Turning Point (Galaxy's Edge Book 7)

by Jason Anspach

  “Exo!” The voice came from behind. Bombassa and the other shock troopers were swimming against the current of panicked and fleeing kimbrin.

  “Here comes the next sled,” Keel warned as an open-air speeder pulled around the crashed vehicle. This one, too, was occupied by four mids. But these men were ready, their blaster rifles sending automatic fire down the alley.

  “Get down!” Keel yelled, his Legion training as a commander of men taking over. Perhaps it was something about having Exo at his side, but he felt like his old self in that moment. Whatever that might say about him.

  Blaster bolts of a golden hue zinged down the alley, indiscriminately striking walls, street, debris, and fleeing civilians. The only thing they didn’t seem to hit—thanks to the cover provided by the ambushed sled—was their intended targets.

  As the third sled moved out of firing range, Keel popped up. At almost the same moment, the two surviving mids in the crashed sled did the same. Keel shot one man in the chest, sending him tumbling backward out onto the street and causing the repulsor sled to gently rock like a ship on the water. Exo took down the second man with three hits to center mass.

  “After ’em!” Keel ordered. He ran up to the sled, pushed aside the body of its deceased wheelman, and leapt in. Exo made room for himself next to a dead mid in the back seat, almost losing his balance as Keel threw the vehicle in reverse and pulled the accelerator paddle on the half-wheeled steering column.

  “Wait!” called Bombassa, still a good twenty meters behind them and picking himself up from the ground. He had thrown himself out of the way of the blaster bolts—and the feet of the panicking mob.

  “Hold up for ’Bossa,” Exo urged.

  Keel shook his head. “No time. Next time he can hurry up.” He surged the repulsor sled forward, pulling into the street in pursuit of the MCR. Keel would rather get dusted than allow Gannon to get away with another double cross. Not this time.

  10

  The speeder handled more like a pig than a pony. Every pedestrian, overturned food cart, or incoming blaster bolt Keel had to swerve to avoid cut down his speed noticeably. Most modern sleds were printed to be exceedingly light and agile—they could keep their speed while changing lanes or making hard-charging turns. Then again, those modern sleds wouldn’t have stopped a blaster bolt from punching through to the interior. This sled, by contrast, was an old, safe, commuter speeder, meant to withstand a collision and travel in a straight line. Not exactly the sort of thing you’d pick for pursuit—and definitely not the sort of thing Keel would have picked for a getaway vehicle. But no one had consulted him. And in this case, that was a good thing. Because with the other two sleds as limited as his was, Keel felt confident that he could close the gap between them.

  Golden blaster bolts raced toward him. Most of them were aimed too high and sizzled above his head, but a flurry of them were on target. Keel had to quickly reposition the repulsors to force a sharp rightward turn—or what passed for a sharp turn in this beast. The blaster bolts struck the side of the speeder with a rapid, triple-clang noise.

  “They don’t make ’em like this anymore,” Keel grumbled, shaking his head at the close call.

  Exo grunted in agreement before sending forth a charge pack’s worth of return fire. The mids ducked low, suppressed for the moment. “Changing packs!” Exo shouted as he dropped his empty onto the floor and fished out a replacement from a pants pocket. “Really wish I had my AP launcher!”

  Keel squinted at the sled they pursued. It was about twenty meters in front of them, with Gannon’s sled further still. As the mids ducked down to avoid Exo’s pistol fire, Keel spied a familiar black case with white, stenciled letters. “An AP might be an option. I see one in the sled now.”

  He pushed the speeder back into the center of the street, fighting the steering column as the vehicle struggled to adjust. He pulled the accelerator paddle on the steering wheel as hard as he could, as though by applying more pressure the sled would find some sort of hidden reserve and gain ground. But the gap remained fixed.

  “Uh-oh,” Keel said ominously.

  “What?” Exo asked. He squinted through the bright sunlight and saw it. “Dude. Not good.”

  The mids were poking their heads up above the cover of the speeder, sending inaccurate blaster fire at Keel and Exo while simultaneously trying to open the aero-precision rocket’s case.

  “Dude, step on it!” Exo yelled.

