“Please let it be the former,” sighed Jack. “Wouldn’t it be nice to ambush somebody else for a change?”
“Sure,” replied Rogan, sarcastically. “Nice.”
“There’s a short patch of bracken not far from here.” The Adeona turned on the spot with her air thrusters. “I’ll have to flatten a few trees to land, but it should be fine. The surrounding jungle should keep me fairly hidden, too.”
“You’ll have to let me download the other ship’s estimated trajectory once we’re down.” Rogan nodded towards the blank monitors, then turned to speak to the rest of the crew. “I guess we’ll be walking from here.”
Jack took a spare rifle from Tuner. After a brief moment of hesitation, Klik did the same. Jack cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention.
“Let’s finish this,” he said. “For the Krettelians, for the automata and for Earth – let’s put a stop to Charon.”
Jack wanted to forego his helmet. With the sun lavishing the other side of the moon with its rays, the jungle was cool – warmer than the desert on Paryx at night, but comfortably cooler than it ever got during the day, too. The air was rich and sweet. He stood to the side of the Adeona’s loading ramp breathing deeply, letting the night breeze blow over his face.
But that night would go on for another couple hours at least, and wandering through the undergrowth waving a flashlight was a good way to get himself caught or killed – if not by whomever they were following, then by a member of the local wildlife.
Jack needed the night vision his helmet provided. He pulled it down over his head and secured it to his suit, but disabled the air and temperature filters. It almost felt the same. Almost. At least he wouldn’t get too hot if they were still out come the following morning.
“Ready?” asked Rogan. The projected flight plan was now stored safely in her head. The Adeona promised to keep her communication channels open in case of emergencies – especially if they needed to make another quick exit – but otherwise her systems remained offline. They all doubted the Mansa Empire had either the technology or the patience required to pick up and isolate their specific radio chatter from a whole other world… but when it came to the Mansa, it never paid to assume.
“Ready,” Jack agreed.
Rifles in hand, they set off into the jungle.
There was no natural light beside that which shone down from the stars. Jack would have been lost without his helmet. He’d never been anywhere so utterly smothering in its darkness.
There were no paths, only opportune gaps between the ferns and trees. It made for slow and uneven progress. The four of them – as always, Brackitt chose to remain with the ship – climbed over mounds of moss and around nests of nettles. Dry leaves crunched underfoot, though the soil they lay on was soft and fresh.
The air grew no less sweet as they progressed deeper into the forest-jungle and away from the safety of the ship. Jack appreciated how natural it felt compared to the air that got recycled through the Adeona’s atmospheric systems… until he got the almost uncontrollable urge to sneeze.
Pollen allergies. Typical. It didn’t matter how fresh the air was – Jack didn’t consider it worth the price of sneezing on the inside of his helmet. He reluctantly let the filters in his spacesuit do their magic.
Rogan abruptly stopped in front of him. She held up her hand to indicate that the rest of them should follow suit.
“What is it?” Jack asked through their comms.
“I’m not sure.” She didn’t even turn her head when she spoke. “I thought I saw movement.”
“Enemy or wildlife?”
“How should I know? Shut up and let me listen.”
Rogan’s auditory receivers were far better tuned than Jack’s measly human ears, so he did as she asked. He couldn’t hear or see anything himself. Still, he felt a sudden chill quite at odds with the warm forest air.
Was there something out there? He squinted out into the darkness, but it was impossible to tell. Everything melted into one big shadow. How did the harmless rustle of leaves in the breeze differ from the ominous forewarning of a predator stalking its prey?
He swallowed hard. Klik was a bug, and yet she was only a little smaller than a human woman. How big did that mean the rest of Krett’s indigenous species had grown?
“It was nothing,” said Rogan, finally lowering her hand.
Jack let out a sigh and continued wading through the undergrowth. But he didn’t let down his guard. All he could do was hope Rogan’s keen senses would pick up anything out there that might consider them a walking midnight snack… and that his suit could withstand the teeth of anything they couldn’t.
