what had become of Estelle, Enrique, Kelly and Chaz. Without any means of contacting them, he could only hope that Lady Luck might favour him and that he might somehow manage to find them before something terrible happened. That, more than anything, was what drove him forward, helping him to overcome his unease and great trepidations.

  He finally reached the end of the road he walked, and stared up at the tall, wrought iron gates that stood open at the main entrance to an enormous expanse of parkland. ‘Eastfields Park’ hung in large, gold letters on the archway above. Dodds surveyed the park. The usual calm and beauty that he might have expected of his surroundings was shattered by two burnt-out vehicles, not far from where he stood. One had been overturned and lay on its side, the windscreen shattered and a tyre blown out. Multiple holes perforated the chassis, the clear result of bullets from heavy gunfire. Bodies lay around, blood covering their clothes and soaking into the short grass beneath. Those he could see appeared dead already, but Dodds decided to investigate nevertheless.

  He gingerly approached those closest to him and began to check for signs of life. He found none, and moved on to check another group – a family of four – a mother, father, a girl and a boy, both appearing less than ten years old. Even in the warmth of the day, their skin felt cold. Not long after he had begun, Dodds gave up his search for survivors and continued on through the park, keeping an eye out for anything useful that might aid him in his journey.

  What would he have done if he’d found survivors, anyway?

  None of those that had fallen appeared to have any weapons or supplies with them whatsoever, and Dodds trod carefully, listening out for the sounds of fighting and voices; friendly or otherwise. It was as he drew towards a clump of trees that he realised that what he had mistakenly believed to be another overturned vehicle, was actually one of Ifrit’s escape sleds.

  A ragged trail, several metres long, had been churned up in the ground, where the capsule had crash-landed and skidded along, cutting a wild path through the mown grass, like an errant plough. The capsule had come to a halt just in front of a large tree trunk. After the hours of pondering the fates of Ifrit’s other evacuees, Dodds felt a small glimmer of hope that they had survived unscathed. The scene suggested that the occupants must’ve encountered some issues with the craft, much like his own, and had had to effect a rough ditch. And like him, they were a long way off course. He only hoped that the passengers were still alive.

  He hurried over, though even before he was close he could see that the capsule was empty, the passengers long gone. Regardless, he began a search of the sled and the surrounding area, hoping to find clues as to who the former occupants may have been and where they had gone. But, after several minutes of routing through the capsule and its surroundings, he came up empty-handed. There were no clues around or within the sled, and little else to go on. He resigned himself to the fact that he was a pilot, not a tracker, and no footprints, no matter how conspicuous, that the escapees may have left, would be of any use to him.

  He looked back around at the bodies he had passed, trying to spot Confederation uniforms amongst them, in case he may have missed them earlier. He considered that the pod’s occupants may have managed to escape the failing carrier, survive a battle against an unruly vessel that was supposed to guide them to safety, and make it through a heavy landing uninjured, only to be gunned down within minutes of exiting the craft.

  No uniforms, only civilians. And he was still lost and alone. He swore under his breath and then scanned the surrounding area. The thick plumes of black smoke rising from the north of the city were still very prominent and disconcerting. Time was wasting. Whoever was in the sled must’ve made their way to the beach, to rendezvous with the others. He should carry on that way, too.

  And through the trees and away from open spaces would be the most sensible move.

  He had just started into the woody area when he heard a sound from above. He looked up, just in time to see a shape descending rapidly towards him. He made to move, but the warning hadn’t come soon enough. He caught a blur of limbs for but a fraction of a second, before his attacker hit him hard, sending him crashing down onto the ground. Anticipating a follow-up attack, or an attempt by his opponent to pin him down, he rolled out of the way and sprang to his feet.

  Out of all the coaching that Enrique had given him over the last few months, Dodds was grateful that the emphasis had been on defence; the most important of these being the ability to pull oneself up after being knocked down. He was also thankful that he’d enjoyed better success now than back on Ifrit.