  “What do you think I’m doing?” Keel shouted back. “We need to dump some dead weight.”

  Exo looked around. “Like what?”

  A blaster bolt flew by Keel’s head so close that he could feel the heat just above his ear and smell his burnt hair. He took one hand off the wheel and pointed to the wheelman’s corpse in the seat next to him. “Them!”

  “Oh. Yeah. That’s dead weight all right.” Exo put down his blaster pistol and began to hoist up the body of one of the two dead rebels in the back seat. With a huff and a grunt, he tossed the body overboard, causing the sled to rock and the corpse to tumble behind them like a rolling rag doll.

  The sled slightly, almost imperceptibly, increased its speed. Keel sensed it, a skill developed from years of flying the Indelible VI at and beyond its limits. “Now get the other two.”

  “Bro, I’m trying. This guy is wedged down beneath the seats. Not the easiest deadlift with blaster bolts flying at me.”

  Keel furrowed his brow and aimed his blaster pistol carefully above the windshield. He sent a single red bolt into the rear of the sled, just short of one of the mids, sending a shower of sparks flying like the crackling embers of a fire rising heavenward. Keel’s blaster packed a considerably greater punch than most. The downside of his modifications was that a single charge pack could provide a maximum of six shots. Most blasters could expend ten times that before being spent.

  The rebels dropped down low, not wanting to face a follow-up shot. Exo struggled to pull out the dead rebel in the back with him, whose arm was stuck on something beneath Keel’s seat. No matter how much Exo tried to reposition it, he couldn’t pull the man out. The arm worked like an anchor, keeping the corpse on the speeder’s floor.

  Keel fired his blaster pistol again. “Will you hurry up?”

  “The kelhorned mid is stuck!”

  “So get him unstuck! He’s already dead. It’s not like you can hurt him!”

  Exo pulled mightily, and all at once, Keel heard a slick gashing noise. Exo fell back onto the seat as the mid’s arm came free. A great, ghoulish gash tore through the rebel’s uniform from bicep down to wrist.

  “Good thing he couldn’t feel that,” mumbled Exo before dumping the body overboard. Another humanoid breadcrumb left on the trail, should Bombassa and the others want to follow.

  “It’s helping,” Keel said. “We’re gaining on them.”

  Ahead, the mids were opening the case and removing the AP launcher. Keel aimed his blaster pistol—last shot unless he changed packs while driving—and fired. The bolt struck the rebel in his clavicle, sending him spinning around and tumbling off the back of the speeding sled.

  Surprisingly, the man didn’t lose consciousness. He struggled to a sitting position, dazed, as Keel’s sled raced toward him. Not wanting to swerve and lose speed, Keel pulled his lips back in a grimace—preemptively squeamish about what was to occur next. The heavy, impervisteel bumper of the sled smacked directly into the rebel, and the sled roared over him, emitting several more thuds and bumps as the body was buffeted between repulsors and the speeder’s undercarriage.

  “Oh, hell no,” shouted Exo, looking at the carnage behind the sled. “That’s not how I wanna go out.” He had climbed into the front seat and tossed the last man out of the sled.

  “Hang on tight,” Keel said as the sled continued to pick up speed. “If you get a shot…”

  “Already on it. Just get us closer,” Exo called out, unable to send accurate fire as the speeder skipped and hopped along the street. Keel suspected it had
been a very long time, if ever, that this speeder had moved so fast.

  The remaining rebel in the back of the speeder ahead of them brought the aero-precision launcher to his shoulder, while the rebel in the front passenger sheet sent two golden blaster bolts wide left of Keel and Exo. Keel ground his teeth. He was potentially down to seconds to live. Ravi could have told him exact numbers had he been along. If that launcher locked on to their sled, there would be no dodging it.

  The rebel flipped up the targeting reticule. The two sleds were close enough that Exo and Keel could hear the tracking beeps of the launcher. Well, if they were going out, Keel wanted to be close enough to take out the mid who did it, too.

  Keel squeezed the accelerator paddle harder still. “This might hurt a little…”

  Keel’s sled rammed into the back of the rebels’ sled just as the solid locking tone sounded from the AP launcher. The rebel fell forward from the sudden lurch caused by the collision, and in an impressive feat of self-control—probably because he didn’t want to blow himself up—he twisted his body as he fell and fired the missile straight into the air.