Because no matter how far through the jungle they walked without incident, Jack could never quite shake the feeling that the jungle was keeping watch.
“Boy oh boy,” said Tuner. “Would you look at that.”
The first indication they had that they’d stumbled upon something ancient and forgotten was when Klik stubbed her foot against a stone block concealed beneath a cover of roots and mushrooms. She swore once at the pain, then a second time when she discovered what had caused it.
It wasn’t clear whether the block had once formed part of a pillar or a wall, but that mystery was soon forgotten in the face of the one standing a couple dozen metres behind it. Jack wandered past an open-mouthed Klik with a slack jaw of his own.
“Now that,” he said, at once forgetting the shadowed forest all around, “is incredible.”
An ancient stone temple rose up from the earth as if bursting free from the thick vines and roots that coiled around its base and snaked through its cracks, windows and openings. It reminded Jack of the Mayan temples he’d read about as a boy… only those pyramids had four sides, whereas this pentagon structure started off narrow at the bottom and spread outwards as it grew upwards. Five crumbling towers stood on its upmost corners close to a hundred metres above their heads… above even the tallest of the rainforest canopies.
It was an architectural marvel even before considering the stone material from which it had been built. Forget the Mansa Empire’s floating skyscrapers. This was the real feat of engineering.
“I must be the first Krettelian to see this in more than fifty generations.” Klik went as if to say more, then closed her mouth again.
“I’m sure your father would be proud,” said Tuner.
Klik returned a sad smile.
“It’s a disgrace that your people don’t get to see this,” said Jack. He wandered closer to the temple but didn’t dare touch it – it was a miracle the whole thing hadn’t come crashing down already. “So much beautiful history, lost in time. The Krettelians should be the ones in power, not the Mansa.”
“They had rifles and spaceships, and we didn’t.” Klik sighed. She still hadn’t taken her eyes off the ruins. “Apparently that’s all it took.”
“You think that temple is impressive?” Rogan waved them all over from further in the clearing. “Wait until you see this.”
Around the corner, penned in by a ring of trees that resembled the bars of a prison cell, was a statue almost as tall as the temple. It depicted a Krettelian warrior, his arms raised above his head, forearm blades on display. The statue had toppled from its plinth, but its fall had been caught by the surrounding trees. Now he stared defiantly out towards the cosmos. One of its arms had broken off at the elbow and lay as rubble beneath.
“We were such a proud race,” said Klik. “Maybe we will be again one day.”
Nobody said anything.
“We’d better keep moving.” Rogan hoisted the strap of her rifle over her shoulder. “If the ship did come this way, we must be getting close.”
They had been close. They found what they were looking for only a few minutes further ahead.
“Looks like the Adeona was right,” Jack whispered from his position crouched behind a large, willowy plant. “Bad news: this might be trickier than we thought. But here’s the good news: at least we only h
ave these guys to deal with.”
“These guys?” Rogan nodded at the individuals in question from the shadow of her fallen log. “Someone’s getting cocky. Cockier, at any rate.”
“Well? They are pretty rubbish, aren’t they?”
Half a dozen Raklett guards patrolled the exterior of Charon’s base. They were equipped with the same shoddy getup as those back on Gaskan Troi’s battlecruiser – chunky, outdated plasma rifles and patchwork leather armour. They hulked from spot to spot like snarling dog-men, sniffing at the night, their fur slick from the moist jungle air.
“Be careful they don’t pick up your scent,” said Tuner, innocently. “Your suit shouldn’t let out any of your natural musk so long as you keep the joints sealed.”
“Natural musk?” Jack pursed his lips. “You cheeky little… Well, what about her?”
Klik would have looked down her nose at him, if she’d had one.
“Krettelians don’t have any body odour. We don’t have the glands for it.”