  As fast as Dodds was, his adversary was already back on their own feet, guard raised. They were bouncing around, appearing to be looking for an opening as they prepared to strike again. Dodds caught an instance of yellow, as well as a light brown uniform, covering a slender frame, as his opponent swung for him. He sidestepped to dodge the attack, then reached for the pistol he had holstered in his jacket, intending on quickly gunning down his attacker. In a flash, a hand grabbed hold of his forearm. The grip wasn’t strong enough to wrench his arm away, but was still firm enough to prevent him from taking hold of the firearm.

  Stupid! He should’ve found a better place for the gun than in a jacket he was carrying under his arm.

  At that moment, he got a better look at his attacker – a slender, fair-skinned woman of average height and blonde hair, dressed in what he recognised as brown army fatigues, common among the Independent worlds. The expression on her face was one of wild desperation, a mixture of anger and fear, as though the recent events that had ravaged the city had driven her feral.

  Dodds moved to prise the grip from his arm, when the woman swung at him once more, landing three successive blows to his face – one to the nose, two to his chin. Swinging his arm up and around, Dodds shook off the grip, jumped back and yanked the pistol free of its holster, letting his jacket fall to the ground. As he raised the gun to take aim, his right hand was caught by a well-placed kick, causing the pistol to break free of his grasp and send it hurtling skyward, twirling over and over as it went.

  Hell! For a couple of seconds, Dodds stood motionless, watching in dismay as his advantage spun away from him. He then lowered his eyes back down to his opponent. The woman, too, was tracking the path of the pistol, looking a little surprised at the success her kick had had in clearing away the most immediate threat to her life.

  She had lingered too long. Dodds saw his opportunity.

  Never hit a girl, his father had said to him.

  Never?

  Never, Simon. Well, except if you really, really have to, like she’s trying to kill you or something. But don’t expect that to happen very often.

  The slug hit the blonde woman square across the jaw, the blow strong enough to cause her to spin around and lose her balance, where she landed heavily on her front. Dodds wasted no time and leapt forward to pin her down; one punch was enough. The woman looked around a
s he closed in, and with a quick flick of her feet, she tripped him. He rolled again and brought himself up, just as the woman did the same. He prepared to go at her again.

  The sound of something solid and heavy hitting the ground distracted him for a second. Nestled in the short grass, close by, was something grey and metallic. There was the wink of a green light. The pistol!

  The woman had seen it, too.

  At once, the pair raced towards it, Dodds diving forward in an attempt to throw his entire body over the gun and prevent his adversary from getting to it first. He saw a booted foot connect with it an instant before he landed and the weapon flew out of his reach. He made a vain attempt to grab hold of one of the brown legs that passed by, but knew already he was too late, his wild snatching clasping at nothing but air.

  He drew himself up as he heard a familiar high-pitched whine, and stood face-to-face with the woman who had attacked him. She was breathing heavily, her arm outstretched and the pistol trained on his head. Her face was dirty and sweaty, her hair, though tied up, somewhat unkempt, like a child who had spent the day playing in the garden. There was a trickle of blood running from her nostrils.

  Dodds remained where he was, not taking his eyes off the woman, barely moving. He didn’t even raise his hands in surrender.

  He waited. A few seconds passed. She hadn’t shot him, yet. Had she tried? Perhaps. He studied the pistol she held and a thought occurred. It was too obvious, though; she wouldn’t go for it. Even so, he kept his expression as deadpan as he could and nodded at the gun. “Safety’s on.”

  “No, it’s not,” she said.

  “Uh, yeah, it is,” he returned, attempting a smirk, still playing the part. “That’s what that yellow indicator means next to the ammo count …”

  The woman’s eyes flickered to the pistol for a split second. Still, it was enough time for Dodds to make his move. He shot forward, keeping to one side in case she should fire, and made for the arm that held the pistol. She pulled away, but the feint had given Dodds the edge he needed and he grabbed her wrist tight. They tussled, Dodds forcing the pistol to one side. He applied his weight, and had started to bend her over backward, when he heard the pistol fire twice. A burst of dirt and grass whipped up into his face, for an instant blinding him. The cloud then cleared and he found that both he and his opponent had survived the discharge, unhurt.