  Keel followed the white smoke trail as the missile rocketed toward its zenith. But he had heard the lock. That thing would come back down soon. “Exo, jump on the other sled!”

  Exo must have been thinking the same thing, for he had already placed a foot on the speeder’s hood. He made the leap, crashing on top of the rebel.

  Keel pushed his repulsors to their max, as if trying to drive through the sled in front of him, deftly swapped out a charge pack, and stood up in his seat. He adjusted the steering wheel to the right, causing his sled to veer away, then leapt with all his might to bridge the chasm opening between himself and Exo.

  He slammed into the side of the other sled with a thud that nearly knocked the wind out of him, but his fingers found purchase, and his grip held. With his feet dangling, he scrambled to pull himself safely inside as the driver swerved and shifted in an attempt to shake off the would-be boarder.

  Exo was busy burying his fists into the face of the rebel in the back seat. “You bitch!” Exo roared, scoring a glancing blow just behind the rebel’s ear. “Try to kill me? Huh! Trying to kill me?”

  The sled took a hard turn and jumped up onto a walkway, sending bazaar shoppers who’d thought they found a safe vantage point scattering like nebula roaches when the lights came on. The sled crashed right through a stand selling counterfeit datapad cases and accessories, and Keel was thrown back. His arms extended to their full length as his fingers gripped the side door, turning white as he just barely held on.

  A body dressed in green fatigues darkened the sunlight, and Keel watched as a rebel fell out of the speeder and slammed into the walkway, rolling wildly with limbs that looked attached only by the threads of clothing that covered them. If the rebel was alive, he must’ve broken every bone in his body.

  “Here!” Exo’s face appeared over the edge of the sled, and his arm reached down. Keel grabbed it and allowed Exo to pull him up and in.

  Keel stepped toward the front of the sled. The passenger, a kimbrin female, was unconscious—likely from the crash. A cut above her eye, just below her spiked brow, was bleeding heavily. The driver, a human, was reaching for his blaster. Keel leveled his own pistol at the man’s face.

  “Out,” Keel ordered, gesturing with his head to indicate what he expected.

  The rebel hesitated, and Keel primed his blaster pistol. “Out.”

  With a fearful swallow, the rebel stood up and hurled himself out of the speeding sled. He attempted to land on his feet, but the momentum caused his legs to go out from underneath him, and he tumbled into a nasty and awkward roll.

  Keel dropped himself into the driver’s seat.

  “I would’ve dusted him,” Exo said, taking hold of the aero-precision launcher.

  Keel smiled. “We need to catch up with the lead sled or Gannon’s going to get away. Dumped the weight faster my way.”

  Exo didn’t reply. He rested the launcher on his shoulder and looked through the target reticule, seeking a lock on the last remaining sled. But the driver must have been aware of the danger she was in, as she slammed her speeder wildly along the streets, attempting to break the lock by blending in with every table, awning, tent, and stand on the way. She took a hairpin right turn and disappeared behind a corner.

  Keel followed her relentlessly, slowly gaining ground through sheer skill of handling—and having two fewer persons on board.

  “Almost got you…” Exo muttered. The sled took another turn, escaping around a corner. “Dude, Wraith. I need you to keep them in view.”

  “I didn’t design the bazaar’s grid,” Keel shouted back. Indeed, the densely packed side streets were woven with innumerable alleyways and crossing roads.

  Keel’s comm beeped. “A little busy,” he said in answer.

  “Not as busy as you will be,” Ravi replied. “The sled you are pursuing is heading toward what appears to be an MCR roadblock supported by truck-mounted N-50s and at least one heavy blaster cannon battery. If they see you, the odds of your sled being destroyed are well over seventy-five percent.”

  “So blow it up, Ravi.” Keel assumed that his navigator already had the Six in flight.