“Still, it wouldn’t hurt to rub some of this dirt over yourself.” Rogan ran her mechanical fingers through the soft, dark soil. “What the Rakletts lack in brains they more than make up for with a keen sense of smell.”
Grumbling to herself, Klik covered her arms and face with the earth. Her bare feet were already camouflaged enough.
“Well, it ain’t no tent.” Jack tried to find a door or window in the compound’s sheer metal walls but couldn’t. “How do you suggest we get inside the base?”
“You’re right that it’s not a tent,” said Rogan, “but it’s not a base, either. Not really. Look at the way the earth has reared up around the bottom. Look at the trees.”
Jack had first thought the Rakletts were simply bad at laying foundations. But taking a second look, he realised the base hadn’t been built so much as punched into the ground. Trees poked out from the impact, their trunks crushed and splintered. The space around the compound hadn’t been cleared. It had been decimated.
Jack turned back to Rogan.
“It’s a ship?”
She nodded. “And hardly a small one, either. It’s not quite a battleship, but it’s definitely military-built. I’m guessing from the lack of landing gear it’s not designed for inner-atmosphere operations.”
“Perfect. How on earth are we supposed to get inside, then? It’s not as if battleships tend to have front doors.”
“Easily. Haven’t you figured it out yet?” She nodded at the Rakletts. “We get in the same way those idiots got out.”
19
Charon’s Hideout
The Raklett guard made its fourteenth pass around the ship that night. Not that there was any point in counting. It just kept going round and around until it was either ordered to stop or the sun came up.
It raised a claw to its short muzzle and scratched at the set of gold rings pierced along one side. Patrols were boring, and the humidity made the leather armour stick to its fur. It suddenly smacked the back of its neck.
And the bugs…
It let out a low snarl. More of a whine, really. This wasn’t what the Rakletts had signed up for. A Raklett ought to be out junking ships in Dark Space, not traipsing through a damn jungle.
Something moved behind the leaves at the edge of the base perimeter. The guard froze and sniffed the air. Nothing. Well, that wasn’t true. That was the opposite of truth. The problem was that there were too many smells in the jungle, all of them unusual and exotic, from the subtle note to the pungent toxins, all blending together to form a hot and humid cocktail. Any intruder was reduced to just another ingredient, almost impossible to distill from the rest.
The leaves lay still. It was probably just another swamp rat. There was a nest nearby. One of the earlier patrols had caught a critter and roasted it over a spit for lunch. Still. Worth checking out, just in case.
He was feeling a bit peckish, after all.
The guard edged towards the tree line. Its clawed hands gripped its rifle tight. Eyesight was hardly a Raklett’s strong point even under the best of conditions, though their ability to see in the dark wasn’t too bad and there were floodlights beaming down from high on the ship’s walls. It was the Rakletts’ senses of smell and hearing that people had to watch out for.
It ran its muzzle across the wide, serrated leaves, sniffing aggressively. It pricked up its short, stubby ears and listened.
Nope. Nothing meaty hiding out there, at any rate. Something a little bit metallic, perhaps… but there were some weird flower buds out there, oozing all sorts of smelly nectars.
Must have been some freaky Krett snake, or something. The Raklett relaxed. Whatever he’d heard scampered past was long gone now.
As it turned back around to face the ship, two arms like locomotive pistons shot out from the undergrowth and snapped its neck.
“The coast is clear,” Rogan whispered as she stood up. “Let’s go. Quickly now.”
Tuner dug himself out from the weeds and bracken beside her. Jack and Klik stood up about fifty metres behind the automata, having heard Rogan’s message across Jack’s comms channel. They waded through the ferns to catch up.
Reunited, their four black silhouettes sprinted across the starship’s floodlights in a line – Rogan in the lead, Klik bringing up the rear.
They reached the industrial bulkhead and followed it around, keeping their backs pressed against the wall. The lights couldn’t catch them there, though they weren’t so totally plunged into darkness that any more patrolling guards wouldn’t see them.
“Here we go,” said Rogan, gesturing for everyone to stop. “Tuner, do your magic.”
They paused next to two slabs of impervious metal. Each was no less thick than the space-bearing hull beside, above and below it. Despite Jack’s earlier observation, there was a door built into the ship’s flank… but it was the door of an airlock, industrially sealed against any and all exterior elements – them included.
Tuner scurried around Rogan to the front of the airlock, found a small emergency panel down at the bottom of the left-hand door, and stuck one of his digits into its port. A whirring sound – barely audible normally, but unnervingly loud in the tropical night – kicked in as he got to work unlocking it.
“Can he do it?” Klik whispered.
“What? Get us inside?” Rogan smiled, though it was a nervous, artificial smile and she kept glancing over Jack’s shoulder. “Of course he can. Tuner’s done this sort of thing plenty of times.”
“A couple of times,” Tuner corrected.
“I’m surprised airlocks can even be opened from the outside,” said Jack. “Seems like a security risk. Obviously.”
“Clearly you’ve never had to run repairs while in orbit,” replied Rogan. “The whole ship was probably built and launched out in space. The engineers had to get back inside somehow. And it’s not as if there isn’t a security system to bypass if you don’t know the codes.”
“Speaking of which.” Tuner did something that caused sparks to erupt from the airlock’s panel. “Charon’s security team really did a number on this one. Not surprising, I guess.”
“Well, hurry it up. Your hack job is starting to look like a fireworks display.”
“Oi. If I could go any faster, I would.”
A bird took flight from one of the trees around the perimeter, startling Jack. The longer they stood waiting to get inside, the greater his nerves grew. The way the floodlights swept automatically from one end of the ship to the other made the whole ordeal feel like a prison break. Only weren’t people supposed to break out of prisons, not in?
From around the corner, back towards the front of the makeshift compound, came the sound of two Rakletts in rapid conversation. Jack’s translator chip couldn’t interpret the words, if there were any. They sounded to him like a jumble of snarls and growls.
But they were definitely growing closer.
He frantically took stock of his surroundings. There was nowhere for them to hide. The wall of
the ship had few cubby holes – vents, air thruster mechanisms; certainly nothing big enough for all four of them to take cover behind – and they were guaranteed to be spotted by the guards if they sprinted back to the tree line, even if they managed to avoid the spotlights. At least Rogan had possessed the foresight to quickly bury the dead Raklett’s body under a pile of loose leaves before they darted across the first time.
Jack squeezed the pistol grip of his rifle and tried to keep his breathing under control. Though Klik carried a pilfered rifle of her own, he caught sight of the blades slowly extending from her exposed forearms.
He swore under his breath. They had to avoid open conflict if they were to have any chance of cornering and incriminating Charon. The last thing they needed was a noisy shootout before they even got inside the ship. He slipped past Rogan and bent down beside the door.
“Tuner…”
“Got it.” The little automata retracted his finger-slash-digital interface and tilted his head as the two halves of the airlock door grunted apart. There was a short-lived breeze as the pressurised air inside the ship rushed past them.
“Everybody inside!” Rogan pulled Klik across and shoved her towards the airlock. “Quick!”
The doors were slow to open. One by one the crew squeezed through the meagre gap into the spacious airlock beyond. Rogan entered last, then immediately turned back. She found what she was looking for: a simple red handle just inside the doors. No hacking required this time. She yanked the lever down and the mechanism reversed its sluggish direction.
The Raklett guards turned the corner just as the airlock doors crunched shut again. They paused momentarily, snarled to one another, then continued with their rounds.
“Why does nothing we do go as smoothly as it should?” whispered Jack, hunched over with his hands on his thighs.
“Because, Jack, we’re not a crack team of mercenaries!” hissed Rogan. She gave him a light punch on the arm. “We’re four idiots looking for a way to get ourselves killed.”
Thief of Stars (Final Dawn, Book 2) Page 16