  “I am currently being pursued by three MCR Preyhunter starfighters.” Ravi’s voice was eminently calm. “There were six. I estimate only a four percent chance that I will reach and destroy the blockade before you, unless I open myself up to missile attack. Of course, if you still had some of those AI-enhanced missiles that Garret programmed…”

  “I’d rather take my chances.” Keel heard Exo swear behind him. The sled had darted around another corner before he could get a lock. “Do what you can, and we’ll do what we can.”

  “Understood.” The comm beeped an end transmission tone.

  “Exo,” Keel called over his shoulder. “If we’re going to get these guys without being dusted ourselves, it’s gonna have to be soon. Like, now soon.”

  Exo readjusted the launcher on his shoulder. “Okay. I got this. I got this. Just keep it steady as you can when we turn the bend.”

  As their speeder turned the corner sharply, skipping up over a sidewalk, Keel saw Gannon pointing frantically for his MCR driver to take the next right turn. If he had to bet, that would be where the blockade Ravi told him about lay in wait. “Gotta be now, Exo!”

  Keel heard the launcher beeping in an attempt to lock on as the fleeing sled prepared to make the turn. They’d be clear before a lock happened.

  The tone sounded out its progress. Closer. Closer.

  The sled began to make a wide right turn.

  Keel shook his head. They were getting away. It would be up to Ravi to take them out… if they didn’t go underground before the Six dispatched its harassers.

  Whoosh!

  A concussive wave hit Keel in his back, almost making him steer the sled off the road. An aero-precision missile streaked toward Gannon’s speeder. Keel hadn’t heard a lock. Exo had blind fired.

  And hit.

  The missile led the escaping sled perfectly, slamming into its side at a perfectly timed intersection. A billowing fireball accompanied the boom, and the sled and everyone inside went flying in various degrees of wholeness.

  “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Exo whooped. “Ain’t nobody in the galaxy can do what I do with one of these!”

  Keel shook his head in amazement. “You’ve got a talent, Exo.”

  “Damn right.”

  Pulling their speeder over short of the wreckage, Keel hopped out, blaster in hand. Exo followed suit. With the MCR sled’s repulsors destroyed, the burnt-out shell of the vehicle lay on the ground in flames. The charred remains of one of the passengers lay half in and half out, its forearms and hands still whole, but everything else a blackened skeleton. Surrounding the scene were bits and pieces of seat fabric, twisted metal, scattered pieces of shock trooper armor, weapons, charge packs, body parts, and… the case, stil
l clutched in death by Gannon, who, having been blown in two at the waist, was no longer quite himself.

  “Salvage what you can,” Keel ordered Exo before peering around the corner Gannon’s sled had been attempting to turn. Up the street was the blockade, but a long ways up. Nearly half a kilometer. They might have still gotten a lock had they followed Gannon’s sled around the bend, but there would have been no time to collect anything before the N-50s started firing. As it was now, several MCR soldiers were approaching on foot, and the sleds with the heavy weaponry seemed to wait impatiently as other rebels dismantled the barricade they’d built to provide them an opening.

  “Better be quick about it,” Keel reported.

  “Yeah,” said Exo, picking his way through a concentration of blaster rifles. He seemed to be looking for something specific. “These all look wasted. I think they nabbed our crate of fraggers and it went up when I hit the sled.”

  Keel nodded but didn’t reply. He went back to Gannon and looked down at the man. “Tough break, huh?” He bent down and grabbed the case. The lock was broken, whether from blast damage or because Gannon had cracked it, he didn’t know. Looking up to be sure Exo was still busy going through various bits of unsalvageable weaponry, Keel pried the case open. Inside was Kael Maydoon’s severed hand.

  Ravi’s voice came over the comm, set low enough to be heard only by Keel. “I’m making my way to your location. Stay put.”

  Looking left to right, Keel pulled the hand out and flipped open his vibro knife. He made a quick sawing motion and came away with a finger, which he stuffed in his pocket. He tossed the rest of the hand into the flaming sled.

  Then he approached the burnt corpse of another rebel—a human who was now little more than bone and ash. Keel dropped to his knee and cut the rebel’s hand off. He placed the macabre souvenir into the case and sealed it.

  “Any idea what’s in here?” Keel asked, holding up the case for Exo to see.

  Exo went stone serious. He held out his hand. “That’s what I was looking for. Give it here.